Steven Law's Blog, page 3
June 21, 2012
Law Letters posted an entry
I recently moderated and took part in a panel discussion on the subject of book marketing, which is a significant part of my day job. On this panel were three authors, one the New York Times best-seller and creator of the iconic character "Rambo," David Morrell, and one New York editor, James Frenkel, of Tor/Forge.
It's not always easy to agree with everything or everyone on any given subject, but on this panel there was a general consensus to just about all we talked about. One thing I mentioned in my monologue was that I chose to use printed bookmarks in my face-to-face events, with the QR code that allowed people to scan it and access my website with their smart phone. I made the comment that some people may have other ideas, but this was mine. Frenkel and Morrell disagreed with me.
Morrell made a great comment about how authors will be passed by if they do not have some sort of significant Web presence, and if they do not, he referred to their activity, or lack thereof, as "sky writing." Following his monologue, Frenkel made a witty reference to the purpose of bookmarks, and then Morrell followed with a comment that labeled them as "sky writing."
Though I do believe that our virtual connection with readers is powerful and very important, I don't believe that face-to-face connections with readers, i.e. book signings, should be ignored. Morrell has already built an amazing audience, Rambo a global brand name, and he started forty years ago, but he doesn't ignore the fact that competition is incredible and is big into the social media frenzy.
For those of us who are just starting out, with eight million books to compete with, we have a lot of work cut out for us. My books are mass market originals and they don't get reviewed in all the major review publications. My books are also packaged as traditional Westerns (even though they are not traditional Westerns), which means they are found in Wal-Mart, which is good, and hidden in that tiny Western section of Barnes and Noble. My job is not only to write these books, but to help readers find them.
Then there's the eBook. Since the exodus of Dorchester Publishing from the mass market paperback, I have had a theory that this would hurt their Western titles and authors. After a couple years of royalty reports from my author friends, and one of my own, I was correct in my theory: readers of traditional Westerns don't read eBooks. It may be a booming product with romance, paranormal, et al, but the Western is not a lucrative part of that market.
With packaging the way that it is—a cover that depicts a scene irrelevant to the story inside, and a distribution system that does not reach out to the best potential audience—we are burdened with diverting around that system. It does no good to complain about it, we just have to get busy. When it comes to leading people to eBooks, the best place to do that marketing is through the social media. But to find that Western reader, and others, I have to meet them face-to-face.
I realize that bookmarks may seem to be heading toward obsolescence, as are printed books themselves, but I felt the need to have some sort of printed item that I could hand out to people who I met at my signings, which gave contact info, website address, eBook info, social media connections, etc. Business cards are probably an okay choice, but my fear was that they would get caught in the shuffle with all other "business." I don't like brochures at all, because they are too much information, and expensive to print in color. Bookmarks seemed to be the right thing for me because just by the mere size and design of them, it immediately put "books" in people’s minds.
I also used creative ways to distribute the bookmarks. Not only did I put them in each book I signed or left behind (a book with a bookmark in it on the bookshelf truly stands out among the others), but I handed them to people as they walked by. I especially loved giving them to kids. Kids love freebees, and if I couldn't get the parent's attention, they certainly want to know what it was that I just gave their child. I can't tell you how many times, during my five month tour, that I gave a bookmark to a kid, and their parent(s), who had originally passed by without interest, came back and bought a book.
My favorite experience with a bookmark was when I got an email from a man who visited his grandchildren one evening, and found one of my bookmarks that I had given them at a signing. He loved reading Westerns and was happy to learn about my book and ordered it. I think later he used the bookmark to "pick the peanut butter from between the keys of his cell phone." I like the idea that people might think of me when they do that. :)
I do respect the opinions of my fellow panelists, but I am going to stand by my bookmarks, for now. My activity in the social media has me well in the game of modern book marketing, so I feel connected there. But, I do know that some of my audience (maybe not the mass audience) are still chewing their food slowly, calling instead of texting, and maybe even going to air shows, taking their time to admire that writing in the sky.
Here's a link to one of the marketing panel clips. I hope you'll take time to watch them all.
June 20, 2012
Law Letters posted an entry
April 3, 2012
Law Letters posted an entry
I was reared in southern Iowa, just a few miles from the Missouri state line, an area abundant with all sorts of wildlife. My dad was an avid pheasant and quail hunter, and raised registered Brittany Spaniels trained for bird hunting. I was in my early teens before we started hunting other game, such as ducks and geese, and ultimately deer.
