Michelle Garren Flye's Blog, page 79

Do travel mugs equal e-readers? Only in my world.

I may be a romance writer, but I’m also a coffee lover, and today I’m home, drinking coffee out of my favorite mug. It’s a big thick one with Minnie Mouse on it. I don’t like it because it has Minnie Mouse on it, although I love all things Disney. I like this mug because coffee tastes better out of it than any other coffee mug I’ve ever tried.

I can’t always kick back and drink my coffee at home, though. Most days I’m on the run, delivering kids to various dental or doctor appointments, grocery shopping, volunteering at the school. You know, all the things that keep us moms out of trouble. For those days, I need a travel mug. One problem. Coffee does NOT taste the same out of a travel mug. Want proof? I have a cupboard full of travel mugs and I don’t like any of them as much as I do my Minnie Mouse mug. Have a look:

You’d think one of those mugs would work for me, wouldn’t you? To be fair, these are my favorites and the ones you’re most likely to catch me with. In fact, despite my tendency to leave things behind, I’ve managed to hold onto a couple of these for years. See that pink one with the lip prints on it? That one’s from a school trip my son took to Washington, D.C., three years ago. I have left that mug everywhere, but I always go back for it, because the coffee doesn’t taste half bad when I drink from it. The two Margaritaville mugs are my most recent acquisitions. I just bought them on my vacation last week in Myrtle Beach (remember the gators?). You see, I’m still on my quest to find the perfect travel mug because none of these match up to my good old-fashioned Minnie Mouse.

So how did I go from thinking about travel mugs to e-readers? Simple. People keep asking me when my novels will all be out in print. Even now when most of the people who will read my novels actually do have an e-reader or at least a smart-phone with a Kindle app. But I get it. Reading a novel on an electronic screen isn’t the same as holding the book in your hands. So yeah, now that I’ve actually held one of my books in my hands (Ducks in a Row), I get it. I know now why people self-publish instead of looking for an independent electronic publisher. That doesn’t mean that I’m not still looking for electronic publishers. But it does mean that when I get a chance to publish in print, I’m going to take it. So look for Weeds & Flowers to be out there soon. But for now, I leave you with this lovely image:

Gathering raw material.

I’m on vacation, which means I’m not writing, but I’m not just gathering rosebuds. As a writer of romantic fiction set (mostly) in the South, I’m always doing research. I’m gathering material. Raw material. Very raw, some of it. For instance, yesterday, I saw alligators. Enormous alligators. Some of them with heads as large as my five-year-old daughter and tails as long as me. Here’s a sample:

Very large alligators.

I was in awe. Very impressive. I tend to put things that impress me into my stories, so you probably shouldn’t be surprised if gators figure into a future storyline pretty prominently. I also saw some other rather impressive reptiles in the scaly flesh. I’ve admired the king cobra for a long time. I used to draw pictures of them on my notebooks at school. I thought they were badass. Seeing one in person did nothing to dispell that image for me, either. To quote me: “Oh my God, that’s all one snake.”

King Cobra

I can’t quite figure out how to fit a cobra into one of my southern romances, but an equally impressive and much more likely alternative might be the cottonmouth or water moccasin. As luck would have it, a few tanks down from the cobra, I encountered one of these, thankfully with a wall of glass between us.

Water Moccasin

I couldn’t take my eyes off this one, but in spite of the glass between us, I didn’t dare get too close, either. I’ve grown up around snakes and I’ve always been warned to stay away from all of them, but the cottonmouth is the one that I’ve heard the worst stories about. The rattlesnake warns you, the copperhead hides from you, but the cottonmouth will come after you if you piss him off.

So how can I fit all these cold-blooded reptiles into my love stories? I can’t swear I can. I already had a heroine do battle with a copperhead in Where the Heart Lies. (I did enjoy writing that scene, which was inspired by finding a copperhead in my own backyard. I didn’t kill it, by the way. My husband did.) I do know a warm fire feels much warmer after you’ve been outside on a cold day, though, and it might be interesting to find out how hot and bright the flame of romance might burn against a colder backdrop than what I usually use.

Might. Remember: raw material.

Dorothy Parker returns!

It’s release day at last for a book I’ve been looking forward to for a long time! I’m never sure how to classify my friend Ellen Meister’s novels. Chick lit is far too light and women’s literature sounds too serious for books containing Ellen’s particular brand of witty humor. All I can say is that if you’re looking for an entertaining read that’ll make you laugh, cry and enlighten you all at the same time, you’ve got to read Ellen’s novels, and this newest one is a great place to start. Check it out here:

Congratulations, Ellen, and good luck with this one! Now I’ve just got to convince myself to go work instead of burying myself in my Kindle!

