Estimating estimates.

A couple of the publishers I work for ask for estimates in advance of work -- how long will it take to copyedit or proofread or fact-check or mark up or whatever some poor manuscript that won't know what hit it. I find this to be very difficult because I barely know what to expect, even if I have a chance to glance over the job. You might be surprised at the lousy condition in which some books and articles arrive from the authors.⭐ They'd have been flunked by some of my old profs. 

"Looks like crap!"

The main problem is, despite being word people at heart, I don't think these publishers all know what the word estimate means. One publisher requests an estimate, but if the job requires a lot more time than anticipated, they go into a panic. It makes more work for the unfortunates who hired me, who have to get approvals and new purchase orders, and it delays payment for the unfortunate me. Of course, the writer and the top editor are really to blame, but they barely know what we're doing -- they only acknowledge my work if I do something to piss them off. 

What this publisher wants is not an estimate but a bid -- a price at which I will promise to get the work completed based on the time and any expenditures required. I would be willing to work under that condition, and in fact I do for other publishers who offer a flat fee for a job. It's not ideal from my perspective, but at least it's honest. 

Everyone knows an estimate is not the same thing as a solid offer. New York, which has strict laws for contractors, even acknowledges that estimates may be exceeded depending on circumstances -- say, the guy who you signed up to replace your siding finds so much dry rot that the neighbors call your home the House of Usher, or the mechanic checking an idiot light discovers that your transmission is about to blow through the engine like the alien through John Hurt. The original estimates were based on what was believed at the time, as are mine -- and I also can't guarantee how long something will take until I start digging in. 

Again, I want to be clear that none of this is the fault of my contacts at these companies, who are some of the nicest and most professional people I've known in the business. It's the bean counters and the pencil pushers who make the procedures, the ones who are in the unenviable position of trying to make publishing profitable in a way it hasn't been since the first movie theater opened and the first radio broadcast went out. But I wish that they would use their terms with more precision. Don't ask for an estimate when you need a fixed price.  

So that's what's bugging me today. What's YOUR problem?

📕📗📘📙

⭐Or maybe you wouldn't.

Shopping, then and now.

When I was a pitiful waif in the city, the little shops along the streets were already in dire straits. Even in the outer boroughs of New York City, the automobile was taking its toll on neighborhood stores. People would drive to Jersey, Long Island, Yonkers to go buy stuff. And when those boroughs got official shopping malls of their own, it was devastating. Local service stores like the barber shop and the TV repairman could hold on, but the dress shops, the record stores, the card shops? Their time was dwindling. 

Everyone knew what the future was going to be like -- the world would be based on a shopping-mall structure, the humans merely consuming drones, the cities dead or gone. 

Science fiction writer Somtow Suckaritkul wrote a series of stories called Mallworld that were later published in book form. Humanity was living in a planet-sized mall that was hurtling toward doom, but all we could do was live mall culture. Howard Chaykin wrote and drew an indie comic called American Flagg!, set in a future where the elites govern Earth from Mars and people live and work in fortified Plexmalls, and the titular hero is essentially a mall cop. Warren Zevon released a song in 1989 called "Down in the Mall" that poked fun at our obsession with mall culture. We were all doomed to be mallrats by 2020 at the latest. 

Well, a funny thing happened on the way to Mallmageddon. 

Everything supplants something, and what Internet shopping has done to our shopping malls makes us wistful for the good ol' days of mallmania. No one wants to admit it. We are willing to admit that the big cities’ shopping scenes in old movies, where people shop for Christmas in little emporia and big department stores, looks pretty cool. But the mall? 

Yeah, well -- it was social, at least. We got out of the house. We didn't freeze while going from store to store. There were plenty of places to look for stuff, so if you couldn't find anything you wanted to get Aunt Hildy, maybe it was time for you to reexamine your feelings about Aunt Hildy, because man, there was something for everyone. Maybe you really just don't want to get Hildy a present. Did you ever think of that?

Also, you could play in the arcade, get a bite to eat, check out new books or records, even take in a movie if your mall had a theater. So maybe the mall had something to say for it. 

The old department stores -- which had supplanted a lot of little stores -- did have one thing that the malls could not match -- awesome window displays at Christmas. 

Lord & Taylor window, 1980. Christmas scene set
in the landmark Daily News Building lobby. L&T's windows were 
always better than Macy's.

Lord & Taylor is defunct, and I don't feel so good myself. 

Oh, well -- the old guard passes etc. None of us wants to give up the convenience of shopping from home, least of all my wife. 

Going out on a present-buying excursion usually entailed some frustration, loss of patience, and possibly screaming kids. But it also could have something that's in real short supply these days -- good, clean fun. Where do we go to get fun back in our lives?

Weekend book sales!!!!

The season of shopping and Sales! Sales! Sales! has begun, and I and a bunch of other authors would like you to know how you too can save...

Well, okay, maybe not big money and not all the way until Christmas. But! Thanks to the hard work of Hans G. Schantz, there is a Black Friday/Cyber Monday book sale running until Tuesday the 28th. Every book is 99 cents or less!  

I got the word via Perfessor Squirrel, that enigmatic maven of the written word, and barely got a book in on time. Here's what I submitted:

It’s 1951, and Army veteran McMann is down in his luck in a Texas town, accompanied by his partner, Duck. Duck is an actual duck, which McMann credits for saving his life in the war. They are asked to investigate a case of theft at the local trucking company, where an employee vanished with the contents of the safe. The search for the missing man leads to the discovery of a murder — a murder in which McMann himself looks like an interesting suspect to the sheriff. Of course, all the locals think he’s crazy already, hanging around with a duck. Can McMann and Duck find the real killer — or will the real killer find them first?

