At alvapressinc.com, we are looking for the support of family and friends to help get Carl Waldman's Streetscape: A Jake Soho Mystery  on the Barnes and Noble Best Sellers List.

Your support will help promote ALVA's success as a publishing company, boost book sales and provide you with a wonderful opportunity to read a charmingly compelling mystery!!!

For just $9.34, wouldn't it be fun to watch it rise on The B&N Chart knowing you made the difference? 

Much appreciated! Robin
             
1. Go to http://www.barnesandnoble.com/
2. Search for ALVA Press Inc; then:Click on the Streetscape cover image. To Download a Sample, Buy Now, or send as a gift, just click on the selection of your choice and follow the directions for payment and delivery. Of course, you can always select one of Alva's other amazing book publications like Helmy Kusuma's Mementoes of Mai ($4.24)

A bit before the winter holidays, with ALVA's digital design and website techie, Alyssa, complaining of the slow speed of my computer and my youngest grandson complaining because my DVD player was broken, when Verizon offered a deal on a package that included a fiberoptic service (FIOS), I jumped at the deal. And now I live with the effects of that decision.

To begin with, even with FIOS, my desktop computer just managed the speed of sludge. Solution: I purchased a new one with enough memory to hold the Library of Congress. Still it cost, and my pocket still smarts from the hit. Also  my printer was not compatible with it--a fact with which I have yet to deal. also many programs had to be reinstalled. The good news was, however, that while my old computer had lost its Internet, my new one had one that not only worked, but did so with speed and alackrity. Then, in response to my youngest grandson's disappointment over the fact my DVD player had also hit the dust, I went so far as even to get a television--something I hadn't had in my home for some five years. And therein, lay the final slap.

You see, I had been perfectly happy without T.V.--especially as I had found live coverage for key events available on an as needed basis through my computer. But now I had television.

Television, as the saying goes, ain't what it used to be and where I was expecting channels two through thirteen, CNN, and C-SPAN I was not only wrong, I was out of the loop as there were more like 1,845 channels. Ya' cudda knocked me over with a pin! How was I ever to make sense out of it all?

Ah, but you may recall that on December 7 I had had a bony growth removed from the first toe on my right foot. Result: My assignment for the month of December was to stay off the foot and as much as possible, keep it elevated. Perfect. December would be the month to meet and learn learn to live with having a television in my house.

Before giving up television all together, I had lived for three years and partied for a previous four on the shores of Lake Champlain in the quaint little town of Port Henry, New York. There I recalled having watched the tentacled beast for an hour on Thursday and, whenever I could catch Great Performances, on weekends. In retrospect, I blamed my choices on the limited viewing available in the area at that time. Except having thought further about it, it became clear that it had been time rather than programming availability that had posed the real challenge. For then as now, my priorities ruled the day: full time therapy; weekend and summer evening porch parties; flying four-hour-down, four-hour-back weekend trips south to see my son, sisters, and grandchildren; annual attendance at ASHA national conventions in order to maintain professional licensure; and writing and publishing Jolt: a rural noir. There simply was no time. However as this was now not then and I would give television another try.

So channel changer in hand, as I felt and meandered my way from one channel to the next, most of what I  bumped into was a poor fit. On the one hand, l really didn't care who chopped up the gatekeeper. And while the notion of watching history unfold held an interest, it just took too long. A few feminist discussions I found enlightening and CNN and C-SPAN had maintained their draw. Also, as reruns of Great Performances were for me first runs, until their Third Season began a week or so ago, the old GP became part of my steady diet. And as they ran only once a week on weekends, I could handle them--along with some M*A*S*H and a few chop'em up, guess-who-did-its. At least until on January 2 at which point I went off disability and back to doing speech language therapy full-time. 

And as abruptly as it had begun, it ended.

Who has the time to watch T.V.? Not I. Watching it prevented a quick bit of shut-eye before supper and the carryover of enough energy to permit work in the evening. I fell behind on my newsletter. Behind in my blogs. And by Friday of the first week, I was grumpy--not my usual state of mind at all. Further I had come to not even like myself. 

To recuperate, come Friday evening, I went to bed at six and except for waking to set the alarm--because erroneously I had decided the next day rather than that day was Friday--I slept the night. And that weekend--last weekend--I watched T.V. just once--on Sunday night when as I ironed for the week, I caught Great Performances.

Monday I woke rested, happy for the new week and my new lease on life--a life for the most part without television.

 Roberta in Po-Town, Bloggin'

 

Still experiencing 2012, my thoughts split at a fork, one line leads to my business and personal life, the other to the larger world. The sun shines. I've showered, bobbed my hair, and had my coffee. Shoveled sidewalks checker the world beyond my window. And on the horizon the threat of a fiscal slope which if not avoided promises to slide the middle class (and the economy) just a wee bit down a nasty financial run. One cannot help but hope that those to the right will see the light and join the Congress in preventing what might amount to disasterous slippage. The vote's not in however I remain optimistic.

But then there is the growing network of writers gradually assembling within and around ALVA Press, Inc., my very slowly but steadily growing cooperative publishing company. Let me share a few 2012 milestones.

• Published three eBooks: Drum Machine by Kristen Henderson, Tales from the Revolution by Lorna Tychostup, and Streetscape: A Jake Soho Mystery by Carl Waldman bringing our tally to four eBooks released to date.
• Drum Machine by Kristen Henderson was awarded a Gold Medal in Poetry in the International eLit Awards sponsored by Jenkins. Congratulations, Kristen!
• Barnes and Noble has been featuring two of ALVA's books in its turn of the year online ads: Jolt: a rural noir by yours truly and Streetscape: A Jake Soho Mystery by Carl Waldman.
• Helmy Parlente Kusuma won the Green Tomatoes Novelists Runoff. His charming young adult/adult coming of age story will be released early in 2013.
• Yesterday Betty Hampel's manuscript for her action-filled novella Trauma arrived for early publication in 2013. Also expected later in the year is the release of a compilation of interviews and essays by Roberta M Roy (me again), a second novel by Betty Hampel called Once a Gypsy, and two illustrated children's books.

As for family, my wonderful three grandsons will turn 13, 12, and 9. My son, Stef Ottaviani, has agreed to do cover design for ALVA. He's just great! And, life is good all round.

Roberta in Po-Town with all best wishes to you and yours in the New Year 2013!

Milan family oral history relates the story of my maternal grandmother Marie Teresa Scheick Milan, who, following the death of her only son, John, of the Black Measles in 1901, sold their house in Westchester County and with her husband, mother-in-law, and oldest daughter, Marrion, moved from the pestilence of the cities and became a farmer's wife on Poughquag Mountain in Dutchess County, New York State. On The Mountain, as my family has always referred to it, except for the school teacher, she lived as the only literate woman there. And only at her behest would the doctor. The rest he left to her. And there my grandparents raised seven daughters, leaving The Mountain when the youngest, my mother, Roberta E. Milan, was twelve.

Family Medicine in the Mountains of New York in the Early 1900's.

