I'm in one of my periodic spells of just not being able to find a book I like. Believe me, I've tried. I've tried good books - The Book Thief by Markus Zuzak; and bad books - Big Girl, by Danielle Steel. I started Anne of Ingleside by L.M. Montgomery, because I like the Anne series, but even that's failing me. So what's a reader to do?
This isn't the first time this has happened to me. I've had dry spells before. I don't finish books I don't like, but when the unfinished books start piling up, I'm in trouble. I don't know if it's me, if I'm tired of reading, or if I'm just hitting a bad patch. Probably both.
What makes it so tough is that fiction is my addiction of choice. That might sound like a joke, but it isn't. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have books to escape to. I'm not denying reality. I watch the news and read the paper and keep up on what's going on. And, as you know, what's going on is usually pretty grim. That's why I read, and write, the kind of books I do. I don't need to read about real life. I live it. Let me get away from it once in a while.
When this happens I get leery of trying something new, so I've picked up an old reliable, Rex Stout. I enjoy his Nero Wolfe books, and since I rarely remember the solution to the mystery, I can reread them without much trouble. I haven't picked the best of his titles, but at least they're readable. Hopefully they'll get me through.
I hope this doesn't go on much longer, because it's lousy. If I can't find something good to read, I might have to take drastic action. Since no one seems to be writing a book I want to read, I might just have to write one myself.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Writers Write - Right?
I have fallen into my bad old pattern of not writing, including this blog. It's not that I don't want to - kind of. I like the idea of getting into a book again. Somehow, though, I never get going. I'm not going to use the excuse that I don't have time. I've never had anything but scorn for that excuse. I have the same 24 hours in a day as everyone else, and in the past I managed to complete quite a few books while working another job. The most notable was the huge, never to be published manuscript I produced in one year while I was working in Boston. That entailed a long day with a long commute, beginning at 6 AM and ending close to 6 PM. I once did a time study on my day and concluded that, taking everything into account, my work, the commute, and necessary things like eating and sleeping, that I had 15 minutes free a day. Yet I still managed to produce that book. I'm proud of that.
It's not always that easy, though. Way back then I was single and sharing a house with my parents, which means that I was responsible for only myself. Now I'm a single mother, and I'm somewhat older. My schedule is different, too. While I no longer have the long commute, I work till 8, 2 days in the week. I'm tired at night. Sometimes I just want to veg out in front of the TV. Sometimes I want to read other people's works. And sometimes all I want to do is sleep.
Now, this doesn't mean I haven't made a start. I've compiled quite a few notes, and I've put together different scenes for "Miss Nobody". I'm close to being able to start writing it. There's just one problem. I don't want to.
So, OK. That contradicts everything I've said, not only in this post, but in others preceding it. But, there it is. I do not want to write "Miss Nobody." Though I've got some lively characters, the story itself is just too close to the Regencies I used to write. I'm tired of that. I want to move on. I want to write the first book in the Three Graces trilogy, Felicity. So the trilogy needs "Miss Nobody" as a prequeL? So what? I'll find a way to work around it. I hate doing a lot of flashback in a book, particularly at the start, and so I don't know quite how I'll fit the relevant information in. I'll manage somehow.
I've wanted to write Felicity for quite a few years. I love the main character and I like the basic premise. In fact, I'm excited about it. So, why aren't I writing? Damned if I know, except that it's my old bad pattern, formed when I started writing things I didn't really want to write, which burned me out. When writing became a real chore, it also became something to avoid. I need to rediscover my love and passion for it. And the only way to do that is not to read someone else's book, or watch the tube. The only way is to write. Gulp.
So. Take a deep breath and get started, kiddo. I'll report my progress, or lack thereof, in a future entry. For now, sleep calls.
It's not always that easy, though. Way back then I was single and sharing a house with my parents, which means that I was responsible for only myself. Now I'm a single mother, and I'm somewhat older. My schedule is different, too. While I no longer have the long commute, I work till 8, 2 days in the week. I'm tired at night. Sometimes I just want to veg out in front of the TV. Sometimes I want to read other people's works. And sometimes all I want to do is sleep.
Now, this doesn't mean I haven't made a start. I've compiled quite a few notes, and I've put together different scenes for "Miss Nobody". I'm close to being able to start writing it. There's just one problem. I don't want to.
