M.C. Frank's Blog, page 426
October 5, 2017
When you are juggling a full time daytime job with a full time self publishing carreer
and then you hear someone unemployed/with no profession whining about how much they need to get done or already have done in a day
Why I need a street team
In a few weeks I am going to announce a new street team for my Robin Hood WIP (and invite you all to join). This, I admit, for me is one of the most incredible and enjoyable parts of the writing and publication process, although it used to be pretty scary and intimidating back before I knew how to do it.
But let me retrace my steps a bit.
This week, on youtube (alone) I saw not one or two or three but four different youtubers announce the publication or prepublication for their books (all fiction - two indie, one self and one traditionally published). (Last week there were two more, and so on). During this same week, I’ve seen a lot others do the same on much less public platforms like this one, instagram and even (the horror) twitter.
Now, let me ask you, what is the first thing you’d do, if by an extremely unlikely amount of chance you were to stumble upon such an announcement?
You’d check out the link for the book (if it managed to grab your attention, that is, and chances of that happening are slim). Now you are on the book’s page on amazon, on the preorder site, on the author’s website. Without mentioning the problems of poor cover design, poor description, poor (or nonexistent) reviewing team -the list goes on- the first thing you’d think would be that this author is talking their own work up.
Why?
Well, because it’s absolutely true.
What else would they do but say good things about their own book in order to get you to buy it? Convinced to do just that yet? I know I’m not.
Here is where the answer to all the problems I posed above comes in:
I’d rather the author stay silent.
Not entirely, of course, but at least for the first 3 days afer the announcement, maybe more. Why? BECAUSE WORD WILL ALREADY BE OUT. Their voice will be in the book, it won’t have to be in the marketing platforms, at least not urgently.
There’s something weirdly isolated in saying “hey, I wrote a book.” I want to ask, “hey, who has read it? What did they think?”
In other words, I’d rather the author be backed up by readers. Who are they? Some of them might be your friends or followers. Most of them you won’t know. But you will stumble upon their blog posts revealing the author’s book cover, you’ll read their reviews, you’ll see their opinions, good and bad, plastered all over social media. (That’s what a street team does, for those of you who don’t know.) You won’t have to take the author’s word for the book. You will learn all about how awesome it is by other people, people who aren’t the author, and have nothing to gain by promoting it. Which means they think it’s worthy of promotion.
You’ll believe these people.
Or at least you’ll doubt them less. One of the youtubers who announced their book is a friend of mine, a very sweet person, and I’ve no doubt a very talented one (they already have a substantial following on all social platforms.) Maybe this writer thought that substantial following was enough. Maybe it is. But in my eyes, that moment of the announcement, this writer was alone, trying to get me interested (not to mention sold) on their book.
And, speaking as a reader, not a writer, I needed the opinions of other readers to help convince me that this is a safe buy I will enjoy, because they did.
Now, as an author, there are no words to describe the difference between self publishing something by yourself, and self publishing it with other people. Because essentially, that’s what a street team is. You are self publishing with . With someone. A lot of someones. You are no longer self releasing, self revealing, self marketing. They’re doing it with you, for you.So, in this case, I think it rings true what our moms used to say to us when we had to walk through a lonely park at night (trust me, it doesn’t get darker or lonelier than trying to set up your art as a profitable business venture on the internet):
Don’t isolate yourself. Stay in a crowd. Stay safe.
In the end, this is why I need my street team: (by now, of course, most of them are my dear friends, so I can’t imagine releasing a book without them). It’s my safe place.
And you deserve one too.
Ruined + English tea (link to paperback and kindle of Ruined, a...
Ruined + English tea (link to paperback and kindle of Ruined, a Regenecy retelling of Jane Eyre in bio
Repost @shereadsbythesea “You must allow me to tell you...
