The big news with writers around the world is the Google Book Settlement.  If you haven't heard, Google has the rights to digitize published or out-of-print books from before January 5th, 2009 and will make them available on the web.  Writers can claim ownership of their works by going to www.googlebooksettlement.com and setting up an account.  They will receive a one-off settlement of at least $60 per book and will then be poised to receive future profits from Google's efforts to sell their works as downloads or print-on-demand.  Just how much the writer will make off each download or p.o.d. is unclear.

The writer also has the option to opt out of the settlement when setting up their account on the web site.  Opting out won't necessarily stop Google from digitizing their books, but they then will have some kind of grounds on which to sue Google. Good luck with that.

Writers are being advised to stay in the settlement, the wisdom being a crappy deal is better than no deal at all.  But we don't know what the deal is yet so here's hoping...

When I set up my account on the web site I searched for my upcoming book, Fatted Calf Blues, that won't be available in stores until April 15.  Lo and behold, there it was on the web site.  Of course I won't be getting any $60 one-off deal, but who knows what the future holds.  I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that it was on their site, since it has been listed on various book selling web sites such as Amazon and Chapters/Indigo since January.

A little more disconcerting for me was to find a poetry chapbook I self-published in the late 1970s called With My One Free Hand, which is catalogued in one of the Dalhousie University Libraries. How it got there is beyond me, considering I lived in Montreal when I published it.  Since Google has approached pretty much every library to digitize books, I shouldn't be surprised to see my modest first effort pop up on their settlement web site.  Nevertheless, I couldn't help but be reminded of the Borg sucking up every scintilla of human existence.  I know that sounds alarmist, but I'm a writer and prone to dramatization.

But here's the real thing that's bothering me.  I'm not particularly proud of that chapbook.  I was in my early twenties when I wrote those poems and was eager to see my name and my efforts in print.  While I can excuse youthful exuberance, frankly those poems embarrass me now.  In fact, they kind of embarrassed me then too.  I remember when I first got them back from the printer, I was at home having lunch when my father came into the kitchen.  A copy was sitting on the table and I pointed it out to him.  To my surprise he sat down and read the whole thing -- all ten pages of it! --  right then and there.  I watched, mortified, from behind my sandwich as he slowly turned the pages with a serious expression.  What felt like hours, but was more likely fifteen minutes or so, passed before he put it down and proclaimed in a sober voice: "I think I understand what you’re trying to say."  Then he got up and left.  I suppose it could have been worse.

I don't even own a copy of that chapbook.  Now that my first book of stories is about to be published, I keep hearing from friends who still have a copy of that chapbook.  I cringe a bit, but feel relieved that only a select few will be able to see my sophomoric scribbling.  At least I used to feel that relief until this whole Google thing.  Now everyone might be able to see the freaking thing.  Typical writer's vanity, you say?  Guilty as charged.  I remember reading that, before his death, Mordecai Richler was trying to buy up every copy of his first novel, he was that embarrassed by it.  No such luck here.  I don't know if anyone will ever want to see those poems or how much money Google will pay me for making them available to the public.  I'm pretty sure, though, that, no matter how much, it won't be near enough.

Anyone who has read past entries on this blog or checked out my writing history on this site knows that I am a writing workshopaholic.  Every year I attend at least one workshop, and quite often two.  My first was the Maritime Writers' Workshop in Fredericton, NB in 2004.  I have participated in the Great Blue Heron Writing workshop at St. F.X. every year since 2005 and I have applied again this year.

I go to workshops for various reasons.  Since I never took any kind of creative writing course, I consider these workshops a form of continuing education where I can bring an early draft of a story, poems or even a film script that would benefit from some outside feedback to help bring it to the next level.  Workshops have also been one of the few places where I meet other writers, and I have kept in touch with some of these folks long after the workshops are over.  At their best, workshops are like summer camps for writers, a rare opportunity to work and socialize at the same time.  

Having benefitted from being in workshops with some of this country’s best writers, I often wondered how I would do as an instructor.  Well, this year it looks like I am going to get my chance and frankly, I'm pretty nervous about it.  

In June I will be reading at the Jewish Literary Festival in Hamilton, Ontario. The organizers, Lil Blume and Ellen Jaffee, are putting together an anthology of Jewish writing called From Sinai To The Shtetl And Beyond, to which I have contributed a poem.  The invitation was originally for me to read at the launch for the anthology during the festival.  In the course of my communications with Lil and Ellen, I was informed that some of the other writers would be giving workshops and was asked if I would like to do one too.   Although it was by no means mandatory, I figured this was my chance to see what a workshop would be like from the other side.

The big question was what would my workshop be about and did I really have anything to teach other writers?  After a little more back-and-forth with L & E, I found out that my workshop should take the form of a talk that might lead to a writing exercise, depending on how many actual writers were in my audience.  My publisher had suggested to me that I expand my repertoire by working on my ability to talk about my writing as well as giving readings.  I recognized here was a good opportunity to do just that.  It was decided between myself and L & E that I would read a story from Fatted Calf Blues called The Two Annes, which is about an artist who uses his talent to deal with personal loss, and talk about that process.  I would then move the talk to my own experience by discussing the novel I am working on, which uses some of my family history.  For a big finish I would ask the participants to turn a true event from their lives into a piece of fiction.

