Hens Lay Eggs
food for thought
Thoughts for Advent
During the homily at Sunday’s Mass and after mentioning the first Sunday of Advent as the beginning of a new liturgical year, the priest made a point of discussing our purpose, the purpose for which every human being was created. He said that everyone taught by nuns would know this by heart.
Except, I went to public school. There were no nuns.
The priest reiterated that purpose (to glorify God) and went on to speak to the many distractions thwarting that purpose. Those distractions range from “drunkenness and carousing” (from the Gospel reading) to the “anxieties of everyday life.” In other words, sin. Big sins. Little sins. We’re all sinners, he said.
I can’t disagreed. I don’t know anyone who’s perfect. In fact, this is emphasized with the Confiteor at every Mass:
I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned through my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do; through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault; therefore I ask blessed Mary ever-Virgin, all the Angels and Saints, and you, my brothers and sister, to pray for me to the Lord our God.
That point led to another, the obligation of confession. In the Roman Catholic Church, that obligation is the sacrament of reconciliation and all Catholics are supposed to confess at least once a year.
That’s one of the many ways in which I fall short of my divine purpose as a human being.
When I was a child, my mother ensured my brothers and I went to confession every three months. I hated it. I objected to going, not that my objections did me any good. I even went so far as to speak with candor: “I’m not sorry for what I did.”
“Do you think you’re perfect then?” came the horrified response from my mother.
No, I never thought I was perfect. Sure, I sinned the small, venial sins children often commit, but I didn’t like telling the priest a lie, especially within the holy environs of the church. But I was given no option not to go to confession, so I manufactured guilty feelings and confessed: Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned …
As a child, I didn’t think that going to confession to lie about feeling remorse for my sins was the right and good thing to do.
I still don’t.
I no longer waste time manufacturing feelings of self-reproach regardless of how guilty I might be. When I do err (i.e., sin) and I am sorry for that sin, I apologize. That apology is sincere, not manufactured.
I still don’t think that going to confession to lie about feeling remorse for my sins is a good thing. Maybe I’ll get lucky and a priest will read this and get back to me. I’d be interested in whether my admittedly weird sense of fair play or honesty is even close to being on-target.
It seems to me that bearing false witness (i.e., lying) in the confessional about feeling remorse for whatever I’ve done is worse than not going to confession at all. Why should God forgive me my sins when I can’t drum up any contrition? The Act of Contrition is a standard part of the sacrament of reconciliation:
My God,
I am sorry for my sins with all my heart.
In choosing to do wrong
and failing to do good,
I have sinned against you
whom I should love above all things.
I firmly intend, with your help,
to do penance,
to sin no more,
and to avoid whatever leads me to sin.
Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us.
In his name, my God, have mercy.
When I err—and I often do because I’m not perfect—it doesn’t necessarily follow that I go on my merry way and leave destruction in my wake. If I feel remorse, then I apologize and the apology is sincere. Sometimes I don’t; sometimes I’m not sorry for what I did. Should I lie about it?
Am I holier than thou? Certainly not. I’m a flawed individual. I can be cruel without realizing it; sometimes, I’m deliberately cruel. I get distracted. My undisciplined mind wanders, leading to thoughts and desires and urges that many would consider petty if not outright depraved or evil. But I’ve always been taught that actions speak louder than words, especially when it comes to being a good person. I might fantasize about doing somebody wrong, but I don’t actually do it. I know some sneaky ways to kill people—now there’s an interesting conversation!—but I don’t act upon that knowledge.
Is that sinful? Is the imagining of harming someone who hurt me as sinful as it would be do actually follow through with the deed?
Some would say it is. I say it’s human to want tit for tat, to desire an eye for an eye. (That comes from Hammurabi’s Code, by the way.)
Am I a good person? I try to be. That doesn’t mean I am or that I believe in my moral superiority over others. There’s no pretension to perfection here, only a striving toward professional excellence and personal integrity. I don’t always achieve that goal, but does anybody?
Regardless, I haven’t been to confession in at least a couple of decades.
I won’t lie to the priest that I feel remorse when I don’t … assuming I could even remember the list of my sins. Perhaps that will count against me on Judgment Day.
Advent is a season of joyful anticipation. It’s also a season of reflection.
Where do your thoughts take you?
What’s best? It depends.
The week started out warm, warmer than normal for the week before Thanksgiving. Wednesday came with rain and wind and dropping temperatures. Thursday dawns with snow on the ground. By Friday, most of the snow had melted, but temperatures are still cold.
Winter has come.
The pending arrival of winter results in many horse owners blanketing their horses long before temperatures dip close to freezing.
Some blanket their horses because they’re still showing their horses. Judges don’t like to see scruffy, fluffy winter coats in the show ring. Blankets combined with keeping horses stalled under bright lights as the days grow short helps horses retain their summer coats—or at least delays the onset of winter coat growth.
I don’t particularly condone the practice, but I do understand it.
Other people blanket their horses for other reasons. My best friend blankets one of her geldings because he typically does not grow a thick winter coat to protect him from the cold. She also confines him within the shelter of a stall (in an insulated barn) when the weather is inclement. He seems to thrive under such pampering, so it works for them. (Her other horse grows a more robust winter coat.)
I firmly believe, however, that most horses do not need to be blanketed as a routine practice.
Horses evolved on the steppes of Asia. It’s cold there, really cold in the winter. The wind blows incessantly. Horses evolved to live and thrive in that inhospitable climate, which means most modern breeds are built like boilers. That means they’re built to retain heat. (Desert breeds like the Arabian horse tend to be built more like radiators to disperse heat.)