Repost @shereadsbythesea “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."- Mr. Darcy
Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
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How stunning is this Pride and Prejudice edition? I’m so in love, I just keep looking at the beautiful cover designed by @mcfrank_author ! I had to get Persuasion and Jane Eyre as well! •
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#prideandprejudice #janeausten #mrdarcy
#elizabethbennet #Books #bookstagram #bookish #igreads #bookcommunity #booklove #booknerd #bookaholic #love #instagood #beautifulbook #bibliophile #bookworm #instareads #reading #goodreads #ilovetoread #bookcandyclassics
Robin Hood WIP diaries (5) - the rescue (teaser)
Hello, friends, I recently surpassed 25K words on my Robin Hood WIP (halfway there for my monthly goal of 50K yaaay). To celebrate, I want to share a little snippet from a scene that I’ve dubbed “the rescue” in my outline. It’s one of the earliest scenes in the book, and one of my favorites. Enjoy!
T H E R E S C U E
The applause lasted FOR less than a full minute. As soon as it died down, the Sheriff motioned to his deputy, Sir Guy of Gisborne, a large, muscular soldier with a thin, withered face that was too old for his five and thirty years. Unceremoniously, Sir Guy took a step forward and lifted a blue flag. Fixing the hangman with his gaze, he dropped it.
It all happened so fast, Robin had barely time to react.
John wrenched free with a war cry, and flung himself into the crowd’s writhing body. Robin started pushing and shoving people out of his way, careless as to who would see him. He ran towards John, towards the children, towards the noose. But still, he was too late. There was no vantage point where he could stand and take aim, and everywhere he looked, there were people’s heads and hats in the way, between the children and his bow.
The hangman lifted the rod and pushed the stools out of the way. Shrieks filled the night sky, as the hanging children started dangling, their little feet kicking thin air. Robin couldn’t look away. He practically climbed over a thick man’s back in his rush to get to them, but he was still too bloody far away.
“Nooo!” John’s voice tore through the night like a wounded animal’s.
Robin thought he’d be sick, right there, on the town square cobblestones.
And then.
The zing of an arrow.
In all his nineteen years, Robin hadn’t heard a more blessed sound.
His eyes snapped to the source of the sound, just in time to see an arrow fly, straight and true, right through the crowd, headed for the rope. The archer must have chosen a vantage point to shoot it from, for it came downwards, as if it was shot from a higher place –one that Robin should have found by now, but hadn’t. The arrow sliced the hanging rope in two, freeing John’s little girl, who hit the chopping block’s ground like a sack of apples. Before anyone had time to blink, another arrow sliced the air, going straight for the second noose, setting the boy free as he was starting to struggle and choke.
Robin’s eyes gleamed in approval at the unseen archer’s impeccable aim.
He couldn’t see who it was had sent the arrows flying so quickly in succession to each other, for immediately the archer must have been seized. There would be no opportunity to shoot any more. He, Robin, along with the rest of the crowd, craned his neck, but it was obvious the archer was well-hidden above them, amid the branches of a tree or even on the castle buttresses, impossible as that seemed, and so it was impossible to see him.
Before one moment had passed, pandemonium broke loose. The Sherriff’s guards scrambled to detain the children, who were quickly on their feet and struggling with all their strength to free themselves from their binds, and the crowds were screaming in fear and panic. If there was even a perfect time to step in, unnoticed, it was now; Robin had had enough of this masquerade.
“Stay back,” he ordered his men in a low voice, pulling the hood lower over his face. He stood about a head taller than most of the men in the crowd, but right now, amid all the confusion and darkness, he wasn’t worried anyone would notice him. Maybe they would even manage to escape the Sheriff’s greedy claws, for at the first zing of the unknown archer’s arrow, he’d fled inside his castle, followed by his trusted deputy and personal guards. “Bows and swords at the ready, I’ll need you.”
Four heads bowed in agreement, and with a bound, he was off.
He leaped easily from spot to spot, evading people, until he found himself near the hangman’s block. He kept the children’s small forms in his eye line as he was moving, never taking his eyes off them for a minute, careful not to lose sight of them, and grit his teeth when he saw the massive back of a soldier lifting them both, one in each arm, and preparing to get away with them.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, and started running.