We loved the stories my mother told with themes that touched upon the notion that while the neighbor children were kept at home to help with chores, the Milan girls populated The Mountain's one room school house. Just as we loved the broad stroke description my grandmother as midwife doing as she could-swaddling the healthy and burying in cigar boxes those who were stillborn. And of Adelaide who had a growth on her cheek for whom my grandmother sterilized the razor and white thread and needle in the hot oven, removed the growth with a quick cut or so, and sewed it up with white thread, leaving only a fine line across Adelaide's cheek-nothing compared to the large ugly cyst that had deformed her face.

Family Medicine in the Years of the Great Depression

About the time I was born, coming out of the Great Depression as we were, going to a doctor or a dentist was more than most could afford. As a result, my mom took care of Artie Whalen who lived across the street when he developed blood poison in his knee. Those were in the days before penicillin. How he lived I have no notion, but he did. His parents had to work so days he stayed on our couch with my mom half carrying him back and forth to the bathroom as necessary.

Meantime Margaret, who lived downstairs from us, had five children and an abusive husband and rather than starve the family more than it already was, chose to push the refrigerator back and forth across the floor until she aborted.

Eventually the neighbors scraped together enough money to purchase Margaret and her five children a one way ticket to California and to safety from her husband whom everyone was convinced would soon kill her if she stayed.

No one ever heard from Margaret or her children again and to this day she remains a question mark in my mind.

Family Medicine in the 1940's

Then in the second world war, when my dad worked in the shipyard, he picked up a piece of metal in his finger and developed blood poisoning around the heart. It was summer when he went to the doctor. Hospitals were out of the question. The doctor told my father he would have to be brave so he gave him a swig of whiskey and told him not to move.

My father held his arm above his head and the doctor lanced the sacs that were visible under his arm. They drained for weeks, burning his skin so my mom taped sanitary napkins along his side and somehow he lived. If we sometimes asked him, he would lift his arm to show us the two well-defined scars where the knife had entered. But he lived.

Medicine was different then.

My Bunion

What I have told above is only the tip of the iceberg. There must be twenty more family stories of similar ilk that I could tell-not all, however, with as positive endings. Still I wanted to set the stage for comparing my past family medical encounters with my most recent surgery-done just yesterday-to remove a small bony growth-a bunion-from the top of my right big toe. The sequence went like this.

The Podiatrist

At my first appointment with the podiatrist, he x-rayed my toe from three directions after which he shared with me the images as we consulted on just how conservative we could cause the operation to be. The doctor, a very ethical man who communicated calmly and directly and was amenable to the notion that in the effort keep the healing period as brief as possible as much as possible he would keep the bone removal only to the outer surfaces of the it. He then instructed me to get some blood work and a medical clearance from my primary physician and left me with a nurse who questioned me

in-depth about my medical history in a pre-surgical interview.

My Primary Doctor

On the day of my visit to my primary there was no waiting. He talked to me, a nurse did the required cardiogram, and the blood was drawn on the floor below the doctor's office in the laboratory and I left. The results came in the mail two days later, well before the date of the procedure.

Pre-surgical Instructions

A day or two prior to my appointment in the same day surgery unit, a nurse from that unit called me with a detailed list of instructions I was to follow that included that I wash my feet with Dial antibacterial soap, remove any toenail polish, and cleanse well between the toes-a direction which brought a smile to my face.

The Procedure (Operation)

On the day of the procedure-yesterday-again I was interviewed, that time by the intake nurse, the anesthesiologist, the podiatrist, and operating room nurse. Each had their own specific and thorough set of questions the result of which was that the decision was confirmed that I would be ‘awake' during the procedure-we no longer referred to it as an operation-as they would be using a type of intravenous anesthesia that was to only depress the central nervous system without requiring intubation or masking.

The event went smoothly. The gentle and pleasant older Indian from India anesthesiologist talked to me occasionally asking how I was and letting me know how much longer the procedure would last. My arms were fixed to the operating table but I lacked any volition to move them-or any part of me for that fact-except when my nose itched-but not to the point of the unbearable. I could feel the doctor moving my foot and ballooning clot-prevention stocking moving up and down-although initially I thought it was the doctor pushing my leg around. Beyond that nothing until they loosened my arm straps and the intravenous feed tube at which point I was asked to scootch over to the trolley that would take me to the recovery room.

I was done.

The Importance of Family

One of my sisters had accompanied me to the hospital when I reported there at 6:30 a.m. for the operation which had been scheduled for 7:30. The time after 7:30 included the physician and nurse interviews and operation. By 9:00 we were done.

My sister had been joined by a second of my sisters so the three of us waited in the recovery area while I drank coffee and juice and chowed down on a few graham crackers.

Around 9:30 we said our goodbyes to the nurses and left, taking with us a cane, a prescription for Vicodin against pain and Keflex to prevent infection as well as several pages of written instructions related to my appropriate post surgical care and some possible red flags for which, should one occur, it was recommended we call one of the doctors whose names and phone numbers had been listed near them.

In Retrospect

All in all, neither an uncomfortable nor frightening experience at all. And certainly a far cry from that of my grandmother fleeing the pestilence of the cities and operating with sterilized needles and thread from the oven of a kitchen stove; or my father braving through the lancing of pus sacs with knife but no anesthetic; or Margaret pushing an old refrigerator back and forth across a kitchen floor to abort an unwanted fetus in a family that was already undernourished.

Roberta in Po-Town, Thinkin' back

 

As I inch through Sunday vaguely affected by the coming of Hurricane Sandy, water and canned goods, battery charger, battery operated radio, and some emergency cash on hand, I am amused to find that true to my belief I have only the time to blog here once a month, it is just two days short of thirty since my last entry. Further, except for some personal sense of a need to write, as usual, I have no up front notion as to what exactly it is I'll say.

My thought is that blogging serves on some level as akind ink blot assessment of current brain function and particularly so at this moment it interrupts the flow of things I should be attending: vacuuming before the electricity goes for four days; washing ones hair before the hot water goes. (Mine's still wet as I now that it is longer in length, I opt for air drying.)

One thing I feel compelled to mention is the news that some scientists in Italy have been convicted of something akin to criminal negligence for failing to predict the severity of an earthquake there: 

"The quake, which hit the town of L'Aquila in 2009, came after the geophysicists told city officials on a risk-assessment commission that they were unable to make a detailed prediction about whether ongoing tremors might indicate a coming disaster. The court seems to consider this akin to criminal negligence, which as many observers have pointed out fundamentally misunderstands how seismology works. One of the convicted scientists, 74-year-old physicist Claudio Evo, called the decision "medieval."  http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/worldviews/wp/2012/10/24/the-deeper-issues-behind-italys-conviction-of-earthquake-scientists/

News of the conviction of the scientists troubles me in particular at this time as for the past week or so I have working on an article for the ALVA the Indie Times about the impossibility of accurately predicting the future on the basis of what we have learned from the past. The problems with such efforts emerge first from the impossibility of knowing all the facts and variables involved in any past event. This then is complicate by human beings' innate inability to clearly observe events. And no, this is not a reference to our predilection for personal experience and attitudinally based bias. Rather it is due also to neurologically based biases. It is this that I'll talk about in this week's ALVA's weekly newsletter which I encourage you to sign up for on the home page of alvapressinc.com. (By the way, my hair is almost dry; my coffee cup is empty; time for a quick run to the kitchen.)