Deer hunting in Iowa is a little different than other states because we have to use shotguns with slug loads. The shotgun slug is as deadly as any other chunk of lead, but as I used to say, it’s like hunting with a high-powered sling shot. Regardless, I killed my first deer with a shotgun slug, and it wasn’t long before the buck fever took a hold of me.
Being that Missouri wasn’t too far away, and all my family lived there, we visited frequently. When it came to hunting, Missouri seemed like another world: the world of the high powered rifle. I remember many days suffering from frozen toes hunting coyotes with my grandfather, or raccoons with my uncles. No one in my family deer hunted, but the interest took hold in the late 1980’s when my family and I moved to Kansas City and became Missouri residents.
I borrowed a Model 94 Winchester (.30-30) from my uncle, and went on my first Missouri deer hunt on family land. My dad already had a .270 Remington, equipped with a scope, so we were both well set. My dad talked his brothers and a few of my cousins into joining us, and little did we know we were to begin an event that would forever addict us to the sport of deer hunting: the annual gathering of deer camp.
Each year when I arrive at deer camp, I am more amazed at how much things have changed since it all began back in the late 80s. Then all we had was a very small cabin and an outhouse, no heat, electricity or running water, and everyone congregated around the campfire.
I’ll never forget how cold it was trying to sleep on the floor of the unheated cabin, and how much of a task it was to cook a simple meal. One year I realized that it would be warmer to sleep outside next to the campfire than it would in the unheated cabin. Ironically that year it had snowed quite a bit, and snow was all around me, but I cleaned a spot next to the fire and I was much warmer.
Also, back then, it was just a few family members that gathered. Maybe ten or twelve of us. Today there’s as many as thirty, some friends of family members or friends of friends. Today, almost thirty years later, our cabin has doubled in size, with sleeping bunks, propane heat, electricity and running water. We also have a new and rather large metal barn, with sleeping quarters, a shower and toilet, a kitchen and a congregating room built in half of it. It has a TV with satellite connection, DVD player, pool table and electronic dart board.
Things have also changed drastically in the field.
Being severely farsighted, and usually hunting inside a timber, I still hunt with the .30-30 and don’t use a scope. But that doesn’t mean I don’t buy in to all of the tricks. I have a set of rattling antlers, a buck grunt and growl call, a doe in estrus bleat call, and a scent drag that drags both buck urine and doe estrus. Honestly, I don’t know how well it works, but it is fun to do.
Even more fun is bow hunting. I haven’t bow hunted long, but once I discovered it, I was hooked. Anyone can shoot a deer out of a stand with a rifle. Bow hunting requires more of a cunning skill and more patience. It is a more intimate time in the outdoors, getting up close and personal with the deer. Even if I don’t see that prize buck, quite often I will sit for hours and watch yearlings, does and spike bucks forage around my stand.
One time, for almost thirty minutes, I watched a really handsome spike buck rub his antlers and gland on a sapling. I literally could have spit on him he was so close to me. A hunter only interested in the kill wouldn’t appreciate that moment, but a hunter who also loves and respects nature, appreciates getting that close to an animal that knows no other enemy more dangerous than man.
Getting an antlered buck that close, however, is a greater challenge. He’ll wander into the general area, attracted by all the tricks of the game, but getting him at a shooting distance requires a good mixture of patience and luck. He hears that doe bleat and buck grunt, but he doesn’t see it.
I am a believer in human scent reduction when deer hunting. In bow hunting it is crucial, and I don’t think anyone can be overly eccentric in making sure their clothes are kept in a scent free environment, or that their body is free from natural human scents. I keep my clothes in a plastic bag, after having washed them in scent free detergent. I use scent free underarm deodorant, shampoo and soap, and I get dressed outdoors.
I don’t cook bacon or any fried foods for breakfast, nor do I make hot coffee. I avoid campfires in the a.m., and if I’m near a campfire in the p.m., I certainly don’t have my hunting clothes anywhere near it. Deer camp isn’t deer camp without a campfire, but it certainly can be counterproductive when it comes to getting that deer to lick estrus off your toes.
Now scent reduction during gun season is not a bad idea, but I don’t think it’s as imperative as during bow season. In fact, this year during rifle season I climbed into the stand on opening day with a cup of steaming hot coffee. Thirty minutes later, 60 yards away, I shot a nine point buck. I have family members who smoke in the stand, and still bag nice bucks with envious racks.