…
Once more, he was too late. The man bore the two children as easily as if they weighed no more than two sacks of flour, and ducked among the crowd, the gleam of his mail disappearing in the darkness that enveloped him as soon as he stepped off the block. All was lost.
But, just as Robin was on the cusp of following blindly, most probably right into the Castle’s stronghold, someone else appeared in front of the tall guard.
Right in front of him a slight form which looked like it belonged to a child, slid through the crowds, almost invisible. He seemed to drop from above, as though he’d been perched on top of a tree overhead. But Robin noticed, inspite of being shoved and pushed by running countrymen and women from all sides, as his senses were sharpened by fear and fury. The boy’s dark form ran for the hanging block, and suddenly Robin realized that if, by some strange miracle, the boy had been the one shooting the arrows, it made perfect sense for him to drop from the skies like a sort of malnourished avenging angel.
Robin watched in amazement as the youth gave a leap with his spindly legs, landing right on top of the hangman’s block, and with one fell swoop, grabbed one of the children’s feet. The soldier who was carrying the child stopped in his tracks. He turned around, his face a mask of malice, and Robin’s expression turned to one of horror.
He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, once.
Within seconds, he was flagged by two men on each side, Tuck and Will. John was already walking up to the block, Alice on his heels.
“To the boy!” Robin commanded. Will and Tuck ran.
© 2017, M.C. Frank
more coming soon!
Read the rest of the Robin Hood dWIP diaries at my blog.
Duuuuude! I need more!
Robin Hood WIP diaries (5) - the rescue (teaser)
Hello, friends, I recently surpassed 25K words on my Robin Hood WIP (halfway there for my monthly goal of 50K yaaay). To celebrate, I want to share a little snippet from a scene that I’ve dubbed “the rescue” in my outline. It’s one of the earliest scenes in the book, and one of my favorites. Enjoy!
T H E R E S C U E
The applause lasted FOR less than a full minute. As soon as it died down, the Sheriff motioned to his deputy, Sir Guy of Gisborne, a large, muscular soldier with a thin, withered face that was too old for his five and thirty years. Unceremoniously, Sir Guy took a step forward and lifted a blue flag. Fixing the hangman with his gaze, he dropped it.
It all happened so fast, Robin had barely time to react.
John wrenched free with a war cry, and flung himself into the crowd’s writhing body. Robin started pushing and shoving people out of his way, careless as to who would see him. He ran towards John, towards the children, towards the noose. But still, he was too late. There was no vantage point where he could stand and take aim, and everywhere he looked, there were people’s heads and hats in the way, between the children and his bow.
The hangman lifted the rod and pushed the stools out of the way. Shrieks filled the night sky, as the hanging children started dangling, their little feet kicking thin air. Robin couldn’t look away. He practically climbed over a thick man’s back in his rush to get to them, but he was still too bloody far away.
“Nooo!” John’s voice tore through the night like a wounded animal’s.
Robin thought he’d be sick, right there, on the town square cobblestones.
And then.
The zing of an arrow.
In all his nineteen years, Robin hadn’t heard a more blessed sound.
His eyes snapped to the source of the sound, just in time to see an arrow fly, straight and true, right through the crowd, headed for the rope. The archer must have chosen a vantage point to shoot it from, for it came downwards, as if it was shot from a higher place –one that Robin should have found by now, but hadn’t. The arrow sliced the hanging rope in two, freeing John’s little girl, who hit the chopping block’s ground like a sack of apples. Before anyone had time to blink, another arrow sliced the air, going straight for the second noose, setting the boy free as he was starting to struggle and choke.
Robin’s eyes gleamed in approval at the unseen archer’s impeccable aim.
He couldn’t see who it was had sent the arrows flying so quickly in succession to each other, for immediately the archer must have been seized. There would be no opportunity to shoot any more. He, Robin, along with the rest of the crowd, craned his neck, but it was obvious the archer was well-hidden above them, amid the branches of a tree or even on the castle buttresses, impossible as that seemed, and so it was impossible to see him.