So, OK. That contradicts everything I've said, not only in this post, but in others preceding it. But, there it is. I do not want to write "Miss Nobody." Though I've got some lively characters, the story itself is just too close to the Regencies I used to write. I'm tired of that. I want to move on. I want to write the first book in the Three Graces trilogy, Felicity. So the trilogy needs "Miss Nobody" as a prequeL? So what? I'll find a way to work around it. I hate doing a lot of flashback in a book, particularly at the start, and so I don't know quite how I'll fit the relevant information in. I'll manage somehow.
I've wanted to write Felicity for quite a few years. I love the main character and I like the basic premise. In fact, I'm excited about it. So, why aren't I writing? Damned if I know, except that it's my old bad pattern, formed when I started writing things I didn't really want to write, which burned me out. When writing became a real chore, it also became something to avoid. I need to rediscover my love and passion for it. And the only way to do that is not to read someone else's book, or watch the tube. The only way is to write. Gulp.
So. Take a deep breath and get started, kiddo. I'll report my progress, or lack thereof, in a future entry. For now, sleep calls.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Woot! Woot! Woot!
So I was at work this morning, and I decided to check the sales ranking for The Rake's Reward. The page loaded and I saw: #100 in the Kindle store. I let out a whoop and started doing the Snoopy dance, which made my co-worker jump. This happened at the circulation desk, mind you. So much for a quiet library.
What a day. I kept checking my rankings throughout the day, and whenever I was out on the floor, getting books from the stacks and pretty certain that no one was looking, I did fist pumps. As of today I've sold over 17,000 books for August. I'm projecting I'll hit over 22,000 by the end of the month. That's more than I sold in the first 6 month royalty period for some of my print books. I'm stunned. I hoped I'd have success, but I never expected this.
In my first month of publishing, I sold 5, count 'em, 5 books. Gradually my numbers grew, if not quickly, at least steadily. In May I was selling over 8 books per day, which I thought was respectable. I figured the numbers would only rise. But in June, I sold only about 7 books a day. Something was wrong. True, I didn't promote, and maybe that would help, but I really didn't want to do it. If producing ebooks makes you part of a crowd, so do some avenues of self-promotion. Everyone tweets, uses Facebook, and writes blogs, thus becoming part of another crowd. I decided I didn't want to go that way. Still, I had to do something. I'd produce more books, of course, but that would take time. I had to boost my sales somehow.
So, at the end of June, I lowered all my book prices from $2.99 and $3.99, which, by the way, I thought and still think to be reasonable, to .99. Nothing happened at first, but in the beginning of July I began seeing something. I sold 16 books in a day. Wow! Then 12. Oh, I hoped I'd sell 14, to keep the average. I didn't. I sold 20. And on, and on, until I hit 75. Over 100. Over, now, 800 and rising. I now make many times more money from my books per day than I do in my day job.
As I've said elsewhere,quitting writing 3 years ago was the right decision. Returning to writing now is the right decision, too. It's feeling good again. I'm doing the research and still writing notes, but I can feel the day when I write that first line coming closer. Yesterday one of the patrons at the library told me I'm losing money by working there, that I should be home writing. Hmmm. Is another decision on the way? Stay tuned.
What a day. I kept checking my rankings throughout the day, and whenever I was out on the floor, getting books from the stacks and pretty certain that no one was looking, I did fist pumps. As of today I've sold over 17,000 books for August. I'm projecting I'll hit over 22,000 by the end of the month. That's more than I sold in the first 6 month royalty period for some of my print books. I'm stunned. I hoped I'd have success, but I never expected this.
In my first month of publishing, I sold 5, count 'em, 5 books. Gradually my numbers grew, if not quickly, at least steadily. In May I was selling over 8 books per day, which I thought was respectable. I figured the numbers would only rise. But in June, I sold only about 7 books a day. Something was wrong. True, I didn't promote, and maybe that would help, but I really didn't want to do it. If producing ebooks makes you part of a crowd, so do some avenues of self-promotion. Everyone tweets, uses Facebook, and writes blogs, thus becoming part of another crowd. I decided I didn't want to go that way. Still, I had to do something. I'd produce more books, of course, but that would take time. I had to boost my sales somehow.
So, at the end of June, I lowered all my book prices from $2.99 and $3.99, which, by the way, I thought and still think to be reasonable, to .99. Nothing happened at first, but in the beginning of July I began seeing something. I sold 16 books in a day. Wow! Then 12. Oh, I hoped I'd sell 14, to keep the average. I didn't. I sold 20. And on, and on, until I hit 75. Over 100. Over, now, 800 and rising. I now make many times more money from my books per day than I do in my day job.
