Marketing

    I read a blog the other day about a woman who had been published traditionally. It took two years from the time she wrote the book until it was published, and then, it was basically up to her to market it. She talked about hiring her own publicist.
  Amazing to think that she had had her work published by a "real" publisher, and she was the one having to market her book. Wow!
  I hired my own publicist -- it's me. Who cares more about my work than I do? No one so it's up to me to get it out into the hands of readers.
  Two months into this thing, and I think I've done pretty well. I've been on two radio shows and have been featured in a newspaper article in The Augusta Chronicle. My book launch event was successful in terms of traffic. There were a lot of people I hadn't seen in years who stopped by to say "hi" and buy a book.
  I had another big book signing at the local First Friday event. There were musicians outside the book store to draw customers in.
  So far, I have four five-star reviews at Amazon.com. I didn't make up accounts or even ask anyone to write them for me. It's very humbling when someone really likes your work and wants to tell others about it.
 Facebook has been great. I've gotten a lot of readers who never would have even heard of my work except through Facebook. I haven't placed any ads; I've just relied on word of mouth. There's nothing like having a friend suggest your work to another friend.
  I haven't made the New York Times bestseller list, but I've sold books, I've gotten my name out there, and I have several people begging for a sequel.

A child is born, sort of

   So a week ago, the package came.
   Inside a rectangular, cardboard box and wrapped in brown paper were copies of my book.
   It was the moment the surreal became real. There, in my hands, was the finish product with its beautiful cover created by my brother and filled with the words I felt inspired to write. In a small way, it was like that emotion I felt when I first held each of my children. I shed a few tears because it was done, completely finished.
   It was an amazing moment, staring at the cover and thumbing through its pages. Wow. This is what I want to do with the rest of my life.
   With social media, I was able to share my newborn instantly, and I received instant feedback, which was also nice.
   Yesterday, I started Book 2. I don't have a working title. The Key of Elyon was simply named "book." Book 2 is called "sequel." Yeah, it's original.

No turning back

   As of June 1, I am a published author - of a book, that is.
   Several people asked me how that felt. I'm not sure how to answer that question. I might know when I have that hard copy in my hand. Those are scheduled to arrive on June 13. I ordered some for the upcoming book signing, which is scheduled for my birthday on July 5.
   Yesterday was a blur of Twitter and Facebook messages. I have two radio interviews that are slated for the end of the month, just in time for the book signing. I sold a few copies.
   I think I'm more nervous now than ever. It's finished, completed, done, but in a way, it's not. It's just the beginning, and there's no turning back. I think I woke up last night in a panic, wondering where a misplaced comma might be or something stupid that five sets of eyes missed in the editing process.
  I need to set my eyes on the next project. A few people have loved it so I know that there is an audience out there. I just need to find it.
 

Judge a Book By Its Cover

  After joining a few author and publisher websites, I've started receiving information on book covers and marketing. Many of these emails tout the importance of a great book cover. Don't do it yourself was the advice from one such book cover hawker because people judge whether they will buy the book because of its cover. If you have no artistic inclinations and are technically challenged, then don't go this route alone. Buy a cover from us is what they are really saying.
  That's o.k. I have a professional doing mine. My cover is almost complete. I've seen glimpses of it, and it's really good. My brother oozes creativity. It has all of these small elements from the book on it, and it's very eye-catching. It also shows my brother's personality. The main color is orange - his favorite color. When I was younger, I have to admit I didn't like orange, but it's grown on me over the years. It definitely works for the cover. It's striking.
  It should be finished tomorrow.
  I'm excited. It's finally all coming together. We had one more book read-through, and everything should be clean now. Soon, I will hold a book in my hand.
   And if people judge my book by its cover, they won't be disappointed.

Anxiety and impatience

  So my team of graphic designers is furiously at work finishing the cover and interior of my book, then it will be uploaded and distributed. And then, the real work begins - pushing this book and selling it.
  In addition to never wanting to write a book, I never wanted to be a salesperson. I remember selling Girl Scout cookies as a child and teen-ager. I hated hawking those things even though they were a great product that sold themselves. I had huge insecurity issues and was extremely shy. Talking to people I did not know was terribly difficult. How I lasted in journalism as long as I have is beyond me. To this day, I have to work myself up to the place where I can just go up to a total stranger and begin a conversation. On many occasions in writing for newspapers, I've covered events and had to do that very thing.
 In a way, it won't be as difficult as say selling used cars. After all, it is a product I fully believe in. That is a two-edged sword though. I believe in the book because it's part of me, which leads to the other part of the blade. The rejection factor. I've lived through my share of rejection. It's part of life. I've never been part of the mainstream; I've always been different. I've always been the strange one, the outsider. I think that comes with the territory of being an artistic type. I had a few people on facebook tell me they've written a book, but they could never let anyone read it. They were afraid of what people might think. They were afraid of the criticism or that people would judge them. How sad in a way, but I totally understand the sentiment. I'm about to put myself out there for all to see. When writing a newspaper article, I do that.
  Well, soon enough my work will be out there for all to see.  I feel good so far because four people have read it, and all four had good things to say. I think all of the kinks have been worked out. It won't be a book everyone will like. I mean I don't like books about horror, but there are some wealthy writers of horror out there. In spite of that, there will be people who like this and will recommend it to others.
 