A horse’s natural diet aligns with the evolutionary development to retain heat. Digestion in the equine hind gut ferments the grasses (and other forage) to produce heat. The horse grows a thick, sometimes long, winter coat. Long guard hairs protect the soft inner coat. Piloerection fluffs up the coat to trap warm air next to the skin. That layer of protected warm air is called loft. The horse’s large muscle groups build heat throught contraction via movement and even shivering. The lower legs and hooves are particularly well designed to withstand standing in snow without losing functional capability.
Horses are built for winter.
I currently have three horses: a Morgan-Arabian gelding, a Halflinger mare, and a Morgan mare. The Morgan mare is a recent acquisition. I’ve had horses for over 40 years. Seldom in those decades have I seen the need to blanket any of my horses.
But I have blanketed my horses—not often—when I knew they need the extra protection.
I let the horse be my guide. If the weather is cold (below freezing), wet (raining, not snowing), and windy, then I’ll bring them indoors. When a horse’s coat is soaked through, the horse cannot build and retain heat, and its ability to stay warm becomes compromised. My barn is not insulated and it is drafty (sometimes downright breezy), but it offers a lot more protection from the elements than being outdoors. If one of the horses is shivering, that indicates the horse is uncomfortably cold. I’ll towel-dry the horse as best I can and blanket the animal to help it build and conserve warmth.
The “blanket or not to blanket” debate rages on. And I do mean rage. It’s as heated (hah, see the pun!) as the debate among writers and editors regarding the Oxford comma. The solution to both is the same: no one-size-fits-all solution works for all occasions. That warrants flexibility and discerning judgment rather than rigid reliance upon rules. Changing variables factor in the decision to retain a a grammatically incorrect sentence (or sentence fragment) or to blanket my horse, a decision always slanted toward the question of what’s best.
Not what’s correct. What’s best.
That illustrates the arts of writing and editing and the reality of good horsekeeping.
The cost of publishing
Publishing is free. Really.
Many misguided authors speak of “self-publishing” companies they hire to provide comprehensive services to produce their books and publish them; however, there’s no such thing as a self-publishing company. When you publish a book, you embark upon one of three paths:
- Traditional Publishing. This is what people think of when they think of publishing. In this model, assuming you’re fortunate enough to be picked up by a publisher, the publisher (usually) pays the author an advance upon anticipated royalties. When the advance earns out, the publisher begins paying royalties, typically a small share (15% or less) of the revenue earned by copies sold. The lion’s share of the revenue goes to paying the professionals employed by the publishing company, the expenses of production, and profit.
- Hybrid Publishing. This is what is meant by “self-publishing” companies. Authors pay these one-stop shops for the services necessary to produce their books. When it comes to hybrid publishers, many are notorious vanity presses that not only charge a premium for substandard service, but they also command the author’s copyright and a hefty share of the royalties.
- Self-publishing. In this model, the author hires freelance professionals to provide the services necessary to produce a quality book and publishes the book on his or her own behalf, usually through one of the online distribution platforms like Kindle Direct Publishing (i.e., Amazon).
But the cost of production is not free.
The Editorial Freelancers Association has over 3,000 members around the world. Most are in the USA. Members are freelance professionals: editors, book designers, ghostwriters, illustrators, etc. The EFA periodically surveys its membership for financial data and crunches the numbers to assign median values to the various services freelancers provide. The latest update to this survey was published the first quarter of 2024.
The rates guide used to be availble only as a PDF, but now anyone can calculate an estimate of freelance professional rates online through the EFA’s rates calculator here: https://www.the-efa.org/rates/. You enter your project information, and the rates calculator will provide you with both median per-word and per-hour rates which you may use to establish a realistic budget for the service you need.
It’s important to note that the EFA does not establish or set rates for the industry. That’s illegal. However, many freelance pros use the rates guide as a guideline to setting their own rates. It’s not unusual for a freelancer to make the claim that his or her rates are in alignment with EFA guidelines.
So, what does it cost?
Unfortunately, there is no definitive answer, except to note that publishing is free, but producing a quality book is not. Traditional and hybrid publishers employ (or outsource) professionals to ensure the quality of the products (books) they produce. Those professionals get paid anywhere from minimum wage to six figures a year, depending on the skill and experience they bring to the project. The artist who did the cover to Russian Revival told me that he’d normally charge $4,000 for a project like that; however, you’ll find many artists who work for much less.
Low-bid vendors may be problematic. Often they’re less skilled, less experienced. They may take unethical shortcuts, such as running a manuscript through editing software and calling the project finished rather than actually poring over every line and making corrections manually. Cover designers and illustrators at the cheap end tend to use generative AI rather than spring for the licenses to stock images or create original artwork. Or they’ll simply download an image and use it without purchasing the license for commercial use. (Remember, just because it’s on the internet doesn’t mean it’s free to use.)
By the way, images and written content generated by AI cannot be copyrighted.
When it comes to hiring professional services, the phrase “you get what you pay for” comes to mind rather emphatically. Unfortunately, the fees professionals command may be at odds with an author’s budget. Luckily, many such pros will negotiate reduced levels of service for reduced fees or payment plans to work with the author’s budget. I offer the latter: payment plans.
If you’re a new author and you’re looking for professional freelance services to help you produce a quality book, save your pennies for the expense just as you would to purchase a large appliance or even a car. Depending upon the length of your manuscript, the amount of work it needs to be whipped into shape, and other factors, producing your book may cost several thousand dollars—and that does not include the cost of printing and distribution.
Choose your publishing path wisely and be prepared to pay for the services you need.
Author
Hard boiled, scrambled, over easy, and sunny side up: eggs are the musings of Holly Bargo, the pseudonym for the author.
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Karen (Holly)
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