Caroline Gerardo's Blog, page 47
August 17, 2011
Book Tour Closing Marketing Site
photograph: Caroline Gerardo copyright 2011In Spring Butterflies Awaken From Galled TreeReceived an email this morning that Book Tour will be closing their website on September 1st due to lack of income.
It is not a site I used with frequency, I choose to limit into six silos of marketing. For myself, I want to write seven hours a day, care for my children and work my bank job an eight-hour day. This leaves about an hour a day for marketing efforts. While I hear other authors submitting and growing in readership, I have been accurate in my assessment of how to develop as a writer. The best use of my time is in plinking on the keyboard.
Dear S Moker and all the Book Tour employees and affiliates:
I was saddened to read the email that you must close up shop. Your website is a lovely and helpful source for writers and readers. Things are tough and this is the Third Great Depression, though no politician would use such words.
I hope you will resurrect in some new format that includes ads and pay per click and some form of income for your families and those who work with and for you. At this moment, things seem dark, but push forward, in time this will bring about something good.
All my best. Hugs.
Caroline Gerardo
Author
August 14, 2011
Writing, Goals, Planning
It has been foggy in the mornings, rather gloomy for summer. Carson returns home Friday night. We have tickets to see the Decemberists at the Greek the same evening. I will drive five hours up north to pick him up then we'll bring a picnic to the concert. Hopefully I can stay awake to make the drive home. It has been an intense summer. My flash fiction Entropy will be in Scapegoat Review Magazine September. I have the contract for the short stories to be written as screenplays. One first draft I completed in July the other I will start in two weeks. Scheduling everything I do these days. I function my finest when I have the most demands. With working full time, writing full time and caring for my family is a balancing trick. Plan my goals.
I have some writing projects to organize. What better method than to list of goals.
The Lucky Boy in final editing with Neal Hock, it emerges from that stage on Wednesday. I have to write an essay for him about what I want the reader to take away.
I am writing two new novels at the same time. This seems as overload; but is working well. The characters in Pump are ones I already know. I have a story board in the downstairs bedroom and photographs completed. The other novel, Cumaean (clunky working title) is a chapter one I started online as a short fiction about an eco-terrorist but have decided to run with it as a full length thriller. I ran some ideas by an FBI agent to check my story and the plot motivates me to make it full length.
On the advice of the poetry publisher, I met with their attorney about using the autobiographical elements. I have sixty some poems, flash pieces and photographs we are compiling. The stories range from natural world, literary, dark, and personal. The difficult angle is having it be fiction not memoir. A great number of authors write about themselves or what they know, but in this, I open a door about some negatives in my life.
Rather than follow the legal advice to file, I asked him to prepare "model release letters" or something saying they would "hold me harmless". The concern is some person may come back and want a piece of the royalty. Poetry makes no profit but ...
The First Amendment protects writers but I have known some litigious personalities, so better to avoid the problem. Nineteen letters were sent, the strange thing, those who I thought would protest the most were encouraging and full of praise.
Next project is taking photographs and short videos for the books. I plan to include links for the digital books that loop to my content and swing back each chapter for more savvy online readers. I completed considerable research about interactive reading and am progressing with our secret project but the technology I want is not yet written. We have conference calls three days a week and the computer gentlemen on the team are the most animated not the comedian or the musician team members. I told them last week we are all geeks and they sent me these weird and wonderful leucandendrons.
It is an exciting time in publishing. I only wish I had 44 hours a day to write.
August 13, 2011
Pomegranate Seed Poem Time Out
copyright 8/13/2011 Caroline Gerardo
Time out for me at midnight. Date for death past.Stage four termites in fertile soil.The experts wire health graphs. Life stolen seven months it's now seventeen more."There's nothing else to do. Miracle you had a child."
Ask peripheral questions, easy anger, swift of sword. "Do not take my everything
blackened mold tar Umpire."Another ring. Bell? Time out.Shrug shoulders to children,
Who cares? Times a game.Abandoned... I regress too.Our Father in plastic shroud,
question DNA month beforeA life is duty honor courage.
Cells membranes connected- we all are touch and erase.
Godot nothingness you say.Vocation has no such path.Physics love a connection, regenerating a dust without
color of monarch chrysalis.Pomegranate aril venetian
astringent attracts termites.Memory burn Nordic star, You never loved four yearsJoyful toss the crematorium.Career in Sudan. Time out.Soul stolen from an Arabian
mare wearing ruby blanketsher grains in my sandals are
from Aortic Sea as in glass.Diatomite needle in my heart.
Hands touch - form the letter.
August 8, 2011
"Publishers stand firm" in quick sand.
Bridge
There is little a traditional publishing firm or independent bookstore can do to fight the flow of the river.
The printed book on paper is not going to burn for kindling to stay warm. Consumers will continue to purchase hardbound and paperback books.