(Only about a quarter of a cup left. I drink it black and never worry about it being warm enough. It's cold.)

You probably by now have become acquainted with Chelsea. She is the young woman who helps me with ALVA PR. Well, she tells me she is probably leaving the area as the love of her life is soon to accept a position out it. Shucks! I will miss her! And then there is the newsletter and the question of whether or not its publication can be achieved with her in a new life style and miles away--where she can not as yet say as her love has received more than one job offer. 

Ah, but on the up side. Helmy Kusuma has won the first ALVA Green Tomatoes Writers' Runoff with his enchanting story the Mementoes of Mai. It needs editing, formatting, and cover design but, hey, that's part of the package for any GTWR winner and ALVA's editor for this project, Joan Schweighardt, likes the manuscript's potential and we both like Kusuma. 

According to Kusuma, his place of birth is Palembang, Indonesia, the 16th century capital of the Kingdom of Srivijaya. Although Kusuma does not believe he is of royal lineage, he does report spending his childhood "dreaming fantasy lands, exotic planets, and super cool spaceships instead of toiling on the lanHelmy Kusuma -- Mementoes of Maids and herding cattle like the rest of the family." As a young adult, he spent the next "decade mastering the art of piloting the Enterprise" and has been "travelling to faraway galaxies ever since." Between missions, Kusuma says that to avoid encounters with angry aliens and to write, much of the time he skulked inside his private quarters.

Mementoes of Mai is Kusuma's first novel.With it he invites the reader to follow him through some of the beautiful and defining moments in his life--over the rivers and within the coves of Viet Nam and across the sea to Bali and Jakarta.

Well, I warned you I did not know where this blog was going, however go it has. (A fire engine just went by--too early for the cause to be the storm--unless it is a car accident resulting from evacuation efforts.)

The wind has been steady since last night, taking with it the leaves from the taller trees, an encouraging harbinger in relation to the the possibility of  a reduction in the number of trees likely to come down when Hurricane Sandy hits late tonight and threatens or effects the uplifting of tree branches with wind gusts--which again brings us back to the question of predicting and the question of what we know and do not know about the past.

Just think, had I not looked out the window this morning to check the large maple behind my house--which last night had worried me as so few of its leaves had fallen, I would not know it had been stripped by the wind in the night and as my bed is on just the other side of the wall from it, I surely would have been more concerned than now I will be when I do bed down tonight. 

May Sandy treat you kindly wherever you are and if you are among its forced refugees may you find refuge in a town as kind and responsive as was Locklee in my award winning work of inspirational fiction,  Jolt: a rural noir.

Roberta in Po-Town

Last weekend took a bit out of me. But all for good causes: my profession and my family. The unexpected zinger in it all turned out to be the airlines' pumped-up use of the hub and spoke system. Seems like wherever I wanted to go was other than to a hub. The result: three two-legged flights and six different airplanes. To get to Asheville, NC, I flew first to Detroit. To get to Raleigh, NC, we went first to Philly. To return to Newburgh, NY, from Raleigh, NC, we flew to Detroit. Result: What might have been three flights, each lasting at most a few hours turned into three seven-eight hour flights. Next time, no prob. A train will get me where I want to go faster.

So why Asheville? CEUs. What kind of Continuing Education Units? Those permitting me to maintain my license as a speech language pathologist. What did I study? Swallowing. Breathing. Hearing aids. Language assessment for speakers of English as a second--or third-- language. Speech therapy and its relationship to literacy. And Asheville. Love the town! Laid back, friendly, peaceful. Great food. Even got to eat kimche which I have been hunting down for years. Ever since I learned it is made of marinated cabbage, is made with hundreds of different recipes, and is a main staple for people in Korea where the winters are particularly long and hard and without cabbage as a source of vitamin C everyone would be at risk for developing scurvy. Loved it! At least that one recipe of the hundreds that I was lucky enough to stumble upon!

I also drank some Mandarin beer developed during a German occupation--for all I knew from its taste it might have been Heineken. Which was the reason I asked the server about it and how I learned my gut was right--German beer made in northern China--so to speak.

So Friday and Saturday, fifteen hours of class after which Saturday night I left for Raleigh where my niece, Kristi, and my nephew, Kyle, picked me up in Kyle's zippy detailed Camero. Back then to my sister Cindy's home. She and Tommy were not back yet so Kyle and Kristi made me comfortable while I put them both into hysterics with a mis-speak related to drinking tea. There was other stuff, too. But have you ever tried to explain what was funny? Or even tried to remember how it all began--or ended? I've tried. Never can.

Sunday and Monday hung out with an ever-changing array of family--depending on who was working and who was not, who had a cold and who did not, and who was sleeping and who was not. The time just slipped by, including in it a wonderful three hour tutorial by my dear nephew Kyle on the hows and whys of my new iPhone which by the time we were done I could actually use for phoning, texting, emailing, going on FaceBook, checking the weather, and talking with my new acquaintance, Siri. 

To count all who were there I would have to consider my sister and her husband, their four children, and their children's spouses and girlfriends. (Tried to fix Kyle up with Jen but it hasn't happened yet. Maybe this week he'll trail on over and talk with her again . . . just casually.)

Well, I'm home now--feeling loved and pampered. Happy it all turned out well and finally feeling rested. The Monday flight touched down at 12:20 a.m. Late. Not exactly as planned given my morning wakeup time is 5:50.

There's more. But I will save it for next time.

Roberta in Po-Town, Happy to have had this chance to chat with you

Does publishing ever slow down? The last few days the pace has been relentless. Because I am on break from school, I've been trying to catch up on my work with ALVA. The result: No real breather since Friday.

Friday night, Alyssa Schaad, who does website and digital design for ALVA Press, my company, joined me in a two and half hour run--each way--to Cherry Valley to hear eLit Gold Medalist in Poetry, Kristen Henderson, read from her winning book of poems, Drum Machine. About forty people turned out, most of them writers and artists. Cherry Branch Gallery rocked with the enthusiasm of a gala, first all hushed and listening intently and then all up and bursting with congratulations. 

The buzz of excitement continued to roll and we spilled over into neighborhood eateries. Our bunch hit a wonderful Mexican restaurant with food that was truly gourmet. I had duck. Hmm-mm. My favorite! And cooked to a turn.

Then over the weekend I put up ALVA's newsletter and the New Title Forms for Carl Waldman's ebook, Streetscape: A Jake Soho Mystery and Lorna Tychostup's Tales from the Revolution. However both the newsletter and the new title forms were afflicted by severe glitches that cost me hours in trial and error effort. Thankfully, however, eventually all were posted.

Hung up on the notion that ALVA really needs to be more out there, I decided that ALVA needed a contest that would call attention to ALVA's extensive editing and publication services. So come Monday Alyssa and I, with input from some of the potential judges, hammered out some contest guidelines and put them up on the ALVA Website. But as my life--and ALVA's--remain a work in progress, this morning I used the criticism of others to guide me in improving the site's announcement of the ALVA Green Tomatoes Novelist Runoff after which I spent the rest of the day putting links to it up on the web.

But today is Tuesday and mid-afternoon, Waldman's Streetscape in ePub and ePDF forms came in for final approval--read them and sent back word to the designers of just how beautiful they both are followed by a question as to what is happening with Lorna Tychostup's Tales from the Revolution.