Speaking of best laid plans: The winners of my book giveaway are…

I have every excuse in the book for not getting back on here to let you guys know who the winners of my book/proof giveaway are, but I’m not going to get into that. Suffice it to say I’ve been using my energy up wisely over the past couple of days. To make it up to you, I’ve decided to make you ALL winners! If you left me a comment and would like a book, I’m going to give you one. They’ll all be either Proof 2s or 3s, so the only thing different in each one will be the bio and a couple pages of review blurbs.

Problem here. I “know” everybody who left a comment, and I’ll be getting in touch with you electronically, but unless you live in my town (and I think only one of you does!), you’re gonna have to send me a mailing address to get the book. Email is great, but I haven’t figured out how to squish my book into an electronic pulse that’ll travel to your computer and reconfigure itself. At any rate, if you read this, email me at michellegflye@gmail.com, and I’ll get the book in the mail! I wouldn’t leave my mailing address in the comments section here, though. Judging by the spam comments I sometimes get, there is the possibility that not everyone who stops by is a friendly!

Love you guys! Thanks for making my Print Birthday a happy one!

Print Party Preview Time! Plus, enter to win your own PRINT copy of Ducks in a Row!

Happy Valentine’s Day! Don’t forget to leave me a comment to enter to win one of three proof copies I’m giving away! In the meantime, here’s an excerpt! (Warning: Adult language. Just once—or twice—but still.)

Cam watched her sister leave knowing she had a fight on her hands and it was her fault. She glanced around at the dirty dishes still on the table and knew she should begin loading them into the dishwasher, but she had something to do first and she needed her strength to do it. Cam glanced at the clock on her cell phone. Six o’clock. Stan would be done with work, probably at the bar having a drink with some of the boys. She bit her lip and decided it was time. She needed to let him know she wasn’t home and wouldn’t be coming back.

He answered on the second ring, laughter in his voice and the sound of a jukebox in the background. “Hey, baby, where are you? It’s payday and we’re celebrating. Come on down.”

“I’m not there.” She wondered what it was about him that made her so tongue-tied, even now. Nearly a year after they’d met and begun dating, the sound of his voice could melt her knees, short out her brain and make it almost impossible to speak a complete sentence.

He laughed. “I know you’re not here, babe. I’m trying to fix that. C’mon down, I want you.”

I want you. The words echoed in her heart. “No, you don’t get it, Stan. I’m not there and I’m not coming back. I’m here now and I don’t want to see you again.” She closed her eyes with the effort of saying the last words. How could she sound so heartless and indecipherable at the same time?

After a moment of listening to the jukebox play, in which she pictured him sitting at a table with a beer in front of him, his chair tilted back and his long legs splayed in front of him, he finally spoke. “Hold on a sec.”

She heard voices and a door slamming and then silence. She knew he was standing in the middle of the dirt and gravel parking lot of the little dive bar he loved in Brunswick, Georgia. She knew he was holding his cell phone against his ear, searching for a way to reply to her. “Cam, what’s going on?”

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending I can be your little wife.”

“Did I ask you to be my wife?”

“You know what I mean. I’m sick of the whole thing. I had to get away.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at my sister’s in North Carolina.”

After a moment’s silence, he burst out laughing. “You don’t want to be my wife, but you run away to suburban hell? Are you serious? I’ve heard you talk about your sister and her husband and how uptight they are. Cam, are you feeling all right?”

“Cut it out.”

“No, seriously, check and see if you have a fever. I’m really worried about you, babe.”

“Cut…it…out! I’m serious. I’m not going to stay here permanently. Just ‘til I figure out what to do next.”

“I’ll fucking tell you what to do next. Come home. Come home now. I don’t want to live without you, and I’m pretty sure you don’t mean any of these things you’re saying. Come home and tell me what’s really wrong.”

If only she could. But it would ruin everything and she’d just end up back here without him, anyway. At least this way she could do it on her own terms.

“Cam?” His voice was stern. “Come home.”

“I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes again. She hadn’t meant to say that. She hadn’t meant to apologize, as if she had anything to really be sorry for, even if she did. “I can’t.”

She hung up and thought about him standing alone in the parking lot. He’d cuss, he might throw the phone and break it, and then he’d go inside and get drunk. Stinking drunk. Maybe he’d sleep with that little barmaid that’d been flirting with him for a while. Cam tried not to care.

