Learning to self-promote

I spent yesterday getting my author’s presence on two websites that handle reviews: Goodreads and BookBub. This largely consisted of trying to figure out how to do it, which is not obvious by going to the page.

I’m discovering how much of promoting the book is learned by sitting in author’s groups on Facebook and asking questions. I don’t know what I would have done before Facebook groups. I certainly didn’t know how to find this information and my Google game is excellent. 

One thing I’ve observed — I don’t think I need these connections with other professionals until I actually need information. This is a failing of mine, because it assumes that I can’t give back, and eventually I will be able to. But maybe it’s a common failing, especially for an introvert like I’ve become.

And now for a shameless self-promo moment:


This is what my author page looks like. If you want to see it bigger, look here: 

Deep October

 So, October’s a bit warm right now. We sat on the patio at the local steakhouse for dinner last night and it was only a tiny bit cold in my shirt sleeves. Even when the cold front comes in Thursday, our highs are going to be in the seventies.

Even though the days are gloriously warm even as the leaves turn, I strangely look forward to the snap in the air, the frost, the chill rain under black skies.  Especially the rain. 


I had a cloak, a heavy and billowy thing of burgundy tweed with a lining of velour. There was nothing better than that for an autumn evening, especially if it was misting. The cloak had a bonnet hood with it to keep off the rain. I still have the cloak, but it desperately needs cleaning from hanging on a basement rack and there’s rips in the lining. And I feel a little self-conscious wearing it now, to be honest. It’s a quite spectacular cloak.

I look forward to the withered grasses, the brown, sere roadsides, the grey skies. I await the chill evenings, the dreary rainstorms, the crisp orange and brown mornings, the touch of frost. Summer has been with us too long.

It’s Monday and I’m trying to stay positive.


 It’s Monday, but I have a cup of marvelous, home-roasted and fresh ground coffee. I have at least seven reviewers for my book doing their reviews. I have character sheets (see yesterday’s post) for my two main characters in Kringle in the Dark. 

I still don’t want to go to work today. No reason; it’s just Monday, and I’ve had too much time at home (not off; I worked Thursday and Friday and answered emails Saturday and Sunday). Class is going to be relatively simple this week, but still. It’s the idea of going back when I’ve been immersed in a couple relaxing days.

I don’t relax well, but this weekend I relaxed, probably because my brain just shut down and allowed me little more than some light reading. Maybe it will help me think. 

I’ll do my work this week, masterminding some strategies for publicizing the novel this week. I want my ads to go outside the writers community (because otherwise it’s like multilevel marketing where we’re all selling to each other). I have problems to solve this week and blurbs to rewrite.

And I won’t complain about Monday.

Character sheets — Brent and Sunshine



Today I’m going to play with character sheets for the two main characters in the next Kringle book, which I will be working on during NaNo in November.

One of the characters will be Brent Oberhauser. Brent is 29 years old, tall and slender. He would have ash blond hair if he were not shaving his head bald to hide his receding hairline. He has a pale beige complexion and ice blue eyes, and black framed glasses that somewhat conceal his striking good looks. This makes him a light summer in seasonal color analysis. He is a PhD candidate in Medievalist History whose dissertation is titled “Scandal and Secret: The Sex Lives of Clergy in the 1300s”.  He works as a teaching assistant in the history department at University of Colorado-Denver and as a part-time barista at the cafe, which he does in part because of the social aspects.

His father was career Army in Civil Affairs. He spent 20 years in the military and left with the rank of Colonel; he is now a freelance consultant. His mother died when he was seven.

Brent has a somewhat contentious relationship with his father, mostly because of what his father calls his spacy demeanor. In reality, Brent is an idealist who masks his disappointment in humor. He loves music, including EDM and jazz, and he participates in a local medieval reenactment group. He dresses in shirt/tie/sweater and chinos to teach, sweaters and jeans casually, and jeans/t-shirt to work as a barista.


Meanwhile, Sunshine Watson is 5’5″, athletically built, with medium brown skin and black hair; its style tends to change often. Her seasonal color is dark winter. She works as an accountant for Yes, Virginia, a nebulous non-profit funding charitable Christmas works in the Denver area. She attended University of California Berkeley, and traveled for a couple years working as an accountant before moving to Denver. She moved to Denver because she wanted to live near the mountains.  

Sunshine’s Dad —  was career Army, spending 20 years working as a Horizontal Construction Engineer. He retired with rank of captain. He now is a contractor. Sunshine’s mother was an accredited financial counselor working with military personnel. She has been all over the world because of the military, and her parents made sure she was given a broad cultural background.

Sunshine has a sardonic way of looking at things, unless she’s talking about what she’s passionate about, such as travel and world cultures, her family, and justice. She is extremely experiential; she became an accountant to earn money toward her travels. She lives frugally so she can do so; she dresses sharply through sales and an interchangeable, classic wardrobe. 


Deep Breath

 


This whole publishing thing is unnerving me.