However, it is better to learn to swim with the flow and join in the revolution. Authors need to write well, keep visible with their readers and keep all four legs in each camp. Publish on paper, digital, audio and read in person face to face.
Young readers desire content, they crave new and authors will deliver stories to satisfy. Digital will dominate the market in two years. It is cheaper, faster and more adaptable. New formats are created that include narrative, music, art and interactive qualities. My advice to fellow authors is: be yourself, take risks, and support each other.
There is not a large difference between today's publishing industry verses the music industry's fall. The only upside is there are multiple digital formats. When the music industry rolled out the CD they had no idea how easy it would be to copy that piece of plastic. Multiple formats in book publishing naturally slow the tide of piracy, monopolies and big business. Musicians make a living only from live performance today, not sales of records. Stealing of music copyrights seems the norm rather than a crime to teens. The music business (like publishing) was controlled by big extravagant labels that did not allow fresh talent a voice.
I do not want to see my books in Wall Mart but will learn everything about formatting, new digital advances and make my writing better. As a writer I plan to survive.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-mellencamp/on-my-mind-the-state-of-t_b_177836.html
http://www.thebookseller.com/news/publishers-need-stand-firm-against-digital-wylie.html
We are all in for trouble when Steve Jobs and Jeff Bezos sit at a conference table and dictate pricing.
http://www.businessinsider.com/chart-of-the-day-music-industry-sales-2011-2
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZazEM8cgt0
August 6, 2011
Vote on Character Name and Title Please
Taking a writing break tonight from my seven days a week. I travelled with baby in a bucket by plane last night. Tonight I have a movie event in Los Angeles and thought I might make it to Pierre Picot's opening at Alias books, but not certain I can do both. I met all my writing goals this week. I have three more chapters to the Western and four on what I am calling "Black Orchid." I was thinking the western would be 30000 words but enjoying it so far and it will be longer to really get to the meat of the narrative.This door is closed tonight. I have a happy heart.I am thinking of calling the Wyoming story "Santuary" as in a person who defends a refuge for species to balance ecological processes. A person who will do anything to favor the survival a species in an intensely managed landscape, even kill humans.
The killer's name is also up for debate. Please leave your input for title and name of my eco-murderer killer.
August 5, 2011
Taking a writing break tonight from my seven days a week....
Taking a writing break tonight from my seven days a week. I travelled with baby in a bucket by plane last night. Tonight I have a movie event in Los Angeles and thought I might make it to Pierre Picot's opening at Alias books, but not certain I can do both. I met all my writing goals this week. I have three more chapters to the Western and four on what I am calling "Black Orchid." I was thinking the western would be 30000 words but enjoying it so far and it will be longer to really get to the meat of the narrative.This door is closed tonight. I have a happy heart.
July 31, 2011
Short Story Wyoming
Chapter Two
People squawk about the bison verses the rancher but they don't know the real fight is man verses man. Water is the number one resource fight in America. It is no different in Wyoming where you might think the thorns of hell catch your coat every time you leave the door. I suggested to Adam last summer to think about a dude ranch, you know a bed and breakfast for guests or specialize as a hunting lodge or something close enough to spend a couple days with the family playing little house on the prairie. They have a pretty stream, water rights and fair sized summer pond and the main house is large enough. He's still thinking performance horses, studding his quarter horses and the glory past of a grand champion steer trophy. Adam has not gone to the State Fair in four years, fighting the cancer, being driven to town for chemotherapy is all he could lift his weary bones to survive. I will tell you point-blank this is the Third Great Depression but I was afraid to put it to him so harsh, he's starting to look more ant-like with that distended abdomen full ball bad cells lumping.
I am musing as Shorty trots with the afternoon sun relaxing the muscles in my back, leaning light on the blades of bleached grass. Occasionally a stone or dip brings me back into real life, I am following my instincts not tracking when I actually find hoof marks about a mile from the border of land managed poorly by the Bureau. There are also the telltale signs of shoed horse prints spinning on the outside,"Shorty one can assume we've been robbed."
The funny thing about animals, well dumb cows, they have no loyalty, but then I seem to find that in the men I pick, lying to everyone with a secret life. I am not speaking of cow brains that hold the mysteries of the universe but you would think they have enough sense to know who feeds them in the winter.
The tracks head toward a once marshy area of sycamores, old growth oaks and something that gives me great worry- wild berries: huckleberries, blackberries, and thimbleberries all wonderful to collect for a pie; but the favorite of black bears. I have Adams' Colt 45 with me, and no, it is not an old -fashioned single shot it is a modern steel stopping machine. I could challenge anyone at the firing range twenty years ago, but I have not practiced much and even a center shot might not fall a Momma bear. I follow the tracks into the bushes knowing I must be dutiful alert.