But enuff is enuff!

Tomorrow my son and grandsons will be back from the New Jersey shore and I will make the switch back to greater normalcy, preparing lunch and bringing afternoon coffee to my son at Gallery Ottaviani and trying not to be distracted by the thought of Lorna's and Carl's eBooks going up or of checking the ALVA email for manuscript submissions for the ALVA Green Tomatoes Novelist Contest. Hopefully the weather will help my transition back to the real world since as for these four days, all I have done is spelled A-L-V-A.

Roberta in Po-town, Having a wonderful time!

July Fourth just past and only now getting to blog a bit. Progress on every side--just almost no free time. Kristen Henderson's eLit Awards gold medalist book of poems, Drum Machine, is now available in paperback as well as eBook forms. Just that for now, if you'd like a copy, you would have to request it by email through the ALVA site contact page. However, come Monday, Alyssa will list it with the other books that can be ordered on ALVA's buy now page.

Carl Waldman's enchanting mystery Streetscape: A Jake Soho Mystery will be released July 15 as an eBook with ALVA and if all goes as planned, Lorna Tychostup's Tales from the Revolution.

And as for me, I'm looking toward a bit of a lull with only Charles Van Heck's marvelously human and extensively researched historical novel, Mr. Lincoln's Elephant Boy still in the contract completion process while the other several writers with whom I am working being either on vacation or back at the drawing boards.

Meantime the whir of a rage continues both online and in reality. Authors struggle to determine should they 'sell' free and starve as they in this way serve to somewhat glut the market. And then, to only further complicate the glut many are self publishing their works minus and Digital Rights Management (DRM). This in turn permits readers to pass their copyright protected books along on a 'free-free' basis as I call it.  The free-frees occur under the radar as readers fail to recall that somewhere some writer labored long and hard to get them the book in the first place and that hopefully that writer still holds the copyright. And if even if that copyright has been signed over to a publisher, that publisher then holds it. However, regardless, every reader is assured, someone does.

As for the summer, around us all along the East Coast and Southwest, the temperatures soar, fires rage, and everyone figures as best he or she can, a way to mitigate its effects--running to the mountains (where it is also hot), baking at the beach, hiding in the cellar, remaining locked in the A/C, or like too many, just toughing it through.

At Astor Home for Children where I work, summer school reopens next week for six weeks with typically shortened days. We finish at 2:00 instead of 3:00 as kids chomp at the bit looking toward a swim in the pool and in down times observe the progress on the completion of the new sleeping units being built to guarantee each child resident a room of his or her own. As such there will be no longer a necessity for any of the already severely emotionally challenged child residents to share space and keep personal belongings separate while also wading through the ups and downs of a roommates' behaviors and moods.

The major part of the Astor new units project  appeared to have been done by summer break. The roof was on and they were working on the interior and finishing a glassed-in sunroom of some kind. I believe the plan is for Astor Services for Children and Families to have its Rhinebeck, NY, residential placement for children's new units ready for habitation come September. Amazing the space and variety the relatively small campus offers in its various buildings for use by staff and children.

Meantime, my two weeks summer break draws to a close, its highlights being the pleasure of my twelve year old and eight year old grandsons spending time with me when possible and the kick of having passed the above publishing milestones. And tomorrow I shall head to Cherry Valley, NY, in a one day run for the opening of colorist Ed McDaniel's art show at Cherry Branch Gallery and the chance to spend some time with my pal Kristen Henderson and maybe chat a bit with Carl Waldman--if he makes it back in time. 

In the frying pan, a couple of projects: some research into noirs--which I would love some help with--including just possibly the chance to interview someone on the topic--maybe Carl Waldman-- and what started out as a request for an interview but has ended up in quickly becoming a hefty research assignment in which I struggle to determine who is Charley Pymell?

Meanwhile I continue with my lopsided life as it flops one way and the other among my publisher, speech language pathologist, writer, family member, and friend identities. Its parts dominate the scene for lengths of anywhere from an hour to a several weeks as I constantly struggle to move back the walls of the day only to find that anything more or other than 6:30 a.m. to 11:30 p.m. just won't work.

Roberta in Po-Town

 

 

Life at its current place leaves little time for blogging. Still I feel remiss when I neglect the task. These last months have been a whirlwind what with still juggling doing speech language therapy and running ALVA Press, Inc. The only thing that has saved me is the dedication of my staff and those writers ALVA serves.

Kristen Henderson's Drum Machine in soft cover should go to press next week. Carl Waldman's Streetscape, a mystery, may go to eBooking almost as soon. Lorna Tychostup's book of poetry, Tales from the Revolution, is to follow soon. In the development stage, I count two other novels actively being prepared for publication with ALVA. Each of the five in its own right wonderful.

But the big news is that Henderson's Drum Machine took a Gold Medal in Poetry in the eLit internationally representative awards run by Jenkins. Very exciting! We are all very proud of her!

And then there is the rest of my life. And the economy: Each morning I wake to an ever increasing awareness of its disparities. To salve my worry over it I tinker with the notion of another bumper sticker for my car: "Down with weapons, up with jobs."

Then I thought of this one: "Wake up both the 1% and the 99%: Require the income of every board member and employee in a company to be papered on the wall of the company's vestibule for all to read." Too long. Maybe just "Post the Incomes."Or how's this? "Ask Obama to Offer a Second WPA Executive Order." Well, maybe just: "Love Obama's WPA 2012" - - just to make it happen.

Oh, well. Just dreaming. Mustn't weaken.

I think today since I doubt I will find one that reads the way I want it to:"Ask Obama to Offer a Second WPA Executive Order," I guess I try for the minimal: "Raise the Minimum Wage."

Roberta in Po-Town,

 

 

Where do the month's fly? ALVA Press, Inc., gradually takes over my life. It consumes my weekends, my evenings, my holidays. President's week I must have put in eighty hours. Have I lost it completely? I think not. Only beginning to understand the wonderful but somewhat brutal world of publishing.Witness the knock-down drag-out debate about Amazon.com freebies and willingness to undersell anyone, even at a loss to the company as meantime it buys up all the best selling authors.

Meantime, authors feel caught the frey. But better some stars than no stars we figure. No we will not all make it as writers--try though as we may. However, oddly on first take, Amazon.com has come round--thanks to a major confrontation with the industry. Yes, back a bit Steve Jobs, in his imitatable way, came up with the answer. Yes, Amazon would go with the agency model in which the publisher sets the price and Amazon.com gets the traditional 30%, and agrees to no longer undersell the publisher. Whew! Well, whew for the minute at least.

What then is Amazon.com's next logical move? You guessed it. It goes into the publishing bursiness. Witness now the list of free books it offers--because it can--as it launches out on a new path to gobble up smaller publishing companies through its tactic of feeding the hungry masses free eBook after free eBook and by so doing it would seem, probably immediately--although probably not eventually--diminishing the demand for eBooks at reasonable prices--except at Amazon.com. 

What then can be my small contribution on behalf of writers? Truly only miniscule: other than for review and author interview and book advertising purposes, I do not solicit free eBooks. Nonetheless, as I launch the eBooks of other writers the question of to free-eBook-it or not remains.

