Slush On

I bought no Christmas gifts for those everyone insists do not exist. There were no cookies and milk for Santa, though we all know that he truly exists. My mother passed on to a place in which all understand that Jesus exists. I have had the flue twice this season and a bit of the latest still persists.

And nothing ruins a perfectly good Winter like slush, right when snow of light white fluff should exist. At the time of year when the greatest of cold hold the records of which books consist.

It leaves me miserable and dumbfounded.

We bought a small, very safe and not too powerful, space heater. We have no ambitions of interstellar travel, but merely needed something to take the chill off; in the bath for my wife and at the writing desk for me (and maybe the bath too).

It makes a difference, both the heater and support from some of my cousins, in my drive to complete my works of fiction.

The slush, this time of year, it goes nowhere and you know it will refreeze into an ugly dangerous mess that will last the rest of the Winter. And Spring is still quite a ways off here.

We removed clutter in a New Year cleaning and have our goals and schedule set for 2018. No excerpts from my writing is planned until I succeed in publishing my next book. I hope to have news on that next month.

I have to remind myself that I have some notebooks in which I had written some poetry.

I wish you all a Happy New Year.

Thank you for reading.

Bah Humbug

I understand Ebenezer’s perspective on the holidays. How can anything productive, namely the advancement of my written works, be achieved with all the time spent shopping and merry making, the eating and drinking and giving, that surrounds the Christmas season?

Determined still to my adopted craft, I am then struck down with illness.

The passing of my mother two days before the New Year consumes my remaining strength. Even now the cold pierces home and flesh, stealing any healing energies the grace of God may provide.

Though the bank fold may thicken, a moments disaster could leave us in ruin.

In other words, my life goes on as usual.

Happy New Year. Sorry for my tardiness in posting.

I plan to work through a contract on one self published author’s platform I have investigated, finish out a hardcopy version of one of my works with my original self publishing platform, then decide how to advance from there. Shall I look for a full service publisher?

Publisher’s radio advertisements and associated websites are alluring.

When I first looked into publishing companies, nearly ten years ago, I read statements that ran something along these lines: “We throw away all unsolicited manuscripts and are not responsible if any of our books resemble in any way a manuscript you may have improperly submitted to decorate our trash bins.”

Now, companies are advertising that they will truly read your manuscript, …promise. Just give yourself a chance and sign up, call, for a free submittal package.

How does one break out of the self published pool of millions? How can one stand out?

Though people claim everything is different in this age of digital world wide access media, maybe it is not.

I would love some real honest face to face feedback on my work. If I can keep the nose to the grind stone I can produce five books this year.

Is Barnes and Noble the only book store left? You know where we found gifts appropriate for newborns, after long tedious searches through your traditional toy stores? That’s right; at Barnes and Noble.

Self publish success stories are simply the piecemeal assembly of a team, that traditionally a publishing company provided as a package. Though some authors may maintain a social media following, to promote their work, that does not replace book signings and getting into the book store.

I believe social media to be limiting. People are rebelling against the mindless screen stare culture. They seek to return to real human ties and face to face breathing the same air experiences, more and more.

And you wonder why the rich get richer and no one else? Because everyone throws up all their ideas on the Internet for the rich to steal and market. Because they can. They have all the money.

Bah Humbug!

Demand

After a decade of blogging, and reducing the production rate of my posts to a great degree, I am finally in demand. I do not know what it means, but several other blogger/web sites are contacting me. They want to create some ties between my blog posts and their sites.

What can I say? I still get next to no comments. Perhaps I leave people speechless.

My book reviews have been acclaimed, in demand, and I have been offered an opportunity to evaluate books for a much higher fee. It actually works out to over $2/hr for my efforts. My star is surely rising.

The push is on to finish my short stories and get on to bigger novels.

I finished one short story and took a break; rewarded myself. Nearly four hours of battling over the felt, playing poker, and I walked away with a $30 profit. $8/hr. Of course I had to wait forever to get a seat.

In the world of self publishing all is not free. I could easily put out $2,000 for editing, cover design and a bit of marketing. Creating demand for your creations is not cheap. Perhaps if I were the only self published author out there I would have a pretty good chance of getting a following, but there are millions.

Selling a thousand units might bring you a small profit on that type of investment, but it is nothing when consider in terms of an hourly rate for all the wherewithal it took you to produce your book.

Demands on my time and efforts are yet immense, and still without financial reward. The yard and garden need care before the Winter hits full boar; those boars can be dangerous. The house is in need of constant improvements… and I never have the car to get out and buy what I need. When I do get the car I am usually driving my wife somewhere.

My wife and I are discussing how we can be free from our retail business as it throws off everything. It breaks any momentum I build in my writing and puts us on a cycle of late nights and late mornings.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Thanks for reading.

When November Comes Early

Or perhaps better said; when September comes late. This warm October weather is bringing us a good deal of raspberries, and the eggplant and tomatoes should keep pumping until the end of this week. (I actually wrote this October 14th, sorry for the late posting)

Writing! It is advancing.

Despite a lingering flu of some kind, a death in the family, ailing parents, the need to make money the old fashioned way and the general need to eat, sleep and bath, headway is being made. And let us not forget the demands of marriage.

There is an event in which I have never participated in, and have no plans to do so in the future, coming up next  week. It goes something along the lines of “Write an entire book in November.”

Writing in advance. How do you stop it?

I think writing and completing a book in a month an impossibility for all but a few in this world. A book takes much more time and effort than one can invest in a single month. Okay, maybe if you cut out the eat, sleep and bath parts of your month. And let us not forget the demands of marriage. A strong moral character would also be a necessity to truly do it all honestly within a month

But along the lines of the November event’s theme, it provides an inspiration to push and finish off this collection of short stories I am working on by the end of November. Yes, something polished, complete, that will not overly work a professional editor.

Thank you for reading. Happy writing.

Write On

Wow. I got back into my short stories and it is just flowing. I went over a finished story and to my surprise there were few to no corrections to be made, grammar wise or in sentence structure. And this story had been sitting for a few months.

Meaning? I am past the terrible twos, as those on “A Way with Words” have described, where you are just spastic in all your writing.

I guess that unless you are an outright English major your brain must relive all those traumatic classes in grammar, those sentence diagrams and burning eyed English teachers that made one’s life so miserable in grade school and high school.

Now that my brain has sorted it all out, things look all the more brighter.

I had set a preliminary target this year of going to the “Killer Nashville” writer’s conference. Circumstance did not allow me to arrange the trip but my determination is set, the resources available and the prospect of having piles of work complete for next year have all looking good.

I have mentioned this goal before; attending a writer’s conference. It is an opportunity to learn, to strategize, to network and possible snag an agent or publisher. I have realized a goodly amount of completed work will allow one to make the most out of such conferences, so I am not beating myself up too bad that I could not swing it this year.

Muncie Indiana, Louisville, Nashville, New York and Las Vegas are all cities holding events that may interest me next year. The nearer, centrally located conferences hold the greatest draw as they will give me a chance to visit my older brother.

Thank you for reading. Sorry for the lateness of my post. The garden, and the benefits the recent heat provided to it, kept me occupied. I am getting a bumper load of eggplant right now and just realized that the picture on my seed package and the actual eggplant in hand are not of the same variety.

The trials and tribulations of life.