As I've said elsewhere,quitting writing 3 years ago was the right decision. Returning to writing now is the right decision, too. It's feeling good again. I'm doing the research and still writing notes, but I can feel the day when I write that first line coming closer. Yesterday one of the patrons at the library told me I'm losing money by working there, that I should be home writing. Hmmm. Is another decision on the way? Stay tuned.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Let's Start at the Very Beginning
It starts with an idea.
That's the easy part. Something will leap out and grab me: a stroll on Newport's Cliff Walk, a line from a Dixie Chicks song, a jumbled dream. In this case, it was the idea of writing a Cinderella story set in Regency times. A real Cinderella story, with a poor relation heroine named Eleanor, a mean aunt, and 2 obnoxious cousins. Then the handsome earl comes along, in disguise, because he wants to survey the estate he's only recently inherited, without any fuss. And - well, you know the end of the story. Beautiful girl marries handsome nobleman, they live happily ever after, the end.
And it starts with notes. Lots and lots of notes. Ideas. Modification of ideas. Character sketches. Fragments of scenes. Lists of scenes. And in there, some startling changes. Like, what if the story's set in Victorian England, instead? And what if Eleanor, if still a poor relation, traveled widely with her father and is cosmopolitan and sophisticated as a result? And if Christopher, the earl, actually teaches math at Cambridge? Never mind that I'm lousy at math, and that I don't know anything about astronomy, his other avocation. That's what research is for. But how did all the rest of this happens?
Something happens when I put pen to paper. It's as if there's a direct connection from my brain to my hand, and I find myself writing things I never expected. Some of it's conscious, as when I decided that it was too easy to make the aunt mean; she is merely self-centered, a little silly, and a tad malicious, instead. Some of it came from nowhere. If Christopher was sickly as a child, maybe he's more slightly built than some of my characters? Wrong. Christopher told me he rows and gave me the image to go with that news. Instantly he became a broad-shouldered hunk with thick, russet-colored hair. Much more appealing.
Then there's the change in setting, to Victorian times. That means research. I'm knowledgeable about the Regency, as well as the clipper ship era in the 1840's, and America's Gilded Age. I love research, though, and working at a library I can get books on just about any subject I want. I just have to be careful not to overwhelm myself, because I don't have all the time in the world. Darn.
Finally there are the 3 not-so-obnoxious cousins - yes, 3, not 2 - who really are pretty much okay to Eleanor. Still, she is a poor relation, and Christopher is still a handsome nobleman, and maybe there's a glass slipper...
Maybe. I doubt it, but at this point I don't know for sure what's going to happen. All I know is that I just keep writing notes. After all, that's what it starts with.
That's the easy part. Something will leap out and grab me: a stroll on Newport's Cliff Walk, a line from a Dixie Chicks song, a jumbled dream. In this case, it was the idea of writing a Cinderella story set in Regency times. A real Cinderella story, with a poor relation heroine named Eleanor, a mean aunt, and 2 obnoxious cousins. Then the handsome earl comes along, in disguise, because he wants to survey the estate he's only recently inherited, without any fuss. And - well, you know the end of the story. Beautiful girl marries handsome nobleman, they live happily ever after, the end.
And it starts with notes. Lots and lots of notes. Ideas. Modification of ideas. Character sketches. Fragments of scenes. Lists of scenes. And in there, some startling changes. Like, what if the story's set in Victorian England, instead? And what if Eleanor, if still a poor relation, traveled widely with her father and is cosmopolitan and sophisticated as a result? And if Christopher, the earl, actually teaches math at Cambridge? Never mind that I'm lousy at math, and that I don't know anything about astronomy, his other avocation. That's what research is for. But how did all the rest of this happens?
Something happens when I put pen to paper. It's as if there's a direct connection from my brain to my hand, and I find myself writing things I never expected. Some of it's conscious, as when I decided that it was too easy to make the aunt mean; she is merely self-centered, a little silly, and a tad malicious, instead. Some of it came from nowhere. If Christopher was sickly as a child, maybe he's more slightly built than some of my characters? Wrong. Christopher told me he rows and gave me the image to go with that news. Instantly he became a broad-shouldered hunk with thick, russet-colored hair. Much more appealing.
Then there's the change in setting, to Victorian times. That means research. I'm knowledgeable about the Regency, as well as the clipper ship era in the 1840's, and America's Gilded Age. I love research, though, and working at a library I can get books on just about any subject I want. I just have to be careful not to overwhelm myself, because I don't have all the time in the world. Darn.
