The Things They Don't Tell You

One of the things they don't tell you when you begin to write a book is that eventually someone will read it. This may seem like an obvious end use for the printed word, just like a doctor snapping on a rubber glove is a good predictor of certain events, but the thought that a person would soon be reading what I wrote didn't sink in until the final days before publication. The reason for this was simple. As a novice writer I was constantly reminded not to self-censor. "Let the ideas flow unhindered", was the mantra. Don't worry about spelling, grammar or punctuation, that can all be taken care of later.

The problem is that "later" eventually becomes "now", when those mistakes of form and style must be addressed. So distracted is the writer in finding all those split infinitives and dangling participles that it's easy to lose track of what the words are really saying. And what they are saying are all of the embarrassing, soul baring and relationship straining things you put in there while your censor was out for coffee.

For me this hit home on two occasions. The first was when I realized that some of my colleagues may read the book. I completed the original draft of the manuscript before I was a full-time employee of the Oceanographic Institution. Now that I must sit across the table daily with people who know much more about the subject of oceanography than I do, adds a level of anxiety that I was never prepared for. I found out today that the institution library has just purchased copies of the book for their shelves and for each of our ships. What this means for me is potentially being at sea for many weeks, trapped and surrounded by what I expect will be my harshest critics. I now realize that writers live mostly in solitary places to avoid such situations.

The second set of readers that I neglected to anticipate were my parents. I visited them this weekend and presented them with a copy of the book. In every instance where I envisioned the day that I would hand over a copy of my first book, the fantasy never involved them actually reading it. Show it off to their friends, yes, place it conspicuously on the coffee table, probably, open it up and start reading it in front of me, never. At that moment I couldn't remember a single sentence of what I had written, but truly believed it was two-hundred-and-thirty pages of things I didn't want my mother to see.

In the end they said it was great. But parents have to say that because even after fifty years they still feel responsible for your self-esteem. I'm holding out for the autonomous critics. Those that have no horse in the race. The readers my uncensored self was writing for.

The Reality of Fiction

My daughter Sara and I attended a storytelling at the local library tonight. She sat on the floor near the front with her friends and I sat in the back with mine. The stories were nothing exceptional, and the only running theme I could determine was that they all involved cholesterol. Bacon was mentioned in each one. Since these were all works of fiction, I figured that the person telling the story was just hungry. You can do that when you tell fiction - wing it to reflect your mood. If the kids had been little screaming monsters my guess is that the stories would have involved alcohol.

It was during the last story that things got weird. The storyteller leaned forward in his chair and began what he described as the most scary story of the evening. It was about a girl named Sara (or Sarah, you can never tell in narration) who was adopted, had a pink bicycle, was forgotten at school by her parents and had a fiery temper. I could see my daughter sitting there relating to all those attributes but the last one. I could relate to all of them. And yes, there was an incident with the school bus today that caused me to wait at the wrong bus stop, leaving her abandoned for a brief period of time, but that's another story and not entirely my fault. All-in-all a strange series of coincidences that caused me to take more interest in the tale being told.

This got me thinking. In the absence of our own involvement in a work of fiction, why do we hang on the next word, or scene? What is it that draws us into something which doesn't exist in reality. As a plot unfolds, the author, director or narrator can, on a whim, take us in a different direction, a different place, a different time, and we would never know. Why as spectators do we let ourselves be manipulated in such a way? The scholarly answer is that we read or watch fiction to be transported, to sever our ties with reality and escape. I don't entirely buy this. To me this makes fiction sound like a narcotic. If this were the case heroin would be more effective and involve less eye strain. No, I think I tonight I discovered the real appeal of fiction. The fictional work is a window into the mind of the author. Reading fiction is an act of voyeurism. In the final chapter of a book, you're not reading to see what the characters will do. They can do anything - live, die, repent, it doesn't matter. What the reader wants to know is what is the author thinking? What's going on in her mind that will cause a character to do one thing over another? If we only read for the sake of the story then why do we care one way or another about the fictional outcome of a character's situation?

In the HBO series The Sopranos, the very last second, of the very last episode caused an entire viewing nation to shout a collective "What the f#*@k" at their televisions. This wasn't because of anything that happened to the characters in the story. It was because the writer suddenly pulled the shade down on the window of his mind. As an audience we were caught peaking under the tent. Hauled away like children as the last enticing glimpse into the writer's most personal space was blocked from view. We all crave to know more about others than we know about ourselves. This is because wh...

Everything you wanted to know about algae

Art is not supposed to be competitive. Michelangelo wasn't thinking of one-upping Giorgio Vasari as he lay on his back painting Adam's testicles onto the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. He was creating great art and had more pressing concerns, like who picked the name "burnt umber". I never thought of the publishing process as a competition. Every book stands on its own merits, each having unique qualities that speak to the infinite moods of the human condition. At least that is how I felt before I discovered Amazon's sales rankings at the bottom of the web page. It was only a number, but one that beckoned like a siren. An attempt to quantify the qualitative.