So by the first week of March ALVA Press will make available its  first eBook written by someone other than myself. It is Kristen Henderson's marvelous book of passionate lyric poetry, Drum Machine. Tell me, should ALVA or should ALVA not distribute Drum Machine as an eBook free?

BTW: If you have not noticed, there is a small comment button below your link and any views on how I might handle the tricky to-free-eBook-or-not question would be most appreciated!

 As to my personal life, given the press of time spent on the company I find that more and more it revolves primarily around my son, his family, and those who share an interest in what I am doing and how I am progressing. 

But spring is coming and it is my plan to make a run to Saturday's opening at the Cherry Branch Gallery in Cherry Valley, NY; to participate in the Hudson Valley Sciontist's May 27 gathering at the Vassar College Alumni House for lunch and some delightful discussion with other lovers of Sherlock Holmes and words and literature in general; and to, hopefully, make a run north to Port Henry, NY, to visit with some very missed friends. And, to my delight, there are of course: my niece's sixteenth birthday bash; my grandson's participation in the New York State Music Festival, and the engagement shower for my nephew's bride-to-be. 

And this while all around and within our lives we celebrate the passing of a winter that for us here in the Hudson Valley has been kind and offers promise of a gentle fading into the warmer weather.

Roberta in Po-Town, Feelin' light

The New Year 2012 wandered in last night welcomed by a sense of renewed hope. The weather has been incredibly pleasant for the turn of the year. Business and the economy seem better while news of new climatic and seismic disasters has been minimal. Should we go on tiptoe? I think not. Best we move while the moving is good and take advantage of the time and energy we have to renew friendships, mend walls, and generally make the most of it without going over board.

Wednesday we celebrated my cousin Betty Hampel's 84th birthday. In the past two year she's published two books: Mirror Image and Gumshoe. (What had happened was that when I published Jolt: a rural noir, Betty remembered she had five unpublished novels stuck somewhere in the closet, so she pulled out those two and tells me she has a third due out soon. Can't beat that!)

And then today we celebrated my paternal aunt, Marie Sicolo's, 88th! A good time was had by all.

What a wonderful feeling it must be to have gathered around you not only your three daughters and son and their various spouses, but also their children, and their children's children--Marie's great grandchildren! Happy Birthday Marie! And Happy New Year also to you.

I feel a bit remiss to have neglected this blog recently, however I have been blogging. If you are on my or the Alva Press Mailing list, you should be getting updates as to where you can read me in any particular week as I alternate my efforts among this one and the ones to be found on Alva Press, Inc., robertamroyonnuclearsurvival, and Mutterings of Alva the Indie at robertamroy.wordpress.com.

Yes, I do not forget you. It's just that I am something of a peripetic when it comes to writing to you. So do check out the links to all my blogs by going to en.gravatar.com/robertamroy and tag along with me wherever I go. I just ove your company.

Roberta in Po-Town, Wishing you a happy New Year 2012 filled with health, hope, and happiness!

 

This is not the first time I take issue with the Urban Dictionary. Also it's not the first time I find it has usurped, gutted, chewed up, and spat out a perfectly clear and workable term good for all ages and turned it into a booby trap for anyone such as myself, too busy to worry much about staying hep. (Checked hep in the UD and here in the East it still means stylish or cool. Whew!)

Turkeyed out, however, has been less lucky than hep. So let me explain to my readers who: 1. Never heard the expression. 2. Never had an American Thanksgiving turkey dinner. 3. Immediately apply the Urban Dictionary definition to turkeyed out--and to which the implication has been added that anyone who is turkeyed out is also a bit crazy and at any moment likely to do something grumpy or wild. Not so in my book. Not if one goes to the meaning of turkeyed out we knew as we grew up and as we still use it within the family.

Nope, turkeyed out meant that at Thursday's Thanksgiving dinner one had eaten turkey from a plate filled with anything from potatoes to stuffing to turnips to whatever suited your preference, smothered in turkey gravy. 

Thanksgiving evening, Dad would again dance out the turkey rack and there would be the turkey sandwiches. These could be hot with turkey gravy poured over them or cold with turkey, stuffing, and cold turkey gravy or cranberry sauce in them.

Friday lunch would slip by with hardly a ripple as everyone would still be filled from the previous day and Dad's fresh morning muffins. Maybe a piece of left over pumpkin or apple pie would do. And coffee. But by dinner hour everyone was starving so again, out came the turkey and assorted left overs.

Each family had their own way of reheating things. Some steamed them. Some baked them. In my family, my father would drag out two big frying pans. In one pan he would arrange one food so as to cradle another. That pan he'd fill with left-over mashed potatoes beside left over turnips and carrots  beside left-over sweet potatoes beside left-over potatoes. The second he would line with slices of the turkey pan-stuffing to be warmed in a shallow bed of water until it was all steamed and hot. The left over turkey by then was off the bone and sliced and he warmed that in the remaining turkey gravy. Then would be the traditional debate as to which was tastier--the left overs or the original meal. Most preferred the leftovers but regardless of our preference on that issue, we would cleaned up just about everything in sight.

Well, not quite everything.

After dinner, my dad would take the turkey rack, throw it in a large pot of water, and boil it until the meat fell off the bones, after which he would scoop out the rack and turkey meat, carefully remove any bones he found there, cut the turkey into small pieces, re-enter it in the broth, and once more bring it to a boil. Then he would add onions, carrot wheels, celery cuts, and rice or noodles. Et voila! The largest, most delicious pot of turkey soup to be found anywhere. In sum--Saturday's lunch.

Ah, but I forgot to tell you. It seems there had been a bit of sliced turkey he had not served. Not to worry. All my dad did was to prepare some cream sauce with a few pimentos that had been cut into small pieces for color and throw them into the sauce with the turkey cuts. This then took care of Saturday dinner. . . which could be done in two ways. The first was to toast some bread and pour the creamed turkey and pimentos over it. The second was pour the same mixture over baking powder biscuits.

As for Sunday, it was up for grabs. Either we were on our own, could rustle up salads, or help ourselves to a large bowl of turkey soup to be eaten with bread and butter that, being at home, we could just dunk into the broth in order to achieve the most luscious and delicious bite of broth-laden bread and butter one could imagine.

Later, when we lay back on the couch, sated and unable to move due to the amount of turkey and turkey products we had consumed over the previous four days, no one jumped nor acted crazy or grumped about anything. We couldn't. Indeed, we were turkeyed out.

Roberta in Po-Town, Gobble-gobble

P. S. Sometimes I think the Urban Dictionary is all just a bunch of gobble-gook.

My middle grandson is a beautiful boy. He's almost eleven, has yet to learn to talk, takes only sparing interest in socializing, and needs one hundred per cent attention of his caregiver if he is to sit at a table, eat and drink in a balanced way, and utilize his just emerging communication skills. So the way the family has worked it out is that he and his mom and his other grandmother and grandfather first share an early Thanksgiving dinner with him around midday to which he goes with his mom.

