Knjigarna - grooviest translation of 'bookshop'

Above, a view from Loch en Eillan, in Aviemore. Inspiration with mud. Like when you try and say 'knjigarna' - it's a muddy word.

Last night's Literary Salon featured Moira Forsyth, a Scottish writer who works as a commissioning editor for a small Highland press called Sandstone. It was interesting hearing the perspective of a publisher (with a vested interest in making money) who is also an author. She was kind enough to talk with us about the writing side of things, but what was perhaps more interesting was the publishing business model, and why this business is so layered and complex, especially for smaller presses.

The big realization for me was that Amazon takes 60% for every book it sells. If you think about how heavily discounted Amazon books are, and subtract 60%, it's no wonder publishers are searching frantically for other ways to make money. Big chains such as Waterstones here in the UK take 45-50%, and independent bookshops take far less. Yet another solid reason to continue supporting your local, independent bookshop, especially for books from small presses.

(Side note: check the imprints of the books in the front of the store at a chain bookshop. Not a small press in sight. 3-for-2, 'bestsellers' - paid for by the publisher. As are many of the blurbs you read on the back or front cover.)

Moira then segued into the financial side of things: You pay Amazon their 60%; you also pay the cover designer, the typesetter, the printer, the copyeditor, the editor, and if there's any left over, the author. It's no wonder small presses sell out to the big boys. And it reiterated the respect I have for smaller presses around the world, those which manage to survive because they are incredibly picky with the books they choose and because the books they choose are adored by readers. (Look at what a certain bespectacled boy wizard did for Bloomsbury.)

Go forth, readers, and keep that local shop in business. My all-time faves: Anagram in Prague; Vale Novak in Ljubljana; Tattered Cover in Denver; Get Lost and City Lights in San Francisco; Watermark in Wichita; Powell's and Queen Anne Books in Seattle. Any to add?

The smaller the text, the more confused the meaning. - Angus Dunn

I'm sunk into a sofa in the morning room of a 19th-century hotel, listening to a man read his poetry in a Highland lilt, watching the sun set behind the Highland Cathedral into a bright pink (ash-induced?) sky. There are only six of us this week; the lowest turnout yet, but it's a lively bunch. Instead of polite quiet between poems or stories, questions pepper the air. Instead of polite applause, hands are shaken, pints are bought. The harsh cawing of trumpets and trombones wafts from the bar in the back of the hotel; our Tuesday night competition begins, and I love the jazz juxtaposed with literature. It fits.

Angus writes to capture a moment. He writes because the moment doesn't seem real until it's put into words. He writes because 'now' will soon disappear into the cluttered closet of memories; 'now' won't be found again without a lot of digging. He mentioned something I hadn't thought of before - how difficult it is to tell strangers why he writes. Generalizations, like the ones in this paragraph, verge on the cliche. But it's nobody's business why he writes. The reasons change every day, with every circumstance.

Angus writes powerful haiku. It's a beautiful form; the control of language and syllables makes for especially poignant pieces (or especially horrible). He mentioned the innuendo and subtext in smaller poems and stories, how they can easily be misconstrued - like text messages: you think you're saying something and it's easily misinterpreted. People seek meaning in smaller texts, seek the subtext. Interesting idea.

I needed last night. I've let work and life get in the way of creativity. I suppose that's the idea behind this Literary Salon - to inspire. Seven people - mere acquaintances - discussing literature: bliss.

Bliahdna Mhath Ur

Sneachd is Gaelic for snow. I wonder if the Scottish Gaels once used more words than this, because the snow that's been hanging around for the past three weeks is as sundry and curious as Highlanders themselves. It comes in bursts and stays long enough to coat the ground and to soak those caught outside. It comes in quarter-sized poufs, tiny pellets, icy spikes and wandering clumps. It plunges or gently sinks. I floats sideways and whirls haphazardly. It's in charge here.

The quintessentially British phenomenon of endless discussion of weather has risen to an alarming high since the start of the havoc in mid-December. Every news bulletin is about road closures and travel disruption. Every newspaper headline hints at The Big Freeze. It's amusing, and reminds us that nature is asserting herself, making sure we don't get complacent. Deal with it, mortal humans. Harden yourselves a bit. Don't go to work; go outside and make a snowman. Play. Take time off. Deal with it.