Finally there are the 3 not-so-obnoxious cousins - yes, 3, not 2 - who really are pretty much okay to Eleanor. Still, she is a poor relation, and Christopher is still a handsome nobleman, and maybe there's a glass slipper...
Maybe. I doubt it, but at this point I don't know for sure what's going to happen. All I know is that I just keep writing notes. After all, that's what it starts with.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
From Start to Finish
Sometimes when I walk past the bookshelves at the library where I work, I wonder how the authors did it. Sometimes I look at my own books on the shelves and wonder how I did it. During my hiatus from writing, I had, at most, a wistful longing to be a writer again. I had no desire to try again. No clue as to even how. While I told myself that my creativity couldn't really be gone, and that someday I'd write again, I didn't really believe it. I walked away from writing 3 and a half years ago. It was the right decision at the time, and I've never regretted it.
Then I discovered electronic publishing, and began reissuing my backlist. Epubbing gave books that had been out of print for years new life. More than that, they gave me an interest in my old career. As I reviewed books prior to publication, I found myself becoming interested again. I stopped wondering how I'd thought of certain things, and began knowing that I'd be able to think of others, if I tried.
There was a practical consideration, too. While I have a good backlist, it's not inexhaustible. The day will come when everything I've written has been published, and then what? Then I'll have to produce something new. Well, I thought, why not start now? It's true that I have little free time, but I'd written before in such circumstances. Get something started now, take my time with it, and by next year it'll be ready to publish.
I chose an old idea to start with, a novella titled "Miss Nobody." It's a story I've always wanted to write. More, it's an absolutely necessary prequel to a trilogy I really want to write. In the print world, I might be able to sell the trilogy, but no publisher would buy a novella. that's one of the advantages of epubbing. It gives niche books a place, and a market.
So, with some trepidation, I took up pen and paper (a black stick pen and a white, narrow-lined pad), and began sketching out notes. What happened surprised me. It's back. The skill and creativity and just plain fun of writing, that I'd thought lost forever, is back. I'm ready to begin the process of creating a book again.
Come along with me as I take this journey. We'll plot the story and watch the characters come to life and do research - together. And along the way, we'll discover how I did it.
Then I discovered electronic publishing, and began reissuing my backlist. Epubbing gave books that had been out of print for years new life. More than that, they gave me an interest in my old career. As I reviewed books prior to publication, I found myself becoming interested again. I stopped wondering how I'd thought of certain things, and began knowing that I'd be able to think of others, if I tried.
There was a practical consideration, too. While I have a good backlist, it's not inexhaustible. The day will come when everything I've written has been published, and then what? Then I'll have to produce something new. Well, I thought, why not start now? It's true that I have little free time, but I'd written before in such circumstances. Get something started now, take my time with it, and by next year it'll be ready to publish.
I chose an old idea to start with, a novella titled "Miss Nobody." It's a story I've always wanted to write. More, it's an absolutely necessary prequel to a trilogy I really want to write. In the print world, I might be able to sell the trilogy, but no publisher would buy a novella. that's one of the advantages of epubbing. It gives niche books a place, and a market.
So, with some trepidation, I took up pen and paper (a black stick pen and a white, narrow-lined pad), and began sketching out notes. What happened surprised me. It's back. The skill and creativity and just plain fun of writing, that I'd thought lost forever, is back. I'm ready to begin the process of creating a book again.
Come along with me as I take this journey. We'll plot the story and watch the characters come to life and do research - together. And along the way, we'll discover how I did it.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
One Darned Thing After Another
When I’ve published my ebooks, I’ve never set a formal release date. I’ve just put them out there. As I worked on the reissue of my next book, A Summer Folly, it occurred to me that a book about summer should be released on the first day of summer. With that in mind, I set June 21 as the deadline for getting the book out.
It didn’t happen. The trip to California, complete with broken wrist, shot my schedule to hell. I will not belabor that point since I’ve already whined about it. I don’t care what my doctor said. Typing with a cast on is hard. Still, I persevered, and managed to finish the book. I even got components for the cover art done. After some back and forth, my cover artist came up with something I like and will be using. The result? A Summer Folly will be published sometime this weekend.