Happy Print Party! Welcome me to the world of books actually IN print and win a free proof copy!

Yay! It’s that day…Print Day! Capital letters, please. Surely an important day in my career, even if it is the result of self-publishing. Today, you can buy a novel by ME with MY name on the cover! Yippee! Have a peek:

So far, it’s for sale at CreateSpace and Amazon. So go buy it now! Or if you’d like to go the more economical way (or just flat out prefer ebooks like I do), check out the Kindle version. If you like it, leave me a review, please! I love hearing from readers. You can even email me your praises at michellegflye@gmail.com.

All that said, how about a giveaway to celebrate? In the course of perfecting my book (and you’re still going to find editing mistakes in it, trust me!), I went through three proofs. Proof 1 doesn’t even have page numbers, and one of the characters is misnamed (oops!). Proof 2 is pretty close to as perfect as I got it, however, I did change the back pages and my bio a bit for Proof 3. To celebrate my book’s print birthday, I’m giving away one signed copy of each proof. All you have to do is leave me a comment right here!

I’ll be back later to give you a little taste of the book, but in the meantime, here’s the blurb to whet your appetite:

Cady Summers thinks she has all her ducks in a row: great house, beautiful family. Then her estranged twin sister Cam shows up…pregnant. Envious of her sister’s condition and lonely with a teenage daughter and a workaholic husband, Cady’s life no longer seems to have the perfect order she has always cherished.

A recovering drug addict and absentee mother of two, Cam Taylor has never had any order in her life. Afraid of his reaction to her pregnancy, Cam flees the man she loves, seeking refuge in the only home she still knows.

Can the love between the two sisters provide a healing balm for the wounds of her scarred marriage or will Cady seek solace in the arms of another man? Can the reunion with her sister give Cam the courage she needs to face the man she loves or will she let her past mistakes come between them?

Pardon me…excuse me…oops. Did I step on your toe?

There is a huge part of writing that no writer enjoys, although without the result of it, we might as well leave everything on our desktop and not worry about sending our words out into the world.

Selling.

Let’s face it. Most writers are not born salesmen. We don’t know how to hawk our wares effectively, and when we try, we’re fairly awkward about it. We don’t want to bug you, but darn it, if we can’t get you to read what we wrote, what’s the point?

Which brings me to my current situation. I’ve written and published five books now. I’ve sent two more out to a publisher to be considered and I’m planning to publish a sequel to one of my self-published books, Ducks in a Row, in the next few months. If all goes well, by next year, I’ll have eight books out there.

So, how do I get you to read them without feeling like a nuisance when I ask? Every time I tweet or blog or post on Facebook about my books, I feel like one of those idiots who shoves her way to the front of a crowd without regard for the feelings (or toes) of those already there.

I don’t have the answers yet. I’m working with a very talented lady who is really trying to help me navigate the Internet and blogosphere with a little more grace, but I still feel awkward about the whole thing. It certainly helps to know I’m not alone out there pleading for attention. Many of my writer friends are right there with me.

And what really helps me is the knowledge that what I’m selling is not necessarily on the same level as Ginsu knives. Like most writers, I’m not in it to make a quick buck. I’m in it to try to keep all my hard work from going to waste. You see, my payoff doesn’t come from selling a book. It comes from you reading it.

What would it be like to be a dead author?

I’ve been needing to update my blog for a while now, but I like to have something to say before I start out and recently my head has been too full of other things to come up with a decent blog post. My mother would say I’ve got too many irons in the fire. The truth is, I bounce from one project to the next and rarely have a moment to come up with something real to say. For instance, this week I’ve been rewriting a submission at the request of a publisher, cataloging library books, updating a Facebook page and trying to keep up with all my other regularly scheduled activities. Add to that my new quest to actually SELL the books I already have published and you end up with a whirling head and no time to BREATHE (pun intended).

Today I stopped for a second while I was working on the library books. I stopped because I had come across a nice little paperback of Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim. I’ve never read this novel, but I love books in general, and this one had obviously been read. Plus, I’m fascinated by dead authors. What must it be like to die knowing your books are read the world over and will be read for years to come as Conrad did? Hemingway is another one like that. Did he die knowing he was a legend? I’m pretty sure Samuel Clemens did, although he probably figured the joke was on us. And what about authors like Poe who died penniless? Would he feel better about his life knowing his work has lived on as long as it has?