I’m currently in the stage where I have ARC reviewers with a review copy in their hands and they’ll come back and review for me on Amazon.  I’m petrified. Of course, I want honest reviews, but I want honest GOOD reviews. Don’t we all? 

I’m trying to figure out what to do for a virtual book-signing party. Especially the book signing. 

I find myself getting weepy and on edge. I have been blessed with what is in effect a four-day weekend so my weepiness doesn’t get in the way of my job. 

Damn it, this is supposed to be fun!

So, let me remember that. This is supposed to be fun. This is an accomplishment I didn’t think would happen — both in terms of being published at all and in terms of making self-publishing work. 

Deep breath. 

A Virtual Book-Signing Party

 


So, would you like to come to a virtual book signing party?

I have no idea how to sign books in a virtual book signing party, or how to serve cake on Zoom. It sounds like a crazy idea to me, but it could be fun.

At the same time, I hate throwing parties. I’m afraid nobody will come. Yes, there’s a certain part of self-pity involved there, I know. I try not to indulge it. 

So let me indulge something else: What would a virtual book signing party work?

  • Discount on books (especially e-books) that day
  • Book reading
  • Games
  • Raffle for hardback signed book
  • Introduction of newsletter/signup
  • Gift (email) of short story
  • Discussions about Christmas
How does that sound?

Let me know if you want an invite!

Also, if you want to review The Kringle Conspiracy, check out the ARC link below:



Memory full of people



More than anything, my memory is full of people.

It’s to be expected — I am, after all, 57 years old. But all the best memories I have involve people. It’s as if the memories I have of work, of time spent alone, have faded away, and what is left are the stories of people I have known. The gatherings to watch Star Trek and the flirtations that ensued, the time I ate popovers with a gathering of neighbors, getting stuck in the elevator with my wedding party. All of these are years past, sometimes many years past.

Even random encounters with people stay in my mind longer than solitude. The guys in the supermarket who said “Pizza is serious business, ma’am” thirty-some years ago. The autumn day when a young man got on the bus, bedraggled by rain, dazzling in his long-haired beauty. 

I have been alone more often than not lately, in part due to COVID. At work, we stay in our offices unless we teach. I have done little more than wave at people in the hallways. I only sometimes go to my neighborhood cafe, and there are no football games or campus gatherings this semester. So I have been building fewer important memories.

I talked to a friend yesterday over the phone, and some of those old memories started replaying. I believe we’ve known each other for 30 years at this point; it doesn’t feel that long ago. 

I don’t feel so old that I must rely on memory to sustain me. I need to make more memories in this place that I am now. By that, I don’t mean Maryville, MO, but this particular point in time, at this particular age, when I have grown up enough not to be trapped by dizzying crushes. What moments will I make now that I will carry into the future? 

Live Under COVID Six Months In

 Life under COVID six months in:

  • I never forget my mask anymore. I have a selection of several masks, actually, including the Northwest Missouri State University mask I wear below. 
  • My weekly restaurant date with Richard (my husband) is no longer, because restaurants are rife with COVID and are a major contagion source. We do take carryout.
  • I can now teach live and on Zoom at the same time. I hate it. I can’t move out of the sight of the camera and all the Zoomies see is my head. 
  • I dream of the Grotto at The Elms, a cabin at Mozingo, a celebratory dinner at Bluestem. An orchestra, shopping in Macy’s in Chicago, Christmas at Starved Rock, an Amtrak train across the country. What I have is a predictable path from my house to the university and back, with an occasional stop at the cafe. 
  • I curse our leadership for letting COVID get this entrenched in the country. Countries with early quarantine, frequent testing, and well-equipped hospitals have gotten back to a near-normal. 
  • At least I haven’t gotten COVID. I attribute this to the strong controls my county and my university have — masks in public, contract tracing, disinfecting surfaces, office hours by appointment only and socially distanced. 

  • I know I will celebrate when the virus is taken down. I will go on that writers’ retreat and eat in that fancy restaurant to celebrate my novel. I’m holding on till then. 


The Power of Small Rituals

 

 Sunday morning, and our Sunday ritual once again — classical music and coffee. No newspaper, although we pull up the news on the Internet. Two of our cats linger downstairs — the big Chuckie with the tiny meow, and the loud and insistent calico Girly-Girl. Me-Me and Chloe the kitten are scrapping it out upstairs. 

We don’t play anything but classical music till afternoon, and then we’re likely to play jazz. (Except today, when we will break the “no carols till Thanksgiving rule and play my playlist for Kringle in the Night through for tweaks.) 

Meanwhile, the scent in the room is Silver Birch, a very autumnal scent. Outside, there’s one maple tree with leaves starting to turn red to remind us that the seasons do pass even when we’re too busy to look.

I’m thinking about my ritual to commemorate my book being published. I have a Moonman C1 Christmas Edition fountain pen coming in the mail, hopefully before the first of November. I will fill it with red ink and use it for Christmas things. 

Rituals, as I have said before, are important. They help mark the seasons, the days, the milestones. They help commemorate the everyday and the phenomenal. They help with closure and with focus, with devotion and with loss. Don’t ignore the power of small rituals.