Real life interferes with writing sometimes. People in your life need you, other tasks demand doing, and your boss actually expects you to get work done. Writers need to persevere, though. We can’t wait around for inspiration to strike, or we’ll never get a word down on epaper. Cast or not, cover problems or not, I kept going. It’s something all creative people need to do, hard though it may be. Sometimes, it may be the only bright spot in your life. After all, if you’re like me, you were born with a burning need to create within you. Go thou, and do so.
Oh, and the cast comes off in two weeks. Yay!
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Them's the Breaks
My mother, when she was alive, used to talk about getting old, about how from one year to the next she found herself able to do fewer things. I believed her, but in an abstract way. After all, I could still do pretty much anything. Yes, I was low on energy, but I’ve always been sedentary. And I’d recovered from surgery for TMJ and a hysterectomy just fine; in fact, better than fine, in that I was able to do things faster than anyone expected. Obviously I was a fast healer. And then I broke my wrist….
Last year, on a day of snow showers, I found the one ice patch in the entire city. Out went my foot from under me; straight down I went, landing on a very well cushioned part of my anatomy, and my left hand. I knew immediately that it was broken. I couldn’t move it in any direction, and it felt curiously dead. What I chiefly felt at that moment was disgust. Yes, I knew that time would pass, and I’d get over it. I just had to deal with it, day by day. I was soon back to work, where my co-workers decorated my cast with pictures of Snoopy, and the symbol for crash test dummies. My boss even wrote a limerick. Sure enough, time passed. The cast came off and I headed for physical therapy, which I worked at with a vengeance. In time I got my strength and mobility back. End of a bad chapter - or so I thought.
Fast forward to May of this year. My daughter and I were on vacation in California. We went to Santa Monica a couple of times, and Grauman’s Chinese theater, and Universal Studios. On the last day of our trip we went to the Getty Museum, with a trip to UCLA planned for afterwards. As we wandered through the Getty’s gardens, I tripped over a low curb protecting the flowerbeds. Again I went down, this time landing on my right hand. I will not repeat what I said to myself. Suffice it to say it wasn’t nice. This wasn’t supposed to happen, I thought. I had this problem last year, and I should have been OK for a few more years. Plus I was 3000 miles away from home and my support system. How was I going to drive to a hospital for treatment, let alone get back to our hotel in Hollywood, 12 miles distant, in LA’s traffic? And then to the airport the next day? This was serious. I was the only adult in our group. There was no one I could call for help. Eventually, though, I found myself in the hands of two very helpful EMT’s. They loaded me in an ambulance, which I found vaguely humiliating. Then there we were, the ER at the UCLA Medical Center. We got there after all, just not in the way we’d planned.
I had a great orthopedic doctor. He was the best looking man I’ve seen in a long time. As he gave me his diagnosis, I was staring at him, wondering how I’d describe him back home. Dr. McDreamy has been taken. I know! Dr. Delicious! Hey, Mary. Stop staring at this guy, and listen to what he’s saying. He set the wrist, wrapped it up, and sent me on my way. I’d already given up all thoughts of driving. Hertz could come tow the car. We’d take a cab back to the hotel, and to heck with the price. Then we’d catch a shuttle to the airport the next day.
All worked out. Though I couldn’t find an open pharmacy for my prescription for pain pills (note to LA: leave the pharmacies open later on Saturday nights, and open earlier in the morning. I mean, in such a big city, shouldn’t pharmacies be more easily available)? After having my cast screened at security at the airport, to make sure I wasn’t disguising a bomb or some such, I flew across the continent with my arm upraised, for the swelling. My sister met me on the other end, and I found myself in the care of people who mean a lot to me. Now I sport a hot pink cast, with various signatures and a picture of Garfield. I’ve been given the reluctant go-ahead from my doctor to drive, thank God. When patrons at the library ask me what happened, I tell them I punched someone for returnng a book late. Thank God I can get around and work and eat chocolate, though I can’t use a fork and writing is hard. However…
We return to the first paragraph. I’m not bouncing back from this as quickly as I did as a child, or even as recently as last year. I get tired easily, and I move slower than usual. Motrin and Vicodrin are my best friends. And I can’t get up much energy to work on the book I want to put out this week. My mother was right, as she usually was. What a drag it is getting old.
This has been a long, and somewhat self-indulgent entry, but if I don’t feel sorry for myself, who will? Such is life. Thank you Pat, Marcia, Tom, Chris, Kling, Karen, and Frank, and my wonderful doctor, Mi Haisman, who asked me what I was doing back in her office. And thank all of you who’ve persevered through this long story. I promise you that better days, and better entries, are coming.
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