Another plus, which has changed considerably for us over the years, is how we retrieve our downed deer. In the beginning, we had each other and a lot of strong backs. But gradually over the years we introduced two-wheel drive ATVs, four-wheel drive ATVs, and now the four-wheel drive utility vehicle, such as my dad’s John Deere Gator. It’s awesome to see all the big four-wheel drive pickups pull in to camp with their trailers toting these vehicles. And deer retrieval has never been so sophisticated.
All in all, the hunt is a lot of fun, but when I go to deer camp I look forward to one thing the most, and that’s seeing my uncles and cousins. The way our faces light up when we first see each other, exchange those manly hugs and start catching up from where we last left off, is to me the highlight of the gathering.
Sure, there’s the eventual deer slaughter that takes place. The recaps of how so and so first saw his deer and gunned it down. The trip to town to check in the deer and look over what others had brought in. It’s the hunter’s dream land, for those that live and sleep hunting.
But when I’m out hunting, my thoughts are not always as driven towards the trophy buck as the others. I’m more intrigued by nature itself, and at times find myself drifting into thoughts of my work, or something else in my life of more importance. But when that buck does come near, it’s a special moment that I try not to take for granted.
It’s when I’m back at the campfire at night that I truly draw the added satisfaction out of deer camp. The stories, good and bad jokes, sharing of ideas or just simply harassing each other for fun, is a memorable time each year.
I remember one time in particular, in the early 80’s, when we were all gathered around the campfire and my dad asked me to write something about that year’s camp. I told him then that I wouldn’t know what to write.
A friend of our family that was visiting camp that year had brought with him a German foreign exchange student that he was hosting. I can’t remember the student’s name, but I certainly will not forget how observant he was to this bit of American culture called “deer camp” that was taking place.
I’ll not forget the look in his eyes when my uncle and I tore the hide off of a deer, cut the back strap out and within minutes had small pieces of meat battered and deep-frying in oil. And the fearful expression on his face was even more memorable when he gingerly bit into his first piece of venison.
Later at the campfire the student paid close attention to all our conversations, and responded to my dad’s writing request by saying, "You can title it 'Ze Men at Ze Campfire.'"
We were all quite amused by his idea, as well as his German accent. But the truth is, outside of all the hunting action, and stories that went along with it, he understood, for us, what the gathering was all about.
Though deer camp has experienced a lot of changes in our accommodations, one thing that never changes is the revival of our family bond. I live in south Missouri now, and if it wasn’t for that reunion I would find deer to hunt closer to home. The hunting is great, but it’s “ze men at ze campfire” that makes it all worth while.
Steven Law is founder and president of the ReadWest Foundation (www.readwestfoundation.org), and the author of the novels Yuma Gold (Berkley 2011), The True Father (Goldminds 2008), and The Legend of Old Blue. Visit his Web site at www.stevenlaw.com.
July 14, 2011
Law Letters posted an entry
For so many years I’ve been told something is wrong with me. It all started with my picky eating habits, then it graduated to my general, day-to-day living habits. It makes me hard to live with, I guess, and sometimes I wish I was different. But I am what I am — just a little weird.
I think one of the neatest inventions for my needs are the plastic dinner plates with dividers on them. That way the corn stays in its own little place, as does the mashed potatoes, the ham and the dessert dish.
If it all was meant to run together then it should be put in one big bowl, with maybe two or three stirs so that a scoop would get a little of each. Kind of like Neapolitan ice cream.
To me, mashed potatoes are supposed to be enjoyed as mashed potatoes, not mashed potatoes with corn and honey glazed ham juices pooling around them. One of my elders used to tell me that it all gets mixed up on the inside anyway. My reply was, “True, but my stomach doesn’t have taste buds.” Bear with me, I get worse.
My mom was one of the first to instill in me the proper method of matching clothes. The dos and don’ts, such as not to wear plaid with plaid, or not to mix colors that clash.
I suppose it was no accident that I spent eight years in the men’s clothing business. I used to help men and their wives pick out new outfits — everything from suits and ties, jeans and sweaters, to bib overalls and western shirts. Yes, even bib overalls need proper coordination.
There was a guy that worked at my hometown men’s store that taught me all about matching colors. For the job it was good training, but for my general persona, I think it only accented the weirdness.