How can you resist? It's got everything great -- murder, danger, Texas, ducks... all for 99 cents. And if that doesn't do it for you, you'll find plenty of books by other authors that will. 

So visit the site and get all your reading needs settled for a small clutch of simoleons. Happy reading to you! 

Thanksgiving comes around again.

I always feel bad for people who have to work on Thanksgiving, especially when I'm one of them. But hey, I'm not complaining. At least I'm working on freelance editorial stuff against hard deadlines. I'm able to be home in my sweats. I'm not opening up the stupid store to herds of Early Black Friday loons and possibly looters. I got it easy. 

And I don't feel like I'll be missing much. Sure, I would love to veg out and watch the MST3K Turkey Day Marathon via Pluto, but A) my wife isn't a fan and B) the dog knows when I'm being lazy and promptly takes steps to prevent me from enjoying it. Seriously, this guy will sleep 14 hours a day, but if I try to loaf without actually sleeping, he will demand to go for a walk, or play outside, or at least freeze on the porch. So I don't get to watch much TV anymore. 

Two of my old Thanksgiving favorites are on the Nix List. I gave up on the Macy's Parade years ago when it became little more than an advertisement to get the moneyed folks from Connecticut and Westchester to come to town to see Broadway shows that I would not watch without being paid in the mid-five figures. And football? Is Roger Goodell still ruining -- uh, running -- the NFL? No thanks. Besides, the local teams suck, which reduces my interest in what the rest of the league is doing. 

So while I will be at home, working, I will be having the traditional feast, and it is really a treat. Do not think I am not grateful, because I am. I am just very, very tired. Combine that with the turkey and I think even the dog -- spunky though he may be -- is not going to be able to dislodge me from the sofa after eats. I suppose he'll try, though.  

Maybe I'd better have seconds.

Fred: 911.

Yesterday on the Great Lileks's site, our friend Mongo posted this gem: 

I said the lady should forget it; her husband is a goner. The wise and tasteful Judge Baylor commented, "There he is ladies and gentlemen, Fred Key: World's Greatest 911 Operator!"

And indeed there is some truth to the heavily implied sarcasm. I think I would be a horrible 911 operator. Although I have sometimes managed to be cool in times of crisis, I can also get rather flustered when everyone around me is freaking out and the next right move is not obvious. Also, as a world-class catastrophizer, I have thoughts that not only leap to the worst thing possible, but beyond that to the worst thing imaginable. These are not good traits for someone manning the emergency line. 

Here's how I expect things would go on the first day: 

"911, what's your emergency? What's that? You fell off a swing set? How old are you? I dunno, you sound about thirty. And stoned. Are you stoned?"

☎🚑🚓🚒

"And where are you, ma'am? Right, corner of Watson and Smith. Hey, that's where the new pizzeria opened up, you know it? Yeah, it's really good. The stromboli is the best I've had around here. No seriously, you should try it. Just the right amount of cheese and the sauce is to die for-- What's that? Oh, yeah, send the ambulance. Hang on."

☎🚑🚓🚒

"How bad is the break? You can see the bone? Okay, hold on while I throw up in my wastepaper basket."

☎🚑🚓🚒

"Ma'am, when the ambulance arrives please tell them I'm sorry, I was supposed to send the cops. Are the people still shooting at you?"

☎🚑🚓🚒

"Yes, sir, I understand. Are you certain that he's dead? Well, can you make sure he's dead? All right, I'll hold." <gunshot> "Hey, did you call just to wrangle me into an old joke?"

About town.

Just a couple of holiday-related visions for you on this Monday morning, to give you the oomph to get through the next three days. You're welcome!

 

Bat Tree

In the dark of the morning I was walking golden Izzy, America's Sweetheart, and while he was sniffing about I did similarly with photons, which is to say I looked up into the tree with the headlamp on my forehead. There was this small Batman-themed bag, about ten feet off the ground, just hanging there like a hornet's nest. I was and am mystified by it. It looks too small to be a kid's schoolbag, too childlike to be a mom's miscellanea bag, too difficult to operate to be a Halloween candy bag, too landlubbery to be a sailor's ditty bag. What could it be? What's in it? I'll bet Catwoman is involved. She probably stole it from Bruce and got stuck up in the tree.  

Barbie vs. Minions

It's time for the gingerbread house kits again, and of course even they have to be branded now with pop culture-themed crap. I suspect there might be a Star Wars (TM) Death Star gingerbread house out there somewhere. My wife and I will have more than enough cookies around without gingerbread, but out of curiosity I asked which of these would appeal to her. She loves the Minions, but she was a Barbie girl throughout childhood, and has even made it a point to give Barbie dolls to girls whose moms were reluctant to introduce their daughters to the world of everyone's favorite toy blonde. To my surprise, though, she liked the Minions kit better. She just thinks they are a hoot.  

Early to Decor

Friday was probably the last day we'll have in the sixties for four months, so a few people around here took advantage and did their outdoor decoration. I've never seen so many people decorate for Christmas before Thanksgiving. Maybe they have in the past, but they didn't turn the lights on so I couldn't see them. 

Gator? Later

On the topic of seasonal inappropriateness: I knew exactly what this was from a ways off -- an alligator-shaped pool float. The property on which he reposed has no swimming pool. I can only suppose the wind carried him to this resting spot. People, take care of your gators and your gators will take care of you. Didn't we all learn that in first grade? 

Meanwhile, Back at the Wire

Remember this?

Two days after I put in the call, the power company got back to me. I was wrong, people! (Yes, it is possible!) This is a phone line, not a power line. Not that that makes it okay for the wire to dangle down to head level. So now I have to call the phone company. The adventure continues, and you can bet I'll milk a blog entry out of it keep you informed of further developments.  

Please clap.