A perfectionist let loose

Each time I pick up my Kindle, I'm torn between checking my own book for spelling and formatting mistakes, and reading a nice trashy series. The latter started to win me over, until a walk in the park cleared my head and made me realise that my own book was pretty important.

As I hadn't cast my eyes over my work for at least a couple of weeks, it was like reading it from new again, and you know what, I love it!

I keep putting myself back in those depressed shoes from my days of self-harming, and imagining that I had turned to my book for help. Naturally I will be bias because I've slaved over it for yonks, but I genuinely believe that this book can help.

What I've also discovered, is that not all publishers take style as seriously as I do - which has really surprised me. In the series I've been reading, the start tag is always in the wrong place, the TOC doesn't work on all of the books, the covers are missing, and some of them don't even have proper chapter headings - The title just sort of clings to the top left-hand corner like it was waiting to be discovered. Urgh!

The battle of the format

Kindle... I know you are listening. This is war.

That little black electronic book slowly became my sole purpose in life. If I could just get my book to look right, then all the heartache has been worth it. At least, that is how I began to feel. Eating, sleeping, and generally enjoying my weekend slowly faded into the background, and all I cared about was getting that damn Table of Contents to work (it still doesn't.)

Digital files began teasing me. 'Am I the last working copy?' or 'did that last line of code you added break me completely?' One file would work with the images, but would lose the page breaks. Another would have those, but then I'd notice duplicate images at the back of the book.

File names started to confuse me as I couldn't remember which one had which changes in it. I eventually managed to get a copy which seemed to format right, and so I proceeded with the grammatical and basic text changes. After a few hours of editing, I decided to build the eBook file on my Windows computer and test it out on the Kindle again - It was broken in a new and imaginative way...

Arghhhhh!

I woke up at 4am feeling sick with worry that I might have just messed up my work completely, and I spent waking hours wanting to throw the Kindle in frustration at that crappy Windows machine.

Life (the weekend) went on like this hour after wretched hour, until my technical brain finally woke up, and made a few sensible suggestions.

For anyone wanting to make their own eBook, here are the main two things that I eventually learned: -

Don't email the HTML file to yourself in order to get it from one machine to the next (unless you zip it first.)

(I really should have known this - the bl**dy tags get removed somewhere between Entourage, Outlook, and that vast space known as the Internet . Stupid, crappy email thinks its so damn clever - no wonder my page breaks were missing from the final version)

Don't add your images to the Mobipocket list of files (but do make sure they are referenced correctly and are in the same directory as the HTML file.)

(the software will automatically find and include them in your final file. If you do what I did and add them manually, you end up with a random copy of each image at the back of the book)

I deleted many perfectly OK, and carefully edited copies of my book unnecessarily before I woke up and realised where I was going wrong. Apart from all the wasted time and lost work, it's left me feeling rather embarrassed that I could allow such a simple device to make me want to scream.

Still, my Kindle and I can now put aside our differences, and start to enjoy our time together. A couple of chick lit eBooks ought to repair our tainted start. I look forward to the time when this clever little device is my new best friend.

Now... where did I put that charger?

Fear and loathing in Las Vegas my Kindle

The early moments of life with my new Kindle went a little something like this: - I've got a Kindle! Have a look - Isn't it awesome! Let me send my book to it and see if it works. (Some faffing around with account names and email addresses ensues)

Wow! Check this out. My book is on my Kindle. Doesn't it look fab... Hang on... how do I get the images on there too? What about page breaks?

I purchase a guide on formatting, and hunt down the elusive HTML codes). Thank feck I've done some programming before, or I'd be pooping my pants about now.

'This should do it,' I think naively. I email myself the .htm document that I'd been slaving over for days, and wait for it to arrive from my MacBook. Next, it's time to create a single file using a newly downloaded bit of software running on my sh*tty Windows machine. I knew I kept this old computer for a reason. Stuck in one corner of our living room - mostly hidden by an array of plants and cookbooks, this computer setup isn't even worthy of a chair. Poised over a 2-tier cat basket and a box of wedding 'stuff', I hope to myself that I won't be here for long (Hah!)

It's all looking hopeful. I log into Outlook for web, email the file to my shiny new Kindle, and wait.