Before one moment had passed, pandemonium broke loose. The Sherriff’s guards scrambled to detain the children, who were quickly on their feet and struggling with all their strength to free themselves from their binds, and the crowds were screaming in fear and panic. If there was even a perfect time to step in, unnoticed, it was now; Robin had had enough of this masquerade.
“Stay back,” he ordered his men in a low voice, pulling the hood lower over his face. He stood about a head taller than most of the men in the crowd, but right now, amid all the confusion and darkness, he wasn’t worried anyone would notice him. Maybe they would even manage to escape the Sheriff’s greedy claws, for at the first zing of the unknown archer’s arrow, he’d fled inside his castle, followed by his trusted deputy and personal guards. “Bows and swords at the ready, I’ll need you.”
Four heads bowed in agreement, and with a bound, he was off.
He leaped easily from spot to spot, evading people, until he found himself near the hangman’s block. He kept the children’s small forms in his eye line as he was moving, never taking his eyes off them for a minute, careful not to lose sight of them, and grit his teeth when he saw the massive back of a soldier lifting them both, one in each arm, and preparing to get away with them.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, and started running.
…
Once more, he was too late. The man bore the two children as easily as if they weighed no more than two sacks of flour, and ducked among the crowd, the gleam of his mail disappearing in the darkness that enveloped him as soon as he stepped off the block. All was lost.
But, just as Robin was on the cusp of following blindly, most probably right into the Castle’s stronghold, someone else appeared in front of the tall guard.
Right in front of him a slight form which looked like it belonged to a child, slid through the crowds, almost invisible. He seemed to drop from above, as though he’d been perched on top of a tree overhead. But Robin noticed, inspite of being shoved and pushed by running countrymen and women from all sides, as his senses were sharpened by fear and fury. The boy’s dark form ran for the hanging block, and suddenly Robin realized that if, by some strange miracle, the boy had been the one shooting the arrows, it made perfect sense for him to drop from the skies like a sort of malnourished avenging angel.
Robin watched in amazement as the youth gave a leap with his spindly legs, landing right on top of the hangman’s block, and with one fell swoop, grabbed one of the children’s feet. The soldier who was carrying the child stopped in his tracks. He turned around, his face a mask of malice, and Robin’s expression turned to one of horror.
He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, once.
Within seconds, he was flagged by two men on each side, Tuck and Will. John was already walking up to the block, Alice on his heels.
“To the boy!” Robin commanded. Will and Tuck ran.
© 2017, M.C. Frank
more coming soon!
Read the rest of the Robin Hood dWIP diaries at my blog.
Duuuuude! I need more!
October 4, 2017
Robin Hood WIP diaries (5) - the rescue (teaser)
Hello, friends, I recently surpassed 25K words on my Robin Hood WIP (halfway there for my monthly goal of 50K yaaay). To celebrate, I want to share a little snippet from a scene that I’ve dubbed “the rescue” in my outline. It’s one of the earliest scenes in the book, and one of my favorites. Enjoy!
T H E R E S C U E
The applause lasted FOR less than a full minute. As soon as it died down, the Sheriff motioned to his deputy, Sir Guy of Gisborne, a large, muscular soldier with a thin, withered face that was too old for his five and thirty years. Unceremoniously, Sir Guy took a step forward and lifted a blue flag. Fixing the hangman with his gaze, he dropped it.
It all happened so fast, Robin had barely time to react.
John wrenched free with a war cry, and flung himself into the crowd’s writhing body. Robin started pushing and shoving people out of his way, careless as to who would see him. He ran towards John, towards the children, towards the noose. But still, he was too late. There was no vantage point where he could stand and take aim, and everywhere he looked, there were people’s heads and hats in the way, between the children and his bow.
The hangman lifted the rod and pushed the stools out of the way. Shrieks filled the night sky, as the hanging children started dangling, their little feet kicking thin air. Robin couldn’t look away. He practically climbed over a thick man’s back in his rush to get to them, but he was still too bloody far away.
“Nooo!” John’s voice tore through the night like a wounded animal’s.
Robin thought he’d be sick, right there, on the town square cobblestones.