Later he and his mom and his maternal grandparents will join us for a second Thanksgiving dinner which his dad and I with the support of my two other grandsons will have prepared for the family.  At that dinner, my most special grandson will sit for a little while and with one hundred per cent attention for him at that time not possible, he will eat a bit and return to his favorite activity--wandering, With his portable CD player in hand and watching a favorite movie or show for the hundredth time, healthy and happy, and just occasionally, only mildly interested in socializing with the rest of us, he will wander the house to periodically come briefly into the room to look around for a few seconds before returning to his wandering movie-viewing.

I guess all family's have someone with special needs. We have my middle grandson.

The second dinner we prepare in stages. Last night it was hors d'oeurves, stuffing, and vegetable-preparation time. My son and seven-year-old and eleven-year-old grandsons and I did that. It took us four hours to: cut the and cook the turnips and carrots; prepare the creamed spinach with hard-boiled eggs; peel and cut the potatoes; mix the cream cheese and olives and cut and stuff the celery; and cook the sausage and crush the walnuts to prepare the stuffing for finishing today. My son did the stuffing, handled the turnip cutting, and ran general interference in the search for the proper pan or bowl. My oldest grandson stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me cutting and doing stove-top boiling of turnips and carrots and mixing the cream sauce. My youngest grandson peeled the potatoes and his middle finger lightly once. All-in-all it was a wonderful time, the results of which will make us all proud come five o'clock.

As for today, we bake the stuffing, pies, and turkey, make the gravy, boil the potatoes, and sit to eat at five o'clock.

My daughter-in-law is does what I call the decor: Last night she put up the Christmas tree. It took her four hours, but you should see it. It's a real balsam with perfect shape, hundreds of tiny white lights, and a long history of special decorations. Today it will add just the perfect touch. And whew, it's done!

Today my daughter-in-law will do the table settings. I always look forward to them. Each year they become if anything, just more beautiful. Ropes of gold leaves, a bowl of sparkling flowers--one never knows--but we all look forward to them.

Well, I have to go now. I usually help with the timing for cooking, you know--what goes on when--what comes out or off when. However each year I have less to do as my grandsons grow and the team becomes more experienced and communication requires less an less lengthy explanation. That said, Thanksgiving remains my favorite holiday.

Wishing you  a Happy Thanksgiving filled with good food and happy comaradie! 

Roberta in Po-Town, Cookin'

 

Sometimes I hurry to blog a bit of news or a fresh insight on an aspect of life. Other times such as now, I blog to blog. It's a bit like fishing. My thoughts float around over an apparently placid surface of life. I cast my line outward and wait for something to grab me.

It doesn't worry me that I haven't a clue as to where the line will lead me. I simply cast and wait. Let's see. The season? After all it is Thanksgiving week. Or how about work? Seems a bit of a downer just before a holiday. Or maybe politics? I can always kick up something there. Oh. I think I got one! Outliers! I love'em.

To tell you the truth, while some might judge me to be an outlier, I hardly touch to skirt of either being or becoming one. Michaelangelo and Steve Jobs were outliers. And Emily Dickenson. And Lucretia Mott. And maybe those who participate in the Occupy Movement. 

Why? Well, Steve Jobs was extreme in that he changed all our lives. Recall the days before the desktop with graphic interface and mouse? Can you imagine life without a mobile phone? Or the iPod? Or iTunes? Or even the iPad? Perhaps you are one who has never known life without these things--things we now almost take for granted. Well, we can thank Steve Jobs for all of them. Difficult to believe. But, yup. That's an outlier for you.

Then there is Emily. Sat around in that big old house associating only with a very small circle of friends and family and writing those itty-bitty crooked poems that resonated in so many hearts we still read her and wonder what makes her work so great--until we try to produce something in her style, and, well, it just ain't so easy.

And that's part of what makes Emily the outlier that she is and what makes her special. But then even if you don't like her work, you have to admire her fortitude and ability to hang in there as a small but irrepressible voice of a woman--when women were only just learning to read and write, so to speak, and male literature dominated the day.

Or Lucretia Mott: Quaker, Abolitionist, Feminist--in a time when being any one of the three might have made one an outlier But there she was, sitting in a Quaker school in upstate New York in good ole' Po-Town and advocating for the rights of slaves and women all in one breath--just another outlier.

Gotta' appreciate the steel Mott must have needed to stand up to the world and speak out when so few were. Yup. Makes me feel grateful just to know she was there to cut the path--and, as it was, just down the road a bit at Oakwood School in Poughkeepsie.

And now we have the Occupiers--outliers. Outliers all. But are they really? Or are they central to our culture? Maybe even more so than you or I? Maybe like Jobs and Dickenson and Mott with the difference between us and them mainly in just two areas: insight and leadership. 

Consider this. Leonardo DaVinci invented some flying machines--well, he drew some plans for some which, when one thinks about what constitutes a patent, is essentially inventing. He just never quite got around to building them. I suppose DaVinci was an outlier of sorts, even with flying machines, but not the kind of actualizer-outlier I'm thinking about when it came to them.

Now Jobs could have done the same as DaVinci with his notion of the desktop. And the mouse. Or, like DaVinci, he could have drawn the plans for an iPod and a mobile phone and made clay models of them and let it go at that. And then just maybe someone might have come along in the same way as did the French when they invaded Italy in 1498. You see, DaVinci had built a clay model of the 24 foot horse which when they invaded, the French destroyed; this then left Il Cavallo to not be cast before some 500 years passed and an art afficiado and outlier named Charlie Den started a dream fund that eventually enlisted the Tallix Art Foundry in Beacon, New York, to cast the horse--at a cost of $6.5 million--all in private donations--to be sent in 1999 as a gift to Milan, Italy, where it still stands. Except if Jobs had done that, we can't be sure anyone else in our lifetimes would have quite been up to the tasks he took on and we could all still be typing letters and using snailmail for our prime method of overland written communication.

The term outlier, is a funny term. You can use it as a perjorative or as a simple descriptor. For me, I like it as a descriptor. I not only find the term interesting, I also have a penchant for the outliers who change the world for the better. And as it turns out, I'm even happy to learn of those with little success who at least do more than talk to themselves in closets and who maybe knock at least a few particles this way or that for the better. At least they have dared to come out to talk to the world--even at the risk of ridicule and derision--as do the Occupiers.

Now if I were looking for some funny people, I wouldn't lift the flaps of the tents of those who participate in the Occupy Movement. Nope. I'd march myself right on down to D.C. and stop in and visit all those Representatives and Senators in Congress wallowing in a kind of ridiculous collusion with the rich whom to begin with the wimps are all just second-guessing as being among the most miserly people in the world and on whose behalf that same wimpy group in Congress would willingly starve 46.2 million people in the nation--Wikipedia statistic for number in the USA below poverty line in 2010--before they'd cut the military or raise the taxes on the top 1%--the same 1% who among them hold a third of the wealth in the country and probably, as such, wouldn't feel it at all if their taxes were increased even to levels levied in the 1970's--before the Bush-Reagan rich-mix tax cut flurry. 

As for me, I'm standing with the Outliers--Jobs, Dickenson, Mott, Charlie Den, and the Occupiers. Their hearts are in the right place and each has demonstrated the importance of creative, responsive, and caring leadership.

