I write a newsletter once a month for my (potential) readers. My reader list came from posting free copies of my book on BookFunnel, where people would read it in exchange for being put on my newsletter list. If you’re wondering what it’s all about, it’s a lot like this blog — a reflection that relates to the books, followed by book news and a freebie link to BookFunnel.
I have 2808 readers, most of whom (I suspect) do not read the newsletter. But that’s okay, some people are reading it. I don’t think any of them have bought a book. But that’s okay, someday they may. That 2800 people subscribe to my newsletter amazes me.
If you want to subscribe, drop me a line and I will put you on the subscriber list.
Indie-publishing a novel was a risk. Writing it was a Big Audacious Goal, but I could have left the book in a file folder forever. Letting it out there for people to read was a big risk.
What is the risk of putting my work out there for others to read? There’s a risk of being ridiculed, of being ignored, of losing one’s confidence in oneself. These bring up a lot of fear, like standing in front of a door, not knowing what is on the other side.
I took the risk by walking through that door. My first book published was a Christmas romance, The Kringle Conspiracy. It was a project whose seeds were planted in a high school short story I’d written. To publish, I had to edit the document, run it across some beta readers, and then the hard part: uploading it onto KDP (Kindle’s publishing arm) and hitting the button to publish.
I could have walked it back. I could have unpublished it before the wheels of KDP released it to the public, but I did not. I took the risk.
My results have been mixed. On one hand, I have not had a lot of readers (except for the 3300 who read it for free in exchange for getting put on my newsletter list.) On the other, the few people who have reviewed it have given it 4.5 stars out of five. It’s a modest success, but that’s not the reason I took the risk. I took it because it was another Big Audacious Goal, one that I could only accomplish through stepping through the door.
I’ve noticed that when I’m having writer’s block, I make a post about it, and then I get back into writing. As if complaining about my writer’s block solves it. Like griping is a magic incantation.
I’m going to have to find an alternate way to break my writer’s block. You all deserve better than to hear me bitch about my lack of production every couple of weeks.
So even though I’m back in a lull, I will not try to convince you that this horrible dry spell is the end of my writing career. It’s just the end of the semester catching up with me.
This is probably me having a Discouraging Moment TM but I’m not feeling that obsession to write. I have three partial novels and one novella, all of which have stalled.
The latest document — I know what’s wrong with it but not how to fix it. I sit and think about how to introduce what it needs and my brain dissolves into mush. I feel like my brain cells are devoted to work and my future garden, the seedlings in the basement and the research proposals on the computer.
I might take some time this morning to talk with my husband and see what I come up with. Then again, I might grade papers. That’s what writing has been lately.
There are several types of social media I use to try to drive readers toward my books. This, my blog, is one of the primary ones. It doesn’t seem to succeed very well. I don’t plug my books very often on my blog (Look here if you’re interested) so that might explain my lack of success.
I also promote my books through Loomly, a social media manager. With Loomly, I can schedule blurbs in Threads, Facebook Pages, and Instagram at the same time. I plug my books much more often on Loomly. This also doesn’t seem to succeed very well.
I don’t do a great job at plugging my books. Maybe it’s because my books are one in a million — literally. Just one in a market of indie books that grows exponentially by the year. I think people are innundated with ads for indie books, and there’s no way to know whether they’re good or not. I can’t seem to make mine stand out. I’m not sure anyone can.
It’s not so bad. I think I do a good job writing this blog, which is a reward in its own right. I don’t have too many readers, but they’re increasing. Thank you for reading.
I’m at the Broadway Cafe in Kansas City, hoping my seedlings upstate are doing well. I’m drinking a latte and absorbing a real coffee house ambiance, which I have needed for a while.
Not that I dislike my local Starbucks, because it fills in for the real coffeehouses we’ve had in town, and is better than the current place that serves coffee downtown, which is a defeated pile of go-cups. But it’s not a real coffeehouse experience because of its corporate nature.
Coffeehouse thoughts: It’s about three weeks till the end of the semester, for which I am really thankful. Summer will have interns, but that means a much more flexible schedule with some rest. That sounds good to me.
I feel exceptionally calm right now, like I will make it to the end of the school year without the disturbances of the past, without unfinished projects with looming deadlines. It feels good not being manic or depressed or both.