It all sounds easy enough, but on the inside I'm biting my fingernails to the quick.  Will anyone actually show up?  Will I be able to deliver the goods?  All will be revealed in June, if I don't die of nervousness first.

I recently submitted an ad to The Buzz, Prince Edward Island’s arts and entertainment newspaper, to promote my upcoming book launch at the Confederation Centre Library on April 23rd. In the ad I referred to myself as "Island writer, Steven Mayoff."  It made me wonder if I had the right to call myself such.  I'm not from the Island, although I have been living here since 2001.  I have been writing since high school, but it wasn't until I moved to PEI that I focused on my writing in earnest and began to send out work on a regular basis.  I believe I can say with all sincerity that I came to PEI to establish myself as a writer.

But anyone who lives here knows that if you weren't actually born on the Island you will always be considered "from away", no matter how long you live here.  I suppose I could have used the phrase "Resident Island Writer", but that seems to undermine the commitment I've made by moving to PEI as the place where I am establishing my identity as a writer.  The interesting thing is that I am quite content with my "from away" status, even though I expect to live on PEI for the rest of my life.  I believe a writer should be something of an outsider and that part of his/her integrity benefits from being on the outside looking in.  In a way this made PEI the perfect place in which to launch my writing career.  You could say I feel very much at home being from away.

There is no denying how much PEI has influenced my work.  The moment I moved here I was struck by the beautiful landscape and immediately began incorporating it in stories and poems.  In my upcoming collection, Fatted Calf Blues, the stories have both rural and urban settings.  The first story, The Most Important Man In The World, is set on a streetcar in Toronto.  The sense of isolation in the streetcar proves to be a crucible for extreme human behaviour.  Living on an island is a bit like that.  In fact, isolation seems to be a factor in most of my stories, both urban and rural. Perhaps an argument can be made that everyone on PEI -- those from "here" and those from "away" -- have something of the "outsider" in them. In that case I feel justified in wearing the title of "Island Writer" and will continue to do so with pride.  

I dropped my laptop a couple of days ago (I can practically hear the collective gasp).  I was in Charlottetown, taking advantage of the free wi-fi in the Confederation Centre and had been packing the laptop up when it slipped out of my hands ("Oooohhh nooo!" I can hear you cry).  So naturally I took it to The Little Mac Shoppe, the only authorised Apple service centre on PEI.  It looks like I need a new hard drive and I’ll be getting a larger one, which is nice.  It is still uncertain if they will be able to retrieve the info from my old HD.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Although I try to back up my work as often as possible, I never think of backing up my emails or my address book.  I can't really ponder the possibility of losing that stuff at the moment. I'm already a bit freaked out by the whole thing and I'd prefer to try to think positively.

Thankfully I had backed up in early February, so I didn't lose too much work. In fact, I have been preoccupied with setting up readings for myself in Montreal and Toronto, so I haven't really done much work on my novel.  I suppose procrastination has turned out to be a lucky break for me, although, in my defense, I have been obsessive about Googling bookstores, libraries, various media, reading series, colleges and universities and anywhere else I think I might have a shot at reading in public.  As it stands now Fatted Calf Blues will have an official launch in Charlottetown on April 23rd and a Montreal launch at Casa del Popolo in Montreal on May 4th.  My other Montreal gig is at the Visual Arts Centre on May 13th.  So far the only Toronto reading is at the The Press Club on June 3rd, then two readings in Hamilton (where I will also be leading my first workshop, but more on that in an entry-to-come).  I'm still looking for a venue for a Toronto launch.  I'm hoping for the Drake Hotel, although there are other possibilities.  The full list of readings is on my home page and will be updated as dates are confirmed.

The whole process of setting up readings for myself has pushed me to make connections with the literary communities of PEI, Montreal and Toronto.  As much as some writers complain about having to promote themselves, I'm finding this aspect of being published quite useful and interesting.  I tend to think of it as a natural extension of the publishing process, as much as publishing is a natural extension of the creative process.  It is certainly a nice antidote to the hours one spends alone writing (although I like that too).  But in retrospect, I see the dropping of my laptop as a kind of punctuation to that process of self-promotion.  A full stop.  And something of a wake-up call.

At first I felt cut off at the knees (and still do to some extent), but now I realize this is my opportunity to get back to the novel.  While my computer is in the shop I am using Thelma's iBook.  Of course she has been very good about letting me use it whenever I need to, but I am very aware of using somebody else's machine.  It is a weird, tentative feeling and it will be interesting to see how it might affect my writing.  Sometimes I wonder if I should switch to longhand (I've tried that before), but it has now hit me where I live (so to speak) how much my laptop has become an extension of myself.  What once felt like a luxury -- being able to move paragraphs around, researching on the Internet, etc  --  is truly an integral part of my creative self.