cindy capitani's Open Salon Blog

Can you write a novel in 30 days?

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 12:11:05 -0500

Well, you actually have less than 30 days now. National Novel Writing Month started Nov. 1 and the goal is to complete a book – a short one, just 50,000 words – by Nov. 30. Hey, if you jump in now, that’s only 2,500 words a day.

I’m participating, though it was quite accidental. I woke up Nov. 2, 6 a.m. my time, the clocks falling back on my side. It was a tiny bit light out and I decided today is the day I will become a novelist.

I crawled from my bed to the comfy chair that serves as my office and started hitting keys without pause. I was told recently that I type quite loud and can rouse people from deep sleep and happy dreams. I think I was referred to as a mad typist or a jackhammer, probably both.

Anyway. My internal critic was still asleep so it wasn’t until many hours later that I was reminded this wasn’t the first time I woke up and started writing a book. I could write a book of beginnings. Novel beginnings. False starts. Perhaps I should.

Then I saw it was National Novel Writing Month – NaNoWrMo, the most ridiculous acronym ever – and I knew it was meant to be. Perhaps not meant to be published. But meant to be finished. NaNoWrMo gave me a goal and a deadline. I thrive on deadlines.

The thought behind the concept is to just write with abandon and edit later. They’re right. I made the near-fatal mistake of a re-read and leaned on the delete key sobbing, knowing for certain I wasn’t qualified to write even a simple grocery list.

Later, I re-wrote almost exactly what I wrote the first time. Then I pondered the opening; too weak, won’t draw readers in. Then my inner critic chimed in: readers? What readers? C’mon now. Supply and demand. The last thing the world needs is more writers.

Ugh. Really. Writing a book is an absurd undertaking that will bring out multiple personalities and undoubtedly will cause you to question your sanity. You will talk to yourself and your cat. Your significant other will hate you because you will refuse to discuss the topic or let him read even a single word until it’s done and doesn’t suck.

And your inner critic will remind you there are no empty space on bookshelves and no one reads books anymore anyway. Clean the bathroom, bake a pie, feed the homeless, teach someone to read. Do something useful!

But I’ll write this book anyway because I have a deadline, and I’m an official NaNo-whatever participant. It’s official and I have a deadline. I’m locked in to a commitment.

I’ll let you know how it turns out and progresses. But don’t ask me what it’s about.

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Have you hugged a journalist today? It’s Newspaper Week!

Mon, 5 Oct 2009 17:10:37 -0400

So yes, you should find the nearest journalist and give her a great big bear hug and say “thanks for fighting the good fight.” And then go out and buy a newspaper – one of those harbingers of aged news still sold in every convenience store.

C’mon now. Thank a journo, buy a paper. Just for this week. Then you can go back to simultaneously ignoring and bashing us.

Curious thing about the print product. Yes, sometimes it’s just yesterday’s news. But without the people behind it, there couldn’t be that breaking blog, whose author, more often than not, got the info from a newspaper website.

Yeah. We’re doing this all wrong, we newspapers. Giving the milk away and all that. But we’ll figure it out.

An even more curious thing about the print product: it makes all the money! The survival of journalism -- so far -- depends on print advertising for its revenue stream; web ads don’t even cover the cost of maintaining an oft-updated, interactive multimedia site. And that’s what the public demands: hourly updates, interactivity and multimedia, all the time, without pause.

Give the people what they want; it’s the journalist’s way. That’s all journalists want – all media wants to deliver – what the people want. Give the people what they want in the format they desire.

Perhaps it’s too much of “give them what they want” and that’s the explanation for dancing and singing reality TV, and articles about celebrities and addiction and politicians who are sexually naughty.

People blame the media. But we’re just trying to please. And sell papers, which ups our numbers and gets us more advertising, so we can keep our websites afloat … yes, it’s come to that, us wanting to keep our websites afloat for you. Our websites are popular. And we so love being loved, even when we’re hated.

We know you don’t really want the printed edition, except on the subway, where 8 out of 10 people reading have an actual old-school newspaper in their hands... go figure.

We are a business after all, not at all like the media in Europe, where journalism is a nonprofit that stands in line for government handouts. We’re not NPR, brilliant as it is, tripping over itself for sponsors.

Absence of brilliance or not, we newspapers in the U.S. don’t have to cater to our sponsors, the reporters rehashing long monotone statements about the supposed glory of Chase Bank. There's an advertising-editorial line that daily newspapers have not crossed, a thick line that's still honored.

Perhaps there’s a place for nonprofit newspapers in the United States. Perhaps paid news reporters, passionate bloggers, citizen journalists and council meeting crazies can intersect at the crossroads of information dissemination, and profitability won’t matter. I think we can all get along, can share … but it’s the money card that trips me.

But for now, just for this week – National Newspaper Week – put aside the vitriol -- and indifference -- and hug a journalist. And buy a paper. And I’ll stop thinking about the money card and print versus web, and giving you what you want versus what you need.