Intuitively I knew that sales rankings are meaningless when it comes to describe the value of entertainment. After all, Freddy got Fingered made a heck of a lot more at the box office than Death at a Funeral. Still, I confess to clicking on the link to find out where Seven-Tenths stood among the hundreds of thousands of titles lining the virtual shelves of the super-cyber-store. To my amazement my book had cracked the top 100 of titles related to oceanography. In the first few days on Amazon's charts the book rose steadily to peak at #11. Now I'm sure that this meteoric rise was probably caused by an aunt or any number of other relations purchasing copies out of some sense of familial obligation, but hey, I was on a ride. I looked at who was above and below me, happy to yield the upper spots to Ballard, Cramer and Cousteau. Below me was slime, literally. I was content in the knowledge that Seven-Tenths was besting (but not by much) a problem solver's guide to algae.

It became a race. Me against the life story of an autotrophic organism. And like all races, some have the legs and some don't. At last count the seaweed was winning by a fair margin. My only solace was that Cousteau was poised to drop off Oceanography's top 100. I think it was Shakespeare's mother who said "Will, don't expect anything more than short-lived success as a writer, so go out and get a real job". There was a woman who understood publishing.

I'm not too worried. The ink on the pages of Seven-Tenths has barely dried and we haven't begun to get the word out that it even exists, so I think I'm going to resist the temptation to look at sales statistics...at least until my aunts go shopping again.

Book Formats

The only demand I made to my publisher...OK, it was more of a request, first-time authors don't get to demand much, was that we make the book accessible to blind and visually impaired readers. Since the subject matter was a lot about Amy's success in spite of her vision problem, it only made sense to make sure the material could be appreciated by others with vision loss. Leapfrog press was very supportive of this and has taken steps to assure that the book will soon be available in a variety of electronic formats, including large print (for download) and Daisy for text-to-speech readers. It will also be available in most e-book formats.

The Library of Congress has indicated that they will be making a recording of the book for the blind and visually impaired at some time in the future. That's nice of them, though what "some time in the future" means to the government has never been clear to me. In 1920 the Equal Rights Amendment was to become adopted "some time in the future", but I'm not sure it's close to happening anytime soon.

Reviews for Seven-Tenths

"A lost man finds his calling, and an oceanographer with dimming eyesight illuminates the dark sea. A dissatisfied engineer, David Fisichella, stumbles upon a life at sea. As Amy Bower, a scientist at a highly respected oceanographic research institution, loses her eyesight, her research increasingly reveals the workings of the ocean. An inspiring story of dedication, perseverance, courage, and love."

--Deborah Cramer, author of Great Waters: An Atlantic Passage and Smithsonian Ocean: Our Water Our World.

"Fisichella shows a genuine appreciation of the everyday struggles faced by a blind professional.... His humorous accounts are mixed with poignant recollections as his wife's vision slowly but steadily deteriorates... He understands that a reluctance to rely on others is not a lack of trust but a fear of losing control."

--Judith M. Dixon, National Library Service for the Blind and Physically Handicapped, Library of Congress

"A fascinating and open window into the life of an ocean scientist. If you like sea stories with pirates, exotic ports of calls and unforgettable characters, this book is for you. If you want a page turner that will have you laughing out loud one minute and on the edge of your seat the next, block out a couple of hours before you begin, because you won't stop. If you appreciate good writing and descriptions that put you right in the picture, this book will come alive for you. If you want to be inspired by one woman who faces the challenges of disability and the glass ceiling and triumphs every day and every time, you will love this book. Amy Bower, an SEA alumna, shows us that vision is far more than eyesight and limits are just an horizon that beckons. And if you want a love story that shows the best of human nature, get this book. The ocean covers seven-tenths of the planet, but in Dave Fisichella's wonderful story you will find ten-tenths of a good read."

--John K. Bullard, president, Sea Education Association

"Wondrous observations about the world's oceans, Somali pirates, and most of all, the story of one woman's devotion to her scientific career despite enormous obstacles, are woven together with skill and empathy. A memoir that will entrance anyone looking for a second chance at life and love." E.B. Library Journal

"...(C)aptivating and interesting...Fisichella keeps your attention throughout the book...I'm going to pass this one on..." Robert Schmidt, Amazon top 500 reviewer

"Seven-Tenths is a memoir that has elements of science and geography. I enjoyed reading every page of this unique book... Five stars..." Robert Yokoyama, Amazon top 500 reviewer

“Love, Piracy and Science at Sea.” That subtitle really caught my attention right off the bat. It sounds like it has something for all tastes. It delivers on it too. It's a touching memoir of an engineer who, when his marriage was falling apart and his job dissatisfied him, found out that helping others also helped himself. ... Fisichella does an excellent job of explaining things in nontechnical terms and his easy narrative style made this book a pleasure to read.... There's a lot going on for a book this size. It was so absorbing that I read it straight through. I would recommend this book to anyone that enjoys memoirs or is fascinated by tales of adventure at sea. A superb memoir, it is a very human story about how one man's dissatisfaction with the state of his life led him to make the changes that turned his life around. I give this book 4.5 bookies!

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