Filed under: Art, Bipolar, Book Conservation, Fireworks, General Musings, Health, Predictions, Preparedness, Publishing, Science Fiction
Well, it is for me, since yesterday was my birthday.
And it’s a bit odd, but I do feel as though something is different this time around. Usually, birthdays don’t mean that much to me. And I don’t tend to put a lot of emphasis on just numerical age – mine, or anyone else’s. Besides, 51 isn’t a significant milestone in any way – it’s not a big round number, it isn’t some threshold like 18 or 21, it isn’t even a prime number. It’s just 51.
And yet . . .
. . . something does feel different. Perhaps it is due to the fact that last Thursday I finally got the long-delayed physical exam I initially went to see my doctor for in September and the results were actually pretty good. In spite of all that I have done to myself over the years, I’m in decent physical condition. Surprise, surprise.
So maybe that’s it. Or maybe it’s because I have so much good work waiting for me to do – important work, worth doing well. Not just the conservation work, though there is a *lot* of that. But also work on the care giving book. That’s important, and will be a help to others. I’ve also been recently asked to join the board of a significant arts organization here in the state, as well as to apply for an important local government (volunteer) position – more on that when everything shakes out. There’s even a publisher who has shown some interest in Communion of Dreams, though I’ve been down that path enough times to not expect a pot of gold at the end. All of these things tend to bolster one’s mood.
So last night, as we watched a bit of the City’s fireworks display from our front porch, I felt happy. Productive. Strong. With a certain . . . resolve. I feel as though I have recovered a lot over the last year, found that parts of me have been hammer-hardened and honed properly.
It is a good feeling.
Whether it will last long, or not, time will tell. But I feel more complete, more prepared to move on and do the work before me, than I have in a very long time.
Happy New Year.
Jim Downey
Whoa – this is insane:
From the blog post (where there are a bunch more images):
I had the immense opportunity to see this wonderful paper craft art installation by a genius of the name of Wataru Itou, a young student of a major art university here in Tokyo. The installation is hand made over four years of hard work, complete with electrical lights and a moving train, all made of paper!
Damned impressive. And I say that as someone who is a book & document conservator, with considerable experience in working with paper. Damned impressive, indeed.
Jim Downey
(Via BB.)
Filed under: Ballistics, Book Conservation, Guns, Marketing, Politics, Predictions, Promotion, Publishing, Science Fiction, Writing stuff
By the numbers: this is the 700th post for this blog. We’ve had over 42,000 visitors, and almost 1000 comments. I have no idea how many people get a feed of the thing.
In the last 5 weeks, another 1,300 people have downloaded the novel, bringing the total to 15,500. I really need to figure out a way to sell copies of the damned thing, since interest continues to chug along.
Part of the bump up in downloads last month was no doubt due to the BBTI project. That has now had over 935,000 hits since the initial launch last Thanksgiving, and is up 165,000 since the ‘relaunch’ just three weeks ago. Wow – it seems like it has been longer than that. But then, I’ve been busy.
And I am going to be busier still – got started on the next round of books for a big institutional client yesterday. And I figure I have about 160 billable hours to do in the next three weeks or so. So forgive me if posting a bit sporadic for a little while.
Cheers!
Jim Downey
Filed under: 2nd Amendment, Alzheimer's, Ballistics, Book Conservation, Gardening, Government, Guns, Health, Society
I mentioned in passing a couple of times in the last week that I’d been busy. Part of it was routine management of the BBTI re-launch (we crossed 900,000 hits yesterday), part of it was also just getting a lot of conservation work done (which is going to be an ongoing theme for the coming weeks), but a big part of it was setting up a new forum for neighborhood associations here in Columbia.
This was something completely new to me – so I had a bit of a learning curve to get through. Which is fine, since it’s good to do something completely different now and then to keep things fresh. And little or nothing may come of it; I set it up because I think it is a necessary component for this kind of grass-roots organizing, but I long ago learned that you can’t force people to care about something, at least not enough to actually take action. But I also learned a long time ago that unless I stepped forward to do something I thought was necessary, it too often just wouldn’t get done.
And I think that is what amuses me about this whole thing. I didn’t know how to set up a forum. But I knew that the appropriate software was available to make the process relatively painless (true – and now having done it once I’d have no qualms about doing it again). There was a need, and no one else had yet filled that. So . . . I volunteered.
A small thing. And, like I said, nothing much may come of it. But this is the only way to make progress – to try things out. To plant a seed and try to help it grow, maybe even to grow with it.
And now I can turn my attention back to finishing the Caregiving book, with these two other projects more or less completed. Onward, and upward.
Jim Downey
Filed under: Art, Book Conservation, General Musings, Publishing, Writing stuff
As I mentioned the other day in the preface to this post, I had reason to be digging around in some of my old writings. I’m still not in a position to disclose the full reason for this, but I can discuss it in general terms: I had been interviewed for a feature article for a national magazine (I am not the focus of the piece, just one aspect of it), and something I had written previously was pertinent to the background I had provided the interviewer.