Libraries are full of dead authors, and they’re much more fascinating than the live ones, if you get right down to it. My friend Ellen Meister has a book coming out in a couple of weeks called Farewell, Dorothy Parker that I absolutely can’t wait for. Leading up to it, Ellen has maintained a Facebook page for Dorothy Parker, and it has been fascinating reading. I was never a huge Dorothy Parker fan (and can’t swear I am now, either), but I definitely include her among the ranks of dead authors I’d love to meet. And since I can’t, I’ll just have to read Ellen’s book, a novel about a woman who meets Dorothy Parker’s ghost.

I hope there’s a literary heaven somewhere and I hope Poe is treated with as much respect there as Papa Hemingway. I like to think they all know when their books are read by someone who loves them…or even a high school student who reads it because he has to.

In with both feet and hoping self-publishing isn’t one of the deadly sins.

I recently published this picture on Twitter and Facebook:

I captioned it “A preview of things to come”. And yes, that’s my name on the front of an actual physical book. It’s just a proof copy for me to find all my errors (and there are a few), but when I give CreateSpace the word, it becomes real. It’ll really be for sale. You can order it from Amazon and it will arrive in a box. Huh.

Back in the days when self-publishing was called “vanity” publishing, it was, perhaps, the deadly sin of writing. I’ve dipped my toes into the swirling whirlpool of self-publishing by creating Kindle e-books from two of my manuscripts that I couldn’t find homes for elsewhere, but I never considered print-on-demand before. Recently, however, I was encouraged to jump in with both feet and see where the whirlpool takes me, and I decided to do it. I figured, hey, if nothing else, I’ll see my name on the front of my book (I think I see where the “vanity” comes in).

Yesterday the proof arrived. Proof of my vanity? Maybe. But it’s kind of neat to hold that book in my hands and know it’s something I made. From beginning to end, I created it. I took the picture that’s on the front cover. I edited it (and it takes courage to admit that, because it’s going to have some mistake). I built this book like my kids build spaceships with Legos. It’s not quite finished yet. I still have to make certain I don’t need to reformat anything else, and then I jump in, feet first, and find out what it’s really like being a self-published author.

“What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever been given?”

In the course of Googling something else the other night, I ran across an article on a blog that intrigued me. The blogger devoted his entire time to tearing down a very successful author, whose name I shall not mention. In a nutshell, the blogger said she loved this particular author UNTIL she started following him on social media where said author made a number of missteps. Her main complaint, however, was that he never offered anything to the aspiring writers who clustered about him waiting for a morsel of genius to fall on them.

Instead, the author in question would fill his Twitter feed with his daily word counts, bits from his new books, or his favorite quotes from his old books. Why doesn’t the author just be himself? the blogger asked.

(Ahem. Possibly because he might not be his actual self. Lord knows, if I ever get to the point he’s at, I’m going to hire someone to handle social media for me. It’s part of the job of being a writer, but if you can afford to pay someone else to do it for you so you can keep doing what you really enjoy doing—writing—well, who can blame you…much?)

But I digress. This article got me thinking. Have I ever gotten any actually useful advice from a successful published author? I’ve seen several speak. Some tell stories about how they became successful. Sometimes you can glean some bit of something useful out of that, but for the most part, you’re left wondering, Why couldn’t that happen to me? Every now and then, though, somebody says something that sticks with you, that really helps.

Unfortunately, I honestly can’t remember who said the most useful writing tip I ever got from a published writer. I think it was a man, and I believe it was while I was in college. Other than that, I’m at a loss. At any rate, what he said was, “Tell you readers your secrets.”

That startled me. My secrets. He was talking about writing fiction. Novels. Not true stuff. Why would I tell my secrets? Real stuff. But I’ve found over the years that he was right. If you mix a little bit of reality into your fiction, it makes it live and breathe in a way that purely made up stuff could never do. And the great thing is, you don’t have to tell your reader what bits are true. You just write from the heart, mix in things that are true with things that you wish could be true or you fear ever coming true and what results is so much more than fiction.

Here’s a bit of writing advice from me, a published, if not yet successful, author. Don’t expect too much from your heroes. No matter how successful they are, they’re caught up in a balancing act, just like the rest of us. They may not have to make ends meet financially (well, the top 1% don’t, anyway), but they are trying to balance marketing and social media and family with what they really probably still want to do—writing. So don’t expect too much, but listen when you’re lucky enough to hear one speak. They might just give you that tidbit you’ve been waiting for.