Christmas was good. It's M's birthday too, so I made red velvet birthday cake and we had other homeless friends around for Christmas lunch. The Inverness Hogmanay celebrations were cancelled because of the weather, so the evening was spent with friends, capped by a traipse through the streets with M on the bagpipes while sitting in a wheelbarrow. I like the concept of New Year's Eve. It's a day full of hope.

Resolutions are tiresome, but necessary. I will smugly say I reached nearly every resolution from last year: I wrote a novel and got it to my agent by December (23rd, but still!), got married, got the flat remodeled, got my UK driving license. I didn't lose the 30 lbs that I wanted to lose; instead, I began to be grateful for a healthy body that functions reasonably well. I didn't travel as much as I wanted to; instead, I tried to remember that I'm living in one of the most beautiful regions in the world. So much of resolution-ing is in outlook and intention.

So...for 2010, I'm taking the karmic route. Since moving to Scotland, I've met so many inspiring people who have donated their time and ideas to me. I've been lucky to have a day job that allows me the time to write and a partner who believes in me. The generosity of the various Scottish writing and book organizations is peerless. And finding this sort of support requires proactive thinking and behavior.

In that vein, I hope in 2010 that the Literary Salon can bring this sort of solidarity and inspiration to other Highland writers. That's resolution #1, that I give back some of the encouragement and positivity that I've received, via the Lit Salon and my writing group and by reading friends' stories and novels and offering constructive critiques.

The second is to finish: revising the Portugal novel and finishing the Switzerland novel. Both are in various stages of disorder, and I owe it to their muses to get them ready for the world. This includes keeping on my weekly word count expectations and letting it flow rather than revising as I go.

And the third: less disposable, more quality. More yoga. More focus. More time outdoors. More gratefulness. More positivity. More joy.

This year could bring another move; M's job ends in August, and then we must decide. If we go, I will miss this view, watching the seasons and the skies and the birds from my writing table in our lounge. If we stay, I will be grateful to live near mountains, sea, and unparalleled beauty.

Bliahdna Mhath Ur. Happy new year.

There is no conspiracy; there is, I should say, remarkably little jealousy or personal envy between writers. - Dorothea Brande, Becoming a Writer

I am, as ever, in awe of the literary love that exists here in the Highlands, and within my small but far-reaching bookish world, which spans from Bombay to Australia to Manhattan. Authors like helping each other out. Writers need other writers.

Perhaps this is due to the nature of writing. If five writers were given the same photograph and asked to write about it, they would each produce their own distinctive piece of work. We can only produce what our imaginations can deliver. There is no standard, because literature is alive. It shimmies between genres and backgrounds and ideas, and that is why it fascinates us so.

The Highland Literary Salon met on Tuesday night, for the first time. Camaraderie is so crucial to those of us who spend our days in solitude. Our news was varied; one has just had a novel picked up by an Edinburgh publisher, another received a handwritten rejection letter from a UK literary magazine. A poem was published, a short story didn't win a competition. Somehow these things seem more vivid when others are around, others who know.

Highland Arts is an invaluable resource for people living up here. I submitted Snakes, the novel I started in February, to them in July, and received excellent feedback in August which was used to create the second draft. I'm thrilled that Hi-Arts has offered to do a second assessment of my revision, which should be ready by the end of November.

I cheekily asked if they would also assess my second novel, and I received feedback last week; I didn't look at it, as I didn't want to cross-pollinate books. Then I had a look last night*, and the book is resurrected; the assessment was brilliant, and now I feel I haven't wasted the four years it took to get that book together. So once Snakes is out the door, I'm keen to revamp the last one. Good feedback is the best feeling in the world, especially from an anonymous, professional assessor.

*After meeting with Peter Urpeth, the Writing Development guy for Hi-Arts, who couldn't believe I hadn't read it yet. He's my hero in so many ways, not least because he is fully embracing the digital age and writing a tweet-by-tweet novel on twitter. If that's confusing, read the archives, in order, here.

Good reads of the past few weeks: I'm on the Guernsey Book bandwagon now. It's my book club's October selection and it's a charming, lovely way to pass the time. Have also been introduced to Jodi Picoult who kindly responded to an email I sent her within fifteen minutes - !! And re-read Dorothea Brande. I always find something new every time I read this book.

Pitch-black, and not yet 6pm...I do love Scottish winters.