Anyway, it was a thorough and rather draining interview, not unlike some of the others to which I have been party in my somewhat offbeat course through life. Nor, in fact, to some of the interviews I have conducted, when I was writing my column for the local paper. So it was that I recognized this insightful passage from a recent item at the Economist:
Mr Rauch: This ties back to your last question, in a way. I suspect a lot of bloggers may be introverts, because blogging is great if you like to sit in front of the internet all day. If not for my aversion to specialising in one subject, I probably would have been an academic historian, because I think it would have suited me to work in libraries back before there was an internet. (In a way, the internet is a library that talks back.) Reporting doesn’t come naturally to me, since I have to screw up my energy level every time I pick up the phone. So that’s something of a handicap. I’ll never be a natural journalist.
On the other hand, introverts are good questioners and attentive listeners. After a thoughtful, probing interview that I feel has touched marrow, I feel exhilaration, along with exhaustion. As if a tough hike had been rewarded with a new vista. I’m not a great hiker but I do enjoy the views.
Very apt metaphor.
Jim Downey
(Economist link via Sully.)
Filed under: 2nd Amendment, Alzheimer's, Ballistics, Book Conservation, Gardening, Guns, Hospice, Politics, YouTube
Sorry I’ve been busy and not writing as much here – I’ve been juggling a number of things all at once, some of which has sucked up a lot of my creative energy. A partial list:
Getting work done on the major upgrade for BBTI (check out this post on the blog!)
More work on the Caregiving book – I think we’ve now finished with all the material we’ve written about the experience previously, as well as a lot of ‘primary source’ material (emails, LiveJournal entries, et cetera). Gathering and selecting all of this has been a significant task, as well as a powerfully emotional one. Now that all that is together, we need to switch gears and go through it all with an eye to tweaking and editing – another big job.
Have another iron in the fire related to some local/neighborhood politics and personal stuff that has sucked up a fair amount of energy.
Trying to get back on my feet with my conservation work, as well, of course.
And then there’s the necessary (and enjoyable) parts of living in an old house with a big yard and a garden – it’s that busy time of year for such things.
And that’s a partial list. Have some other things going on that are entirely speculative, not to mention the usual day-to-day stuff of living and owning your own business.
But you know, it feels pretty good.
Cheers!
Jim Downey
Last week I worked on rebinding a 1518 printing of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Since the client wanted to have it done in a limp vellum binding – which I don’t get to do that often – and the book itself is significant, I thought I would take some photos of the process and write the whole thing up. It’s now posted on my business site, but here’s a taste:
First, I removed the 19th century covers, cleaned the spine of old adhesive, and dis-assembled the book. Then I created strips of alum-tawed pigskin of the appropriate length, and put a single slit in the middle of each through which the sewing could be done using linen thread. As the strips were stiff and free-standing, there was no need to support them in a sewing frame as would be done with cord.
Sewing progressed using the original sewing stations (where the holes were poked in the folios) until completed.
The whole thing, with a lot more photos, is available here.
Just thought you might enjoy seeing a bit of what I do professionally.
Jim Downey
edited to add: Hey, cool – got a link off of BoingBoing!
And now even the blue got me. Very cool.
Filed under: Alzheimer's, Art, Ballistics, Book Conservation, Politics, Preparedness, SCA, Science Fiction, Society, Writing stuff
There are other things I should be writing. Revisions for the BBTI site upgrade, work on the Caregiving book. Even (laughably) my own fiction.
But I’m in a bit of a reflective mood. And something I heard the other day has been churning around in my head. It’s this:
The person who experiences greatness must have a feeling for the myth he is in. He must reflect what is projected upon him. And he must have a strong sense of the sardonic. This is what uncouples him from belief in his own pretensions. The sardonic is all that permits him to move within himself. Without this quality, even occasional greatness will destroy a man.
Recognize it? That’s from Dune. I’ve been listening to the recent audio version of the book as I’ve been doing conservation work. I usually only listen to books I know well, because for the most part I need to maintain my concentration on the work at hand. But having a favorite book rolling along in the background is a help, allows me to get technical things done while engaging part of my creative mind, eases the hours to pass. Anyway, I was at a pause between tasks, and that quote came up (it’s actually a quote in the book, and referenced as such at a chapter heading, as a way to explain something about the main character.)
If Frank Herbert hadn’t read The Hero with a Thousand Faces, he should have. That’s very much an insight of which Campbell would be proud. But then, I have long recommended Dune to any and all who would want a good primer on personal politics disguised as a SF story. Herbert’s understanding of myth was considerable.
Anyway, the passage caught my attention. And I spent the next little while musing on it, and how I had understood it and incorporated it into my way in the world when I was very young.