I know if you’re reading this – and have read this far – it’s because you’re a reader more so than a reality TV watcher. Though I suppose newspapers are at times a readers' form of reality television …

100 things you don’t know about women

Tue, 8 Sep 2009 12:09:44 -0400

Esquire magazine is rather brilliant and I make it a point to not only subscribe, but get its e-newletters and Tweets. (And they get my Tweets, which really makes me feel rather cool.)

My subscription to Esquire has puzzled some people, because it is, after all, a magazine for men about women. Ironically, it was because of the Girl Scouts that I ended up subscribing. One of my nieces was pedaling magazines and I was so done with Glamour, Cosmo and Redbook, already got Self, Rachel Ray and Inc., that what else was left?

Men’s mags. It’s good. Subscribe. You won’t be disappointed.

Today’s e-news was 75 things you don’t know about women. Who doesn’t want to know that? Even I want to know what I don’t know about me and my kind! Yes, it’s a bunch of blurbs uttered by beautiful women. But most of them are quite true.

There are none I take issue with, though one or two contradicts the other. But being contradictory is part of being a woman. So is being argumentative and right. So naturally I realized a few things were left out. Really just two or three or four. But to round it off, I made it 25. So here are 25 more things, on top of Esquire’s 75, that you don’t know about women.

1. We need to be the center of attention, in a subtle way.

2. Never point out a grooming mishap – a stray hair, chipped polish, a wrinkled shirt. We’ll dwell on it and probably take it out on you in some passive-aggressive way.

3. You can never say “I love you” too much.

4. If you praise our cooking, we’ll be tickled and cook for you some more, even if we’re the type who hates domestic tasks, even if we pretend not to care.

5. We don’t sheet rock, spackle or fix leaks, but we’re glad you do.

6. Don’t try to teach us how to change a flat, change the oil or jumpstart our car. If we know, we know and don’t want to talk about it. If we don’t, it’s because we choose not to and have AAA (and you).

7. Be interested in movies that don’t revolve around aliens, war and/or violence. Or at least pretend. Sometimes. And don’t fall asleep.

8. You can never go wrong with jewelry. Any kind, any occasion.

9. Tell us what you want and we’ll try to give it to you.

10. We can kill the spider but really like it when you do.

11. Even though we run households and businesses, we secretly like it when you want to protect us from bad guys.

12. We think it’s really sexy that you want to take care of us. We probably won’t let you. But it’s nice that you want to.

13. You can never say “you’re beautiful” too much.

14. Give us a kick-ass massage and we’ll probably be yours for life.

15. Remember our birthday, favorite color and favorite author.

16. If you love our cat, we’ll probably love you too.

17. You can never give us too many compliments.

18. Be charming to the people we introduce you to and we’ll fall for you all over again.

19. Pay attention to what makes us happy; we know what makes you happy.

20. Don’t, under any circumstances, agree that we’ve put on a few pounds.

21. If we throw a temper tantrum, it’s OK to just give us a hug and not say a word. Probably safer really.

22. Attend horrible family gatherings with us and we’ll be happy to shop for all your relatives and send cards.

23. We’re all particularly particular. So you should be pleased we picked you.

24. Be firm in your beliefs; we respect that even if we don’t agree.

25. You can never be too kind, too nice, too polite, too chivalrous. Really.

Yes. We're a pain in the ass. But we'll kiss yours if you do it right.

New iPhone app for swine flu is just too much information

Fri, 4 Sep 2009 09:09:02 -0400

When I read about the new iPhone app that tracks the swine flu, I thought it was a joke. But it’s not. The free app was developed by Childrens Hospital Boston and the MIT Media Lab. Reports are sourced from both the World Health Organization and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

Users can track and report outbreaks, be notified of new outbreaks and get alerted when sick people enter the area. It also tracks other infectious diseases so you can better avoid contact with sick people overall.

Is there a benefit to having all this information? People already are in panic-mode, despite the fact more people die form the regular flu than swine, and are statistically more likely to keel over from a heart attack than anything else.

But hypocondriacs will no doubt quietly rejoice, as might parents who worry about small children running through germ-filled playgrounds.

I certainly don’t want to know, because my mind already works overtime worrying about things I can’t control. Do I want the responsibility of reporting and tracking the swine flu? Hell no.

There is such as thing as too much information, and I don’t mean the kind that gets over-shared at the lunch table. There’s too much information, period. And that’s something I never thought I’d feel. In fact, bring on the lunch room chatter! Real people talking about real moments in real time; it’s starting to feel rather novel.

Though I’m grateful to be living in the information age and was never one to long for the good old days of simpler times, I am starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. I’ve embraced every new technology as it emerged. News on my cell phone? Had it for years. Chat rooms, message board, AIM, MySpace, FaceBook, Twitter … jumped in immediately.