Writing is going slow; I haven’t quite found the rhythm of the story yet. It hasn’t developed into enough of a story. I need to get there and not run away from another novel.
I need more coffee. I could fall asleep in my latte right now.
Did I mention that I’m working on another book? I don’t remember whether I did.
Anyhow, it’s another book in the Hidden in Plain Sight series, which is already full of stories, but I thought I’d write another. This one, which does not have a title yet, happens in 2015, before any of the other books so far. It is the setup for the collective Hearts are Mountains featured in Whose Hearts are Mountains, which has not been released yet. It’s an origin story about how a bunch of Archetypes, beings who are usually solitary, form a commune in the Nevada desert.
It’s going slow, especially as there are necessary conversations that have to drive my main characters to where they actually contemplate such a crazy thing. I feel like I’m doing too much talking as I write, but I’m in the “getting the words down” stage. I’m thinking, though, I’m thinking of how to get more action in the first three chapters.
There’s also a love affair between an archetype and a human, which results in a Nephilim who is not brought up to understand her heritage, who also becomes important to the plot of Whose Hearts are Mountains. So the events of twenty years later have their roots in this story.
I love the process of watching a story take shape, even one that presents a struggle such as this one.
I wish I could say the book I would read (and have read) over and over was a high-brow book, like The Return of the King. I wish it was a staple of fantasy, something that would give me geek cred. But the book is as mass-market as any book selling at the grocery store, and it still captures me every time.
The novel is Origin in Death, by JD Robb. JD Robb (alternative pen name for Nora Roberts) writes futuristic crime novels. She’s written a lot of these, perhaps 40. Reading them is like eating popcorn — tasty, addictive, and a little more nutritious than you might think. Her protagonist is a police lieutenant, Eve Dallas, who runs the murder squad at Cop Central. She’s excellent at what she does, and she’s a bit curmudgeonly. She’s married to one of the richest men on earth, a former jewel thief who goes by the name of Roarke. Roarke, with his larcenous ways, makes a perfect partner in fighting crime.
The specific story, Origin in Death, involves a father-son pair of doctors who are killed within a day of each other. The murder trail leads to a network of underground hospital wards and a conspiracy to supply men with the perfect lover/wife. How the doctors manage this is part of the light science fiction that JD Robb trades in. There are twists to surprise, and a big chase scene at the end that made me wish for a version for the screen.
I read this novel now and again. It’s quick to get through, and I know all the plot twists. But it remains entertaining, and perhaps the best of JD Robb’s In Death series.
One thing you can do when writing a book is to skip to another chapter when you’re stuck on the one you’re currently writing. This is done so you can continue to write the book rather than bog down into writer’s block. I’m doing this right now, because I feel my first three chapters (or maybe just the latest chapter) are writing the same thing over and over. Not much action, too much expository.
Wouldn’t it be nice if real life were that way? If you could just skip over a day gone wrong and go to the next activity? If you could slide past the boring parts and get to the more interesting ones? I could skip a work week and make it to the weekend early.
It doesn’t work that way. The work still needs to be done. The boring parts are necessary to enjoy the good parts. Life is supposed to flow rather than happen in fits and starts. We can’t skip any of it — not the aggravation nor the grief. No skipping chapters in real life.
So I’m writing a new book, or at least I think I am. I’ve gotten past the layout (which I will revise, I’m sure) and into the actual writing. I have gotten one chapter written and already I find myself out of ideas at the moment. It’s the part of the book where the writer sets up the premise and I already feel like I have that sewn up. And there are three more chapters to develop the premise. I hate when that happens.
I use a template when writing because I feel somewhat impaired by linear storytelling. There is an expectation of when things are supposed to happen in a book, and a template helps with that. For example, in the next part of the book, there’s supposed to be a debate over the future action in the plot: “You should not do the thing.” “Why should I not do the thing?” “Bad things will happen if you do the thing.” (And the protagonist does the thing, and everything goes wrong, and the protagonist’s hubris gets them killed. This is known as a tragedy. I don’t write tragedies. Yet.)
By the end of this book, the intrepid protagonists will gather together, fight against the Council of the Oldest who are trying to keep them from congregating, and start a commune in the desert of Nevada. I hope that’s enough plot to keep the book going. The problem with this story is that it’s writing out a historical event I know happens to my protagonists, but I don’t know if there’s enough there to write. Wish me luck; I need to get some writing in.
Words Like Me 