No, I am not saying that I am “great”. But I have been touched by myth, and had momentary brushes with greatness. Recognizing those moments, and understanding the role I played within them, made the experience all the more enjoyable – and less risky than if I fell into the trap of believing my own press releases.
See, there’s that sardonic touch – the wry, self-deprecating cynicism that disarms critics and endears friends. And it is not an artifice. It is who I really am – some deeply seated self-defense mechanism which has allowed me to play with greatness but not to be captivated by it. Nonetheless, I am conscious of it – aware of how the sardonic wit gives me latitude and a certain insulation from praise or popularity. Because of it, I have known when to walk away from lusting after greatness, how to shut my ears to the siren’s call which has destroyed others.
The one thing I worry about – well, ‘the one thing I wonder about’ is perhaps a better way of phrasing it – is whether this ability to walk away means that I have never risked enough to actually *be* great, and so have missed opportunity. Oh, I have come up to the line many times. And crossed lines which most people would not have had the nerve to cross. I have risked life and limb, reputation and financial security (and sometimes lost those bets). But there have also been times when I walked away.
Was this prudence, or was it fear?
Hard to say.
Jim Downey
* Full quote here. The first sentence of which is what I used as the motto for my Paint the Moon project, one of my more creative brushes with greatness.
Filed under: Art, Book Conservation, General Musings, University of Missouri
A weird thing: in the middle of a very serious economic downturn, my personal economic situation continues to rise. We sent all our tax information to our accountant this past week, and I was somewhat suprised to note that I had earned roughly twice as much last year as I have earned in, well, many years. It’s still solidly under the household average for the nation, but nonetheless is a significant bump up.
And this year I could easily earn twice again as much, if I stay on top of my work demand. This hasn’t always been the case. In fact, for a long long time I was of the opinion that it was almost impossible to actually earn a living – let alone a decent one – as a book conservator in private practice. I still wanted to do it, and found ways to make that work, but for a very long time I earned very little.
What changed?
Well, time. My reputation got more established. But more than that, just time. If I tell someone I’ve been doing this for 17 years, they figure I must be good at it. And having some grey in my beard helps a great deal as well. No, seriously.
That, and I made some changes in how I handle my fees when I closed the gallery and started working from home. Yeah, I increased them, but most people find that acceptable – with time and reputation, they expect your fees to go up. What I think is more important is that I established a minimum charge of two hours labor, meaning that people had to be fairly serious about wanting my services. It’s curious, but this actually helped a great deal.
See, when I first opened my shop, I would charge $25 an hour, with no minimum. And I would constantly get people coming in, wanting this little thing done or that little thing done, and wanting to only pay me for ten or fifteen minutes of work. It drove me nuts, but I thought I had to do it in order to keep the work coming in. Truth is, it took more time to deal with this stuff and track it than it was worth. Eventually I established a minimum half hour charge, but even that was pretty marginal. And people would constantly balk about the half hour charge, particularly when they just wanted some work done on a paperback or personal bible that could easily be replaced for a nominal cost. They saw me only as an alternative to buying a new book and getting on with life.
When I switched over to the gallery, with the bindery business as part of that, this sort of stuff dropped off some, but not altogether. Why? Because people were coming into an art gallery – a nice one at that – where they would feel a little foolish complaining about a $15 charge (my rates were then $30 an hour). This taught me a lesson, though I would still work long hours trying to keep the cash flow positive, dealing with every little project that came in. When I closed the gallery 8 years later, I knew one of the things I wanted to do was to set my fee schedule such that it forced people to respect my work right up front. I raised my rates (over the course of the time I was at the gallery they had gone up, but I basically doubled them again) and implemented the two hour minimum. I put that information on my voice mail and right on my website, and it is the first thing I’ll tell someone who calls me asking about binding work.
Now, during the period I was being a care provider, I didn’t have much time to do any conservation work. My time really was valuable to me, even though money was tight. So I wasn’t willing to try and fit in this or that small job, just to keep the money coming in. The temptation to go back on my fee schedule was minimized. It took a while, but soon I stopped getting the bulk of the calls wanting me to work on this or that easily-replaceable book. Instead, people now see my work as highly skilled labor, priced appropriately for the service, and suitable for care of rare and valuable books. I won’t get rich doing what I do, but I should be able to start paying off my debts from all those years of not earning much. Just not struggling is a very nice feeling for a change.
And there is the very big benefit that now I get to regularly work on really cool books and documents. As a friend noted this morning, following discussion of a set of volumes I had just done and told him about:
That is so cool. What an interesting job you have. Every project is different, fun stuff to look at. Very neat.
Indeed. It took a long time to get here, and I wouldn’t recommend the path to others. But I like where I’ve wound up.
Cheers,
Jim Downey
Communion Of Dreams 