And then.
The zing of an arrow.
In all his nineteen years, Robin hadn’t heard a more blessed sound.
His eyes snapped to the source of the sound, just in time to see an arrow fly, straight and true, right through the crowd, headed for the rope. The archer must have chosen a vantage point to shoot it from, for it came downwards, as if it was shot from a higher place –one that Robin should have found by now, but hadn’t. The arrow sliced the hanging rope in two, freeing John’s little girl, who hit the chopping block’s ground like a sack of apples. Before anyone had time to blink, another arrow sliced the air, going straight for the second noose, setting the boy free as he was starting to struggle and choke.
Robin’s eyes gleamed in approval at the unseen archer’s impeccable aim.
He couldn’t see who it was had sent the arrows flying so quickly in succession to each other, for immediately the archer must have been seized. There would be no opportunity to shoot any more. He, Robin, along with the rest of the crowd, craned his neck, but it was obvious the archer was well-hidden above them, amid the branches of a tree or even on the castle buttresses, impossible as that seemed, and so it was impossible to see him.
Before one moment had passed, pandemonium broke loose. The Sherriff’s guards scrambled to detain the children, who were quickly on their feet and struggling with all their strength to free themselves from their binds, and the crowds were screaming in fear and panic. If there was even a perfect time to step in, unnoticed, it was now; Robin had had enough of this masquerade.
“Stay back,” he ordered his men in a low voice, pulling the hood lower over his face. He stood about a head taller than most of the men in the crowd, but right now, amid all the confusion and darkness, he wasn’t worried anyone would notice him. Maybe they would even manage to escape the Sheriff’s greedy claws, for at the first zing of the unknown archer’s arrow, he’d fled inside his castle, followed by his trusted deputy and personal guards. “Bows and swords at the ready, I’ll need you.”
Four heads bowed in agreement, and with a bound, he was off.
He leaped easily from spot to spot, evading people, until he found himself near the hangman’s block. He kept the children’s small forms in his eye line as he was moving, never taking his eyes off them for a minute, careful not to lose sight of them, and grit his teeth when he saw the massive back of a soldier lifting them both, one in each arm, and preparing to get away with them.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, and started running.
…
Once more, he was too late. The man bore the two children as easily as if they weighed no more than two sacks of flour, and ducked among the crowd, the gleam of his mail disappearing in the darkness that enveloped him as soon as he stepped off the block. All was lost.
But, just as Robin was on the cusp of following blindly, most probably right into the Castle’s stronghold, someone else appeared in front of the tall guard.
Right in front of him a slight form which looked like it belonged to a child, slid through the crowds, almost invisible. He seemed to drop from above, as though he’d been perched on top of a tree overhead. But Robin noticed, inspite of being shoved and pushed by running countrymen and women from all sides, as his senses were sharpened by fear and fury. The boy’s dark form ran for the hanging block, and suddenly Robin realized that if, by some strange miracle, the boy had been the one shooting the arrows, it made perfect sense for him to drop from the skies like a sort of malnourished avenging angel.
Robin watched in amazement as the youth gave a leap with his spindly legs, landing right on top of the hangman’s block, and with one fell swoop, grabbed one of the children’s feet. The soldier who was carrying the child stopped in his tracks. He turned around, his face a mask of malice, and Robin’s expression turned to one of horror.
He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, once.
Within seconds, he was flagged by two men on each side, Tuck and Will. John was already walking up to the block, Alice on his heels.
“To the boy!” Robin commanded. Will and Tuck ran.
© 2017, M.C. Frank
more coming soon!
Read the rest of the Robin Hood dWIP diaries at my blog.
Duuuuude! I need more!
Things almost every author needs to research
How bodies decompose
Wilderness survival skills
Mob mentality
Other cultures
What it takes for a human to die in a given situation
Common tropes in your genre
Average weather for your settingyoooo
How bodies decompose
Wilderness survival skills
Mob mentality
Other cultures
What it takes for a human to die in a given situation
Common tropes for your genre
Average weather for your setting