As for us? Where are we? Perhaps we feel too uninformed to make a statement? Or maybe we should wait for someone to pick up the pieces and build a better mousetrap when we're dead? Or are we talking to our neighbors? Writing to our Congressmen?

And me--I'm already thinking of 2012 and the fact that its an election year. And I've registered to vote. You, too?

Roberta in Po-Town, Wishing us a sanerThanksgiving 2012

 

With Hurricane Irene and Snow Leaf II behind us, it has become a truly wonderful fall--bright, clear, and relatively colorful. Love the weather! (No to mention the fact that my responsibilities as an SLP promise to be more readily achievable than they have been since starting a new caseload in September.)

Politically, it's an interesting time. Politics rather than disasters and war have become the topic of the day: the IMF, Greek elections, the economy in Italy, how Pakistan should best respond to the American draw down in Afghanistan.

Also local politics are interesting. Our city has changed hats as the Council went overwhelmingly Democratic. At the county level, however, there was a change in County Executive but no change in party. We went with the more experienced Republican on the ballot.

Meantime the Republican candidates for president are bent on knocking President Obama in his strong suit, foreign policy. That's probably because they really lack the answers to what currently is the larger question--the economy.

Well, you know where my vote is going come next November.

As for Alva Press, Inc., I am seeking a way to dedicate more time to developing it--not easy when one must work for a living. It sure would help if I were to find a really good PR person to help me out five hours a week--at top dollar, that is all I can afford. 

Big hurray! Kristen Henderson likes Alva Press's contract. Next week we'll meet over dinner in Roessleville to review and sign our agreement so Alva can publish her book of glorious poetry come the new year.

Roessleville is about half way to Cherry Valley where Henderson runs the Cherry Branch Gallery from Poughkeepsie, NY, where I live.

My take on Kristen's book, Drum Machine, is that it will take many awards! Already the poet, musician, and published author, Carl Waldman, www.goodreads.com/author/show/106099.Carl_Waldman, has written an insightful and enthusiastic introduction to it. Thank you, Carl!

As for my writing, I've decided to set aside Too Close for a while and try something lighter, a historical novel which I will call Two. Two is the story of a feminist activist in the 1970's as she advocates for the rights of women and minorities and struggles to balance her relationships with her daughter and husband with the demands of her need for a full time activist commitment outside the home. Based freely on some of my own experiences in The Movement--which at that time we called The Feminist Movement but which now is referred to as The Second Wave--it flows from my pen much more easily and, for that reason, is more fun to write. Just now, however, I had to put down the pen to research actual dates and events in that decade and its antecedents from the '60's, about which I am less informed.

BTW. Could I ask you a favor? If you get chance, do check in on GoodReads.com. It's a really nice free informational source on books to read and readers' opinions of them. And while you are there, do add another five-star critique or comment about my award winning novel, Jolt: a rural noir. 

Sales of Jolt: a rural noir, now available from http://alvapressinc.com in eBook as well as traditional form since I lost my PR person are lagging. But as word of mouth is a great healer and Alva Press needs a little boost that you could give it, I'm optimistic that this will not last long.

Yes, nothing beats the personal recommendation of someone you care about and respect.

I wrote Jolt: a rural noir because I care about you. Please care about me. Do sign onto GoodReads.com at www.goodreads.com/book/show/9076551-jolt and give Jolt a five-star plug. It sure would help!

Also, if you have not ordered your Trade paperback, hard cover, or eBook copy of Jolt: a rural noir, you can do it now. Just click the link for Alva Press, Inc. above.

Roberta in Po-Town, On waking

I'll be brief. It's time for bed. Still, there is time enough to say hello. No, I have not slipped from this mortal coil. I am alive and well. And publishing!

July slipped into August and now August into September and only now I raise my head to view the world again. The effort has been relentless and either I am on a steep learning curve or have become a slow learner. When not at Astor doing therapy or participating in brief visits with my son, grandsons, and sisters, I have been involved in publishing for Alva. Since June Alva has leapt forward: a small copying arm of the company has been initiated. The website has been totally redesigned--twice--once by a professional service and once by a digital designer with whom I have contracted.

Hurricane Irene, downgraded to a Tropical Storm has been through. The Alva  main computer has crashed--and been resurrected. We have learned to publish eBooks in ePub and Mobi formats so they can be used on almost all eReaders including Nook and Kindle. I have learned to accept and email large files and to transfer files to Nook and Kindle. Alva has completed her first major PR campaign with letters and follow-up emails to a couple of thousand contacts across the North American continent. WKNY in Kingston, New York, had me over for an interview on 'The Morning Show' with Warren Lawrence. It was fun. Warren asked good questions and invited me back to talk about Yell'n'Tell when it is released. That's the book I wrote for children in the primary grades. It's the story of a child who is secretly bullied by a friend and what he does about it.

And now as the Tenth Anniversary of 9/11 approaches, Alva hopes that people will take note Jolt: a rural noir, written to commemorate the impact of 9/11 and all we have learned about effective community response since then. Meantime, as the clock ticks toward midnight, I'd better close.

Tomorrow is another day.

Roberta in Po-Town, Takin' a breather 

 

Do I shoot myself in the foot when I write on three time dated blogs? Because I blog here and on alvapressinc.com as well as alvapressinc.com/robertamroyonnuclearsurvival, when readers note the dates on any given blog, am I perceived as a less than dedicated writer? Does my involvement in more than one blog suggest that I am fickle? -- Decisive, yes. Fickle, no. Just more interested in communicating seriously on three strands in my life. But definitely dedicated.

And will it further complicate the picture when my author publisher's blog moves to Alva's new site, ealvaink.com from which Alva's eBooks will be distributed?

Well, whatever the reader's take--I rarely hear from more than one or two of the hundreds--it ain't a gonna' change--except of course if there is some kind of an unanticipated outcry in response to this post.

So why do I list rhetorical questions, knowing that they remain for the most part for me to answer? Well, it seems I write not only to clarify my thinking but to help you the reader understand the rationale behind my blogging style and any apparent lack of commitment I make to a given blog.

Thie triforcated approach is comfortable for me and its appropriateness supported by visitor stats and the limited direct reader responses to date. As such, I believe the reader who prefers following this blog is more likely to feel a kinship with me the person as I know some are relatives. And some are old friends. For instance, it was because of the complaint of a lifelong friend about my use of colors in the earlier version of this blog that I changed them to these current, sharper-contrast hues. 

My friend's complaint was that her husband could not read the writing with the former palette as he is somewhat color blind. I changed them to these and they worked for him, which, BTW, I like better anyway. So thank you dear friend in CA! 

And I suppose not everyone wants to follow the throes of a publisher author and her company Alva Press or its developing subsidiary eAlvaInk. Just as I would guess that half the world is genuinely less than interested in discussing survival--particularly the nuclear kind. Yet hundreds are and as it turns out, while publishing draws a steady readership, nuclear survival draws significantly more. Which reminds me: I need to spread the word about eAlvaInk's soon to be released eBook form of Jolt: a rural noir on the http://alvapressinc.com/robertamroyonnuclearsurvival website/blog!