To this day I am bothered to see people wearing things that don’t match. And when I see a pair of shoes, a shirt, or some garment that I like, I won’t buy it unless it matches something that I’ve already got. Otherwise, I have to purchase more to go with it.
The worst thing I was ever taught is that shoes should match a belt. Talk about petty silliness — who really cares whether one’s shoes and belt are the same color? Well, when folks are trained to notice things like this, the weirdness never ends.
One year I got a pair of Justin Roper cowboy boots as a Christmas gift. I still have them, and they are a favorite pair of boots. Problem is, these boots are a unique color. The Justin company called the color “whiskey.” So there I was with these new, amberish, orangish, brownish colored boots, but I couldn’t wear them immediately because I didn’t have a belt that matched. I do like wearing western shirts untucked, where a belt doesn’t matter, but the whiskey boots are dress boots and momma wouldn’t approve.
After searching several department stores I found a belt that was very close to the color of the boots. Even though it wasn’t a western belt, it would suffice for the boots and jeans kind of guy that I am. And there’s never a moment that I wear those boots without that belt, or vice versa.
Another habit from the clothing biz is my meticulous ways of folding and storing my clothes. All my garments are folded similarly to how they would be folded and shelved in a retail store.
I’ve known a lot of mothers who tried to battle the sock-missing-its-mate dilemma by stuffing one inside the other and folding the top over. There’s a myth that this technique wears out the elastic in the sock, which is why my mother never did it that way. But the reason I don’t do it is because it causes a sock pile instead of neat little stacks.
Pathetic, eh? At least I don’t save those mini plastic hangers from the sock retailer and hang my socks on a little peg in the closet. Though it’s a neat concept, it’s a little too weird for me. (No offense to those who do that. Take it from this weird-o, I understand and respect your finickiness.) There are other things I do that fall in line with what one might consider weird, and I think the next example tops them all.
For the few years that I’ve had a home office, I’ve been very particular about how it’s arranged. I don’t know why, but for some reason if the desk doesn’t feel like it’s in the right spot, I can’t concentrate.
I’m acquainted with a writer who writes paperback novels, all of which are created in a plush recliner. She has a laptop computer and she reclines back all the way to where her feet are above the plane of her head, and the laptop rests on her belly. This is where she finds her comfort and ability to concentrate better. Any other way and she feels she doesn’t achieve her highest potential.
Another writer friend has an old travel camper with a blown motor. He has it parked in the woods, with an electrical drop cord for his computer, and a propane tank for the heater. It’s where he “holes up,” as he calls it. He’ll sit in there for days, windows covered, with the only light coming from his computer screen. This is how he zones in to the imaginary world of his stories.
Before I arranged my home office, I stood in the empty room and turned and stared at each wall. After a moment of absorbing the creative vibes, I knew where the desk would need to be. It may have something to do with the windows, the light, the magnetic field, or the cosmos — whichever, I can’t be sure. Some may say that it’s more likely a brain malfunction.
My old conservative cowboy grandfather would have certainly agreed with the latter theory, but he was a man who saw the world as either one way or another — all black and white, no shades of gray. He would have never understood, and didn’t want to.
I know such things make me hard to live with, but I really don’t know any other way to be. It’s a natural persona, as much as it is a learned behavior, and sometimes I have a hard enough time dealing with it myself.
I’m presently in the planning stages of building a cabin in the timber of my property where I intend to have a writing retreat. It’d be hard enough for a guy like me to pick a comfortable spot for the cabin if it were in an acre of trees, let alone 35 acres.
I keep wondering, should I put the cabin near the house, in a more open area? Or should it be more hidden, like in a grove of cedars? Maybe I should build it near the pond, where I can see the wildlife out a window. I suppose I’ll just have to walk around the property until the right spot strikes me.
But the weirdness doesn’t stop there. Once the cabin is built, I have to decide what the room should look like, and which way the desk should face. And do I go oak or rough cut cedar? I sure don’t want to mess up those creative vibes.
Such decisions. But I am certain of one thing; regardless of what kind of interior design I choose for the cabin, it will all coordinate just fine with whiskey colored boots.
Steven Anderson Law is the author of four novels, the latest, YUMA GOLD, will be released by Penguin-Berkley November 1, 2011. Visit his Web site at www.stevenlaw.com.
(c) 2004 Steven A. Anderson
© 2004 Steven Anderson