But suddenly, I have a yearning for a little quiet from all the cyber-chat, a little peace from the noise. Everyone has something to report, a tidbit to share, a link to a news article, a tip from a blog. Little blue hyperlinks visit my dreams and I wake up to the overnight news from Afghanistan and natural disasters in Indonesia. My Twitter friends report political info and breaking news, and FaceBook pals intermingle kiddie tales with helpful magazine articles. We’ve all become aggregators and disseminators.

I can’t imagine it any other way and I’m certainly not advocating that we all pipe down. I’m just trying to figure out a way to find balance. I used to Tweet, blog and FaceBook in some manner and combination everyday. It used to be I’d never start the day without checking in, if not to say anything, then at least to see what everyone else was up to. Now I’m forcing myself to hang back a bit, leave the cell phone behind and unplug from the world.

Sometimes, it’s better not to know anything, not to share, not to care, and just be. It’s Ok to read a book and just enjoy it. Not because I’m going to blog my analysis, or Tweet my recommendation. Just because.

It’s hard to find quiet, to revel in nothingness when there’s so much going on all the time. But I’m finding that a little life, unplugged is much more valuable to my health than knowing where the latest swine flu case cropped up.

Ted Kennedy, side streets and what it means to be American

Wed, 26 Aug 2009 12:08:41 -0400

His long ponytail hit my shoulder as he leaned to yell into my ear, “Can you believe this? I can’t believe it. Fuck, man!”

^{Photo by JoAnn Merklinghaus/www.leadernewspapers.net}

He punched the air in a hi-five, victorious way and I stepped back to eyeball him.

Crazy bandana man? Drunk bandana man? Perhaps he’s just lost … because we’re at a freaking political rally in Hackensack, NJ. What is it that he can’t believe? Hackensack and politics are like … peanut butter and jelly. What’s not to believe?

His eyes were crystal, in a healthy “I had tofu and strawberries for breakfast” kind of way. Smiling eyes set among deep grinning lines, his etched face just a bit sun-kissed. He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t crazy. He was giddy, just giddy.

^{Photo by JoAnn Merklinghaus/www.leadernewspapers.net}

“Big Menendez fan are you?” I asked my new friend.

He swatted me again with his grey hair. “Talk into this ear. I’m deaf in the other. Almost deaf in my good one.”

Ah. A war veteran. So I yelled in his almost-good ear. “Excited about Menendez, huh? Or just really into politics?”

Now he steps back to eyeball me, wirey eyebrow-hairs poking beneath his headband. “Who? Menendez? Fuck man. Kennedy, man! Ted Kennedy! I’ve been waiting to meet him my whole life.”

Kennedy. Of course. That’s why we were all there. I forgot, because, Menendez was the Senate candidate, the only one I would be interviewing.

Old Ted Kennedy. God, could he draw a crowd.

“He’s still alive?”

That’s what I said to my boss at the time, in 2006, who told me we’d be covering this event, and arrive early to ensure a good spot. My boss knew the importance of our attendance at this rally, which was local but not really. We were a weekly newspaper that did regional politics – quite well. But did we have to go to a rally with an old Kennedy? On deadline day?

I never followed the Kennedys. Perhaps I was just a tad too young, a tad too self-absorbed and politically who-cares. But my boss at the time knew we should be there. Though my contemporary, she was in awe of the Kennedys, not so much for their politics, but in the unexplainable way most Americans are.

I wasn’t in awe, nor was I in opposition. I simply didn’t know or care. But to disregard the Kennedys is the same as dissing baseball and apple pie. It’s simply un-American.

I’d always tried to hide my Kennedy ignorance, though honestly I didn’t know John from Ted from the poor Kennedy kid who crashed his plane in West Caldwell. They were all handsome, died tragically and married attractive women who could accessorize. That was the extent of my Kennedy knowledge.

But people were in Hackensack that October day in 2006 not because of Sen. Robert Menendez, not because of the Democrats. They were there for Sen. Ted Kennedy, the elder shining star, the Hollywood equivalent of Washington politics.

Some people criticized our coverage of that event, and said things about old Ted I never bothered to confirm or deny, as rumors, opinions and accusations are impossible to get a handle on. Critics always speak the loudest, and always speak first, especially on newspaper website comment boards.

But I was there, at that rally, the streets filled side to side, spilling into every crevice. There were few critics. Ted Kennedy had a lot of fans, and though he spoke eloquently, mentioning his wife and speaking of Jersey in a way mothers do of their newborns, it’s the fans – his fans – I recall the most.

People just loved him. They swooned and cried, clapped and cheered. I was glad to be part of that energy.

As people mourn Ted’s death, his success and failures, the curse of the Kennedy clan and the future of democracy, I recall that rally and the American spirit that filled a city street on a fall sunny morning.

And I think about the power of politics and that “je ne sais quoi” the Kennedy family will always have. And about my elderly friend with the ponytail, who wasn’t a war veteran at all, but a dodger, who lost his hearing in a motorcycle crash on an open road in Montana.

“It was beautiful man. That road. There’s no place in the world like America.”