Comma coma

     I saw a quote by Oscar Wilde that made me laugh. It read differently on websites so I tried to run down its origins, and I found this post on several sites that summed it up. It came from Robert Harborough Sherard's book, Oscar Wilde: The Story and an Unhappy Friendship, with Portraits and Facsimile Letters, “He [Wilde] related also, with much gusto, how in a country-house he had told his host one evening that he had spent the day in hard literary work, and that, when asked what he had done, he had said, 'I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning and took out a comma.' 'And in the afternoon?' 'In the afternoon—well, I put it back again.'”
     I can attest to the fact that the proper usage of that cute little comma is hard literary work because there are so many crazy rules involving commas. It's like trying to explain to someone why the plural of goose is geese but the plural of moose is moose or why we drive in parkways and park in driveways. I spent several hours yesterday beating my head against the wall over the use of the punctuation when it came to the word "which."
    I've been a professional writer for 24 years so there are things I do when I write that I don't necessarily think about when I do them. They come naturally, and I shouldn't second-guess myself. Yesterday, I did. I found that sometimes I put a comma in with the word "which," and sometimes, I did not. I thought I was losing my mind, but there was good reason for those pesky commas being there sometimes and not at others. It has to do with restrictive and non-restrictive clauses, and that's another story in itself. After wasting hours trying to figure out what I was doing and discovering it was correct, I snapped out of my comma coma.
     My friends call me a grammar and punctuation Nazi, and I don't deny take offense to it. I want my copy to be perfect. The greatest compliment I've received from copy editors is that I have "clean copy," meaning they don't have to do a lot of work on it. Many times my stories appear in the newspaper exactly as I have turned them in. The editor, who used to change EVERYTHING, has since moved to a different newspaper.
      I'm sure there will be someone who will point out some error. People always seem to find something. I don't do the "Oxford" comma, which involves a series of items and a comma before the word "and." The Oxford comma would come in a sentence such as "The boy wanted mashed potatoes, gravy and cornbread for supper." It would be in place after gravy, but as you see, it's not there. It's not Associated Press style, and after 24 years, it's hard to break out of a certain style.
    I suppose I could adopt the Ernest Hemingway approach and say to heck with punctuation especially commas. I had people argue with me about Hemingway. They told me he was a former newspaperman so he knew how to use proper punctuation and was making a statement. I majored in English and have been writing for 24 years. If I tried to tell anyone reading my book that I was making a statement by not putting in commas, I'm sure they'd make some statements about me - unfavorable ones, that is.
 In the English language, commas are a conundrum at times. You can't live with them, but you definitely can't live without them. If you try to live without them, you might be found writing "Don't eat Grandma!" instead of "Don't eat, Grandma."

 

Wanted dead or alive

   Did I say this already? I never WANTED to write a book.
   The words "wanted" and "book" never came together in a sentence. I wanted to write for newspapers. I wanted to write for magazines. I wanted to do something besides teach English. I wanted to star on Broadway. Oh wait, sorry, wrong blog.
   So, I've completed the first draft. I've let a few people read/edit this thing. I've had some glowing reviews already. The retired outdoor page editor, who edited my book, loved the story and said he wanted to read a sequel so did the 17 year-old girl from my "test" audience. Sequel? Really? I'm not finished with the first book yet. They both said it was exciting; they couldn't put it down.
   I am a perfectionist. This blog will likely be read and changed five or six times before I click "post." Therefore, I am returning to my book to give it another look. I've already added some things, and there are things I don't like. It brings me back to the beginning statement. I never wanted to do this.
  Sometimes, though, things just burn inside, and you feel like you have to do it. I've always liked stories. Being from the South, I think that story-telling is in the blood. You can't ask a Georgian a simple question unless you want a back-story before you get the answer. My husband, who was born in Montana, learned this the hard way.  If he asks me what I bought at the grocery store, I have to tell him when I went, where I went, if I saw anyone I knew at the grocery store, what we talked about if I did see someone, and how much money I saved. I have now come to the place where I omit details like what I was wearing at the time and if I forgot to put on makeup. What did I buy? Is that really important? By the time I've told my story, I've already remembered what I've forgotten to buy at the grocery store. Oh well, the grocery store is just down the road. I can go back and tell another story. Sometimes, he only wants to know what's for dinner so the story, I guess, is the entertainment to go along with the meal. After 25 years, he pretends to listen very well.  
    Apparently, I come from a long-line of storytellers. It's in the blood. My mother's father, who was also born in Georgia, was said to have been able to tell tall tales. And I've heard stories about other relatives, long gone uncles and aunts. I know my father's mother wanted to be a writer as well. She may have spent her adult life in Nevada, but she was born in the South, too. Storytelling is in my genes.
   And one day soon, my story will be on shelves.