Andrew McEwan's Blog: Words Are the Gravy On the Mashed Potato of Life - Posts Tagged "booze"
"Depress To Reset"
As a writer I find I am empowered by criticism. I'd rather be ripped to pieces than buttered up. Just so long as I'm read.
I have several ebooks on Amazon, which I rotate on a free download basis every couple of weeks. I might get 200 hits, or 50, mostly Stateside, but thus far I have only attracted two (lacklustre) reviews. Clearly my work is not to everyones' taste; which fact I'm comfortable with. I've droned on in the past about finding my audience and it being small, scared and apt to run away. Again, I've got used to fighting an uphill battle. In near 30 years of writing I've enjoyed little success* but have never once considered giving up. A part of me (perhaps my inner curmudgeon) seems to enjoy the challenge. A universe of indifference stares me full in the face on a daily basis and I stare right back. I am alone. Truly. There is no one in my life. I have no friends and I don't understand the first thing about relationships. Every now and then, sometimes for no reason, my eyes well up. But I am seldom lonely. Why? Because I have a far bigger life, one seething with colour and energy. I laugh at myself as much at others. My head spins and words rebound. I make things up. I write things down, and it makes a kind of sense. That others don't always get it is neither here nor there. Which is not to say I don't crave success. I'd like nothing better than to be discussed at dinner parties and quoted in magazines. It may never happen of course, and as ambitions go is both pointless and flakey. No writer, however, is without vanity; it's just a question of scale.
And now I've got that off my chest I shall put it aside. At least till I think of a suitable punchline**.
Ocellus is today available in electronic form. I've redesigned the cover but not made any other changes. Saving edits for a second edition in the new year - so the infamous 74 word sentence is yet extant, and might indeed endure. Because I can***.
*I don't always help myself.
**This will never get funny, alas.
***(your answer here)
I have several ebooks on Amazon, which I rotate on a free download basis every couple of weeks. I might get 200 hits, or 50, mostly Stateside, but thus far I have only attracted two (lacklustre) reviews. Clearly my work is not to everyones' taste; which fact I'm comfortable with. I've droned on in the past about finding my audience and it being small, scared and apt to run away. Again, I've got used to fighting an uphill battle. In near 30 years of writing I've enjoyed little success* but have never once considered giving up. A part of me (perhaps my inner curmudgeon) seems to enjoy the challenge. A universe of indifference stares me full in the face on a daily basis and I stare right back. I am alone. Truly. There is no one in my life. I have no friends and I don't understand the first thing about relationships. Every now and then, sometimes for no reason, my eyes well up. But I am seldom lonely. Why? Because I have a far bigger life, one seething with colour and energy. I laugh at myself as much at others. My head spins and words rebound. I make things up. I write things down, and it makes a kind of sense. That others don't always get it is neither here nor there. Which is not to say I don't crave success. I'd like nothing better than to be discussed at dinner parties and quoted in magazines. It may never happen of course, and as ambitions go is both pointless and flakey. No writer, however, is without vanity; it's just a question of scale.
And now I've got that off my chest I shall put it aside. At least till I think of a suitable punchline**.
Ocellus is today available in electronic form. I've redesigned the cover but not made any other changes. Saving edits for a second edition in the new year - so the infamous 74 word sentence is yet extant, and might indeed endure. Because I can***.
*I don't always help myself.
**This will never get funny, alas.
***(your answer here)
Paperback Riot(er)
It's Sunday eve, there's beef bourguignon in the oven and I've just opened a bottle of wine. Earlier this afternoon The Toon (aka Newcastle United) got a last minute winner. See, life ain't so bad. At least it has its moments. The beef bourguignon is from the Co-op, but hey, it was reduced...
Moving on. My giveaway of The Orange Propeller went rather well and six copies were posted to the lucky winners last Monday. I eagerly await a first review. I love reviews; I just don't get enough. Thus am I planning several paperback releases this year, starting with Subvision in the not too distant future. Giveaways are great for attracting attention to a book. As an unrepresented author the biggest challenge you face is getting read. Add to that the fact my work isn't populist and you've got a steep hill to climb. Nevertheless I am determined to scale the walls and ransack the temple as it were. Noncomformity can be rewarding in many ways. And if all else fails you can always not give a fuck. Thus the many-runged ladder of freebies from myself, ebooks from Amazon and paperbacks via Goodreads, all in the name of the revolution.
An increasing number of publishers are offering ebook packages these days whereby authors pay for proofing, formatting, covers etc. These are all things you can do yourself or, better still, for free using friends and contemporaries on a show-me-yours and I'll show-you-mine basis. To some writers being associated with a publisher, however tenuously, may sound like a good idea. It's certainly not for me. I just don't believe in easy routes to the summit. The killer though is the contract. Essentially publishers are charging writers for the rights to their work, rather than the other way round. If it sinks you lose. If it floats you lose. Either way the publisher wins.
With apologies to The Beatles for the title of this post. But I just had an idea. How about a bookshop that sells only independently published authors? In paperback; with download options, but paper books in say a mobile library type affair? Now where would a person get one of those? And some money.
Beef bourguignon was nice by the way. Wine flowing. Vive la...
Moving on. My giveaway of The Orange Propeller went rather well and six copies were posted to the lucky winners last Monday. I eagerly await a first review. I love reviews; I just don't get enough. Thus am I planning several paperback releases this year, starting with Subvision in the not too distant future. Giveaways are great for attracting attention to a book. As an unrepresented author the biggest challenge you face is getting read. Add to that the fact my work isn't populist and you've got a steep hill to climb. Nevertheless I am determined to scale the walls and ransack the temple as it were. Noncomformity can be rewarding in many ways. And if all else fails you can always not give a fuck. Thus the many-runged ladder of freebies from myself, ebooks from Amazon and paperbacks via Goodreads, all in the name of the revolution.
An increasing number of publishers are offering ebook packages these days whereby authors pay for proofing, formatting, covers etc. These are all things you can do yourself or, better still, for free using friends and contemporaries on a show-me-yours and I'll show-you-mine basis. To some writers being associated with a publisher, however tenuously, may sound like a good idea. It's certainly not for me. I just don't believe in easy routes to the summit. The killer though is the contract. Essentially publishers are charging writers for the rights to their work, rather than the other way round. If it sinks you lose. If it floats you lose. Either way the publisher wins.
With apologies to The Beatles for the title of this post. But I just had an idea. How about a bookshop that sells only independently published authors? In paperback; with download options, but paper books in say a mobile library type affair? Now where would a person get one of those? And some money.
Beef bourguignon was nice by the way. Wine flowing. Vive la...
Words Are the Gravy On the Mashed Potato of Life
...there may be lumps in either or both.
- Andrew McEwan's profile
- 13 followers