Home > Menu > Sync & Check for Items. I'm impatiently clicking over and over, desperate for this little device to reward me with news that my book is here. You are my friend, aren't you, Kindle? Please play nicely.

My book arrives quietly, just as I've gone back to my MacBook to check the wireless still works. The format is screwed. I quickly delete it, then go back to MacBook to send the file again. Maybe this tag is wrong? I delete the code, and instantly forget what it was there for to begin with. Darting from one computer to the other, I feel myself getting stressed and frustrated. The page breaks are there, but the images have gone again. My Kindle is starting to look more and more like a tiny, stubborn, ignorant b*stard. Why won't you work, Goddammit?

Kindle... I hate you.

I've a pocket full of vouchers and I'm itching to spend them

"The case is £50," he says to me looking slightly nervous, "It has a light."

There is a plastic blob in the top corner, which begs me to fiddle with it. I pull it all the way out and it curves up and over - but doesn't illuminate.

"This one is running low," he explains sheepishly.

The stack of other cases he's clutching look cheap and uninspiring. I couldn't turn up at work with a pink one anyway. No, it's this one or nothing.

'£50' I think. That's almost half the price of the device itself. It's stupidly expensive... yet somehow I want it. I've made the sales guy run around like a nutter looking for a Kindle and an Apple TV. I should really buy a case too. I almost owe it to him. Two sets of eyes are on me, waiting for a decision. He hands me one that looks identical.

"The one without a light is about £30."

My brain jumps to another subject, unable to accept that John Lewis could have possibly sold the last 2 Apple TV's in the hour or so that the shop's been open.

"And you are really sure you don't have any Apple TV's left?" Forget working on my book this weekend. It's imperative that we go home, collapse on the sofa, and watch streamed movies all day long. Screw the new Kindle - Apple TV is where it's at now. Another sales guy beckons over to the Apple cabinet.

"If it's not in there, we don't have it."

I know that I want it more because I can't have it. It's the same with that darn picnic basket. And I thought we'd timed it well coming out to the shops before the good weather comes back. Damn all the other forward planners!

'What exactly is in there anyway?' I wonder, as I glance over to the tall glass unit standing proud alongside rows and rows of shiny MacBooks.

The cabinet holds a random selection of mis-matched items. A couple of digital camera's, the iPad connector kit, some remotes.. hang on.. what's that? Down on the bottom shelf - left there as if nobody could be bothered to find a real home for them. Leaning unimpressively against the back of the tall glass cabinet lie 2 Kindle cases - on sale! Only £25 too. I'm suddenly interested again. Where is that sales guy?

"Um. The cases over there in the sale," I ask him - unable to resist a special offer, "are they the same as the one you showed me?"

He looks utterly confused and slightly tired of me. I mean, what are John Lewis doing putting Kindle cases in the Apple cabinet anyway?

"Let me go and get the key," he replies loyally.

I bought the discounted case without actually knowing what it looked like. My sales guy couldn't work out how to get it out of the box without tearing the packaging, which reinforced the idea that it had in fact never been opened. I wasn't going to question why John Lewis was selling a brand new case as a 'previously used' item. It saved me £7, and that's all that mattered. OK, so it didn't have a fancy light, but at least it gave my new toy a bit of protection from clumsy fingers.

Despite having a load of wedding vouchers to be spent, and no picnic basket to spend them on, I ended up paying for both items on my brand new debit card. It was the first time I'd used the card with my new name on it, and I found myself thinking silly thoughts such as 'will they know I'm a 'new' person now?' and 'do I have to prove to them that I am a Mrs?' I was still toying with the idea of claiming the money back at work - seeing as I'd officially had word that I would be allowed to test a Kindle for work purposes. As I wasn't sure if they would write me a cheque for something I paid for in vouchers, I decided to play it safe and use all of the remaining money in my bank account. 'I get paid next week anyway,' I reassured myself.

Without even leaving the electricals department, I ripped open the box to find out what I'd actually bought. I hoped the case didn't say something like 'Kindle version 1 - I'm too cheap to buy a newer one' on it. It turned out to be exactly the same as the demo case, only in a slightly less fancy looking box. I was in love already. My Kindle wasn't even out of its eco-friendly packaging, and already I didn't want to give it up. If I claim the money back, then officially it doesn't belong to me anymore. I'm not sure I could let that happen.