Shorty snorts understanding my worry, he is between my legs and feels the emotion of full fire alarm. We slow forward, I grab a branch to wack bushes making noises singing. I cannot seem to stick with a song that makes any sense for the situation. I start with my Sally Gardens lullaby then Coming Around the Mountain When She Comes blurts from my vocal cords. Shorty likes the soothing one better but I do not want to startle any furry teddy bears because they are not reasonable. A doe leaps from my stick stomping on the branches and looks at me irritated as if to comment on my intonation.
"Would you prefer something of Michael Jacksons?"
Then I try Beat It however I mix up the lyrics. We trek on past dried rush and bull weed. The tracks are convoluted and I decide to get out from the heavy brush, I'm wearing Adam's slicker jacket sweating like a big dog because I don't want ticks hopping on me. If there are deer, there is lyme disease. My nose is itchy with dust and the smell of rain memory, the earth wishing for a drink. As we lift up the hill I see the infant bears and I know I am in for trouble. I kick Shorty on faster to get distance from them as soon as possible. He rumbles his lungs and shows me what a stallion is made of in a full canter. The dumb bears follow as if it is a game. They make crying sounds behind me and I am looking through the leaves and branches as they hit my cheeks hoping not to spot their mother.
(((pss more to follow and need title input))
Short Stories From Wyoming
The baby is finally sleeping in his own bed after travelling from California to Wyoming twice this summer. Because our cottage doesn't have curtains yet on the south-east side the house floods with blue clear light early in the long days. I'm up writing before the dawn and feeling more productive and stronger in spirit. My novel is off for editing. I have completed fourteen short stories, one a day just like the vitamins. They vary from flash 1100 to 5000 words. I sent one on a lark to Steven James when I spotted his call to: a murder goes never goes as planned. Firing off the words straight stream of consciousness. Some of the stories are great pondering of ideas nagging to be put solid on paper, some are dark.My neighbors on the north side (there is only meadow and mountain range to the west and south really no need for privacy), Adam and Sue are a dear couple in their seventies. He is a silent source of courage and example of how a good man walks to me and all of my children. The cancer is in his spine now, and myself being a cancer, well they never say survivor yet; but I do, I know his immense pain. Adam is using a walker to get around on their property but the time is approaching when they need to make some adjustments. In the past week I realize how being neighborly can be the difference between life and death.
Adam and Sue manage cattle on hectares of land. Their property is fenced with barbed wire and spiny pots, last summer Carson and I took the bale of wire, clippers and hatchets to repair some of the weaker spots. I am certain each of those points were stronger than any icy wind from the mountain.
Out in the garden pulling bugs off my tomatoes and sunflowers when one of the dogs tears off barking. The baby is hanging in this pouch on my chest as happy as a new born kangaroo, he smiles at the disturbance of yapping.
"Come back Peanut." I look up and see Adam working his way across the meadow with an aluminum walker. With muddy hands and a sweating front I jog towards him.
"What are you doing out?"
"Some of the livestock is missing."
"How many Adam?"
"Don't know, but my grand champion European Cross and all the Angus disappeared."
"And you don't have money to hire cowboys to fetch them."
"Right."
"Can Sue watch the baby? My two eldest didn't come with me this week, Carson is in Santa Cruz and Blair has summer college classes."
"We were hoping you might say that. She was saddling Shorty to go out herself if you didn't volunteer."
"Can I help you back?"
"No," he says gently, and smiles, "you are something.."
In the barn, she fumbles with the red Indian pad to prepare Shorty, named so because he is a giant seventeen hands tall. I turn a bucket upside down in the hay and arch my feet. I tighten him down.
I don't hear Adam returning, and I did not want to embarrass him with my hovering.
"Go check on Adam heading back Sue."
"He was stubborn, he didn't let me go ask you."
"I have expressed breast milk in the refrigerator, I think three or four. He needs a nap in an hour then at three feed him one. I don't know how long this will take."
"Come here Maclund Reid," she lifts his grunting face from my chest contraption that he loves. He knows her but he fusses. She bounces him as if on the ocean in the rhythm that he enjoys and he is calmed.
Adam is at the barn gate, "you're an angel."
"No only wish God smiled on me that way."
"Pack my Colt and some snacks." He points to the holster, "Watch for black bears."
"I'm more concerned about thieves."
***
Story to be continued
July 26, 2011
Marketing Make A Wish
Scapegoat Review emailed me to publish my flash fiction piece Entropy out of the sky.Dandelion seeds I blew into the hillside seem to be flourishing as the intentions appear.This same morning a gull billed tern popped upon the glass wall looking for some treat.
"I only have nyjer thistle, sunflowers and millet for mourning doves and towhees. You Sir, are no slender necked rummaging sparrow."
He whistled "Chewh ahw."
"All right, you brought me good news after months of stabbing rain."
So with the filling the hummingbird feeder, as they dive bomb to remind me,I now have adopted a bossy white tailed kite.Hopefully he likes to eat wild dandelions to help spread the word.
photographs Copyright Caroline Gerardo 7/26/2011