So there you have it: If you are interested in reading new blogposts from me on a weekly basis, you will need to follow the three:

http://alvapressinc.com -Author Publisher Blog
http://alvapressinc.com/robertamroy - Personal/Political Blog
http://alvapressinc.com/robertamroyonnuclearsurvival - Nuclear/General Health and Survival Blog

Or perhaps you are happy to just check in once a month on one of the above blogs you find of interest. Whatever suits your fancy, just remember you are always welcome.

Also, would you e so kind as to click the comment button and say hello or comment once in a while? On the survival blog can sign the guestbook found on the extreme upper right of the page. For the other sites, the comment button is below each related blog entry. 

As the comment buttons are easy to miss, please look for it. And do drop me a line sometimes. It would be so nice to get to know you better!

Roberta in Po-Town, Happy to chat

The first time someone called me an 'author', I did a double take. Then with blogging and the Alva site expansion, the appellation 'author publisher' at first sat a little oddly. Now with eAlvaInk, the singular reference 'publisher' makes me feel like a little girl wearing her mom's high heels. Very sexy. Very exciting. And very complex.

I like building a company. Especially my own dear Alva Press, Inc. or 'Alva' as I fondly refer to it.

Recently the cadre of cohorts dedicated to Alva's growth through eAlvaInk has mushroomed with the addition of a designer, a public relations person, and some support staff to help with mailings and paperwork. And this weekend I roped my son, Stef, into it being in charge of electronic purchasing and associated scanning, copying, and printing. He's really good with all things electronic as well as things like cover design.

These changes follow close on the heels of Alva acquiring a business phone/fax with a super easy to remember number: (845) 454-5200.

Who knows where it will end?

And what's next?

Well, in the short term, Alva will publish Jolt: a rural noir as an eBook through eAlvaInk to be distributed through Alva's website. Also Alva will contract with outlets like Barnes and Noble, Amazon.com, and Apple for uploading through Nook, Kindle, and eReader. Naturally Alva will also use the largest eBook aggregator of them all to get Jolt: a rural noir out to the reading public: Smashwords.

Following that, the game plan is for Alva to also ePublish Roy's children's book, Yell'n'Tell. And, although it is not possible on all tablets and readers, of particular interest to Roy is the potential for its distribution through Kindle as an audiobook.

And while all this is happening, Alva actively solicits books by other writers interested in eBooking through eAlvaInk.

Is it any wonder it is a month since I blogged here?

Nonetheless, I have added an excerpt from Lily White Lies by Kathy Reinhard to the Alva PressVisiting Writers page. And the invitation to other writers to submit excerpts from published works and a brief bio for inclusion there, too, stands. (Guidelines are 150 word excerpt, 25 word bio with link.)

And I do try to keep up with Alva's Author Publisher blog.

So do come over to http://alvapressinc.com as Alva would love you to just read and browse there.

You know how Alva is--just loves to entertain.

Roberta in Po-Town, at eAlvaInk

Oddly and unexpectedly I found the ninety minute filmed tour of the quarter of a mile of pristine Chauvet Cave in southern France, Cave of Forgotten Dreams, particularly moving. What struck me was how the speaker, speleologist Jean-Marie Chauvet, was able to discuss the art and the life behind the art and very skillfully to tie it to the situation in the world today, where evolution continues to move life in paths not always most promising.

Among the ups and downs of life, Chauvet noted that while humans in the Paleolithic period painted and played small flutes, there is no evidence that the Cro Magnons who inhabited the earth for a time concurrently, did either. But of greatest interest to me was his speculations as to the thinking of the people who visited this cave some 32,000 years ago. Given that the venus figure found there morphed from human lower body to animal head and that an apparent alter with the skull of an animal place careful facing out upon it he was able to infer several likelihoods.

Chauvet’s inferences included what he referred to as the concepts of  permeability and permanence. By permeability I understood him to mean that the cave people viewed life as a continuum without clear demarcations among the concepts of man, animal, and nature. That said, it suggested a sense of early spirituality wherein it was natural to build an alter, albeit adorned by the skull of an animal, and thereafter to light small deferences of incense about it. This had been suggested by the evidence of small sites about the alter that appeared to be where incense might have been burned.

But the idea of permanence seemed to me, a speech language pathologist, of even greater significance as in human development it is a later developing concept. Once one has the concept of permanence one is able to speak of now, then, and the future. One can experience more sense of responsibility for things now, a sense of regret for things past, and, perhaps most importantly, a sense of tomorrow.

Further, it is because of our sense of permanence that we can learn from our mistakes, enjoy today, and plan for tomorrow. In a sense our own personal ability to evolve into wiser, more responsible, and better informed persons would not occur with our strong sense of permanence. As such we can imagine the cave dwellers of 32,000 years ago picking up a charred stick to draw on the cave wall what he or she saw that morning in order to help the group to plan for the afternoon’s hunt or the cave’s defense.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams ended however on a rather wrenching note. Twenty miles from its site is situated the largest nuclear power plant in France. Its warmed waters leach from and back into the river on which banks it sits. Not far from the plant, an enormous greenhouse sits, warmed and irrigated by the steam from the nuclear power plant. Into this environment alligators have been introduced and thrive there. Large and fertile they reproduce with ease, their offspring totally white mutants, just one more step in the evolutionary chain, this time however possibly prompted by not only the warmed atmosphere of the nuclear power plants steam, but also by its radioactive elements.

Roberta in Po-Town, Words Fail Me

With my personal life so overtaken by my deeper sallie into publishing, I find my personal life becomes more and more the subject of my writer publisher's blog at http://alvapressinc.com Also, time becomes more and more of the essence as it becomes more and more challenging to just sit down and think about me without considering Alva Press. Which brings me around to a concept I came across in my rereading of Why We Make Mistakes by Joseph T. Hallinan. Love that book!

Apparently after ten or so years of study on the causes of happiness, Hallinan tells how a man named David Schkade and some of his colleagues concluded that not money but time is the currency of life. So happiness is not found in what one does, but how one spends ones time.

I can go with that. Hallinan suggests that much of being happy has to do with being in sync with the life and times of those around you. So, for starters, he suggests that if one moves from New York to Texas, one can be happier if instead of looking for bagels one learns to love the rodeo. And I can see that. Which is why I have never been a tourist. At least not from my point of view.

Sure, I lived in Paris for three months, Heidleberg for three months, Italy for three months. And yes I studied in Granada, Spain, a few weeks here and there. And worked in Virginia for a year. And North Carolina for three months. But note: no place do I mention the word visited. It's not my style. I live--acclimate. Which is one of the reasons I guess I am usually pretty happy. And I not only like change, I adapt to it--even thrive on it. That, and doing my thing.

Currently my own thing comes in three categories: work (to earn what it takes to do what I really want to do more), publishing (which I find really both challenging and interesting), and spending time with my family (especially my eleven and seven year old grandsons).

(Notice how I adapt--I mean certainly if I had the means I'd quit work tomorrow, spend time with my grandsons five times a week, travel a bit and muddle around in publishing much more than I do.)

Yes, and I would definitely throw in some extended times in North Country, North Carolina, and maybe next time around, Porto Rico--which I prefer spelled Puerto Rico.

Nonetheless I'm fine. Just spending the currency of life the best I can to keep me and my family safe and happy.

Roberta in Po-Town, Thinkin' toward June break