Rachel Thompson's Blog, page 23

Becoming Free by guest @fayewrites

Becoming Free

I always get overly introspective at the end of the year.  Though time is relative and New Year’s Eve is really just another day, the end of the year always fills me with nostalgia.  I miss the good memories, am anxious to get beyond the bad ones, and hopeful about what lies ahead.

This time last year, I was hitting ’publish’ on my first blog post as Faye McCray.  Those close to me know I have been toying with my identity as a writer my whole life.  I started working on my first novel in 2008.  I vaguely remember sitting on the beach with my then-newborn son, thinking about my idea for the novel.  I would write a few paragraphs and read it to my husband, write a few, read a few, and then tuck it away.  I wrote on lunch breaks at work, stop lights during my commute, and after middle of the night feedings when I just couldn’t get back to sleep.  It really was enough at the time.  It was a story I felt I needed to tell so I did, without any expectation or approval. My husband suggested joining writing groups and sharing my writing with other writers.  I shrugged but agreed thinking, “Wouldn’t it be nice if… nah…” I was comfortable in my identity.  I was a new mom, wife, lawyer and sometimes, I wrote.

Then in 2009, my brother, Tommy died.

And I was angry.

Grief is, in fact, very angry.  Angry at everything.  Angry at the pain.  Angry at the birds chirping outside your window.  The sun for rising and warming your wayward tears.  The director of the funeral home’s feet for being too large to stuff into her inappropriately high heels.  On a bigger level, I was angry death happens at all.  Whether you articulate it or not, there is a layer of emotion in grief solely devoted to the unfairness in death.  You wonder, how could the universe have given you someone you grow to love and cherish only to rip them away?  How could life be so tragically short?  Just when you get the hang of it, you get the news that it will be over soon.  Or maybe you never get a chance to get the hang of it at all…

Less than a month after my brother died, I found out I was pregnant again and suddenly the whole circle of life dwelled within the walls of my body.  My soul bled with loss and simultaneously rejoiced in life.  I fluctuated between joy and pain, life and death, and in an instant, time seemed finite.  Like an explosion or fiery dagger barreling down at where you sit from the sky, it could all be over in an instant.  One second you are there, laughing at a silly joke, filling your lungs with the shared air, and the next…. well, in the next, you’re gone.

It wasn’t so much that the sun shone down and I had an out of body epiphany to pursue my life as a writer… it was that I realized I wanted to spend the remainder of my days being true to who I was.  There was a way I wanted to love.  There was a way I wanted to look.  There was a way I wanted to parent.  There was a way I wanted to spend my days that I hadn’t been true to.  Don’t get me wrong.  I had a good life.  I had a stable job.  I was still madly in love with my husband and in complete adoration of our happy, healthy and cute babies.  However, so many of my days were spent in obligation.  I did so much of what had to be done and I didn’t dare to dream of what could be done because I was afraid wanting more would make me selfish.

But when Tommy died…

When Tommy died and ten months later, my youngest son was born, life felt like no more than a brief slumber in the liminal.  Life was that moment between opening your eyes and closing them.  That moment between seeing something that brings you joy and allowing the smile to take hold of your face.  That moment between wanting to be touched, and feeling a warm hand against your skin.

The last time I saw my brother, we were both shuffling mindlessly around my mother’s house in Queens.  I was getting ready to snuggle in my mother’s recliner under a blanket and Tommy and my husband were about to pop in the ”early release” DVD of Zombieland.  My oldest, who was two then, toddled into my mother’s office, undoubtedly to get into something.  I dropped the blanket down on the recliner and reluctantly followed.

“Pickle…” I’m sure I mumbled.  Tired and eager for him to settle down.

As I entered the hall, I spied my brother lift him up and place his forehead to my son’s.  My son giggled and my brother smiled.  I did too.  My brother and I didn’t always get along.  To see him so tender with my son… it was everything.  Call it a gift from the universe, but I remember that moment vividly.   As clear as a picture in my palm.  Sometimes when it’s quiet I relive it.  I rewrite it.  Instead of shuffling back into my mother’s living room and falling asleep and muttering a sleepy goodbye as Tommy leaves my mother’s house and I never see him again, I say…

“I love seeing you with him like that, Tommy.”

He smiles and says, “I know, me too.”

I say, “I’m sorry we fought so much when we were growing up but I am so happy we are closer now.  I love that I can call you and you always pick up.  I love that you are always there for me.  I love that you are such an awesome Uncle to my son.”

He’d smile again and look at me over the shades he always wore.  He’d smirk because he’d be embarrassed but he’d let me hug him, a little longer than usual, and then I’d let go and he’d leave because he had too.

I can’t rewrite that.

As I move into 2014 and reflect on all I did, and all I want to do, I am pausing to look back.  To remember placing a flower against my brother’s silver casket and months later, spreading my fingers over my expanding stomach and feeling my son kick against my open palm.  My spirit weary with death and yet joyous in life.  I am reminded to take hold of those liminal moments with both hands.  Breathing in each space I am allowed to fill and not in a rush to end my journey.  I am reminded to become who I am intended to become.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.   I am reminded that a stranger’s expectations of me matter not compared to my expectations of myself.  I’d say I’m eager to get started but let’s face it, it’s already begun.

About the Author

Faye McCray is an attorney and author living with her husband and two children in Maryland.  She has an undergraduate degree in English from Binghamton University and law degree from Howard University School of Law.  Her short story, White Belt , is available on Amazon.  The sequel, Yellow Belt will be available in January 2014.  Faye is also seeking traditional publication of her novel, Boyfriend.  Connect with Faye on her blog, www.fayemccray.com , Facebook at www.facebook.com/fayewrites, and follow her on Twitter @fayewrites.

The Skinny Truth by guest Annabell Cadiz (@TeamFallen)

Image courtesy of podpad / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

There I stand in front of my door-length mirror. I’m dressed in a curve-hugging, thinned-strapped, black dress that falls just above my knees exposing my freshly sun-kissed legs from an outing at the beach earlier in the day. My dark-brown hair drapes over my shoulders in light waves, falling to my slender waist-line, and my eyelids are shadowed in a mix of golden-brown and dark-purple. My lavender heels lift my five-foot, two-inch frame another inch and my gold and silver cross gleams from my neck.

I smile. I’m ready to paint the town with my peeps. Ready to show off my inner sex kitten that usually hides underneath the jeans and flowy tops. I rub cotton-candy smelling lotion on my arms, spray some perfume around my dress, and look myself over in the mirror one last time. For a breath of a moment I think I look great. I think I can stand among my good looking friends, swaying my hips with “Don’t you wish your girlfriend look hot like me” attitude.

But my mirror is a liar.

Oh sure. For the first minute and a half, my mirror acts like my best friend. Reflecting off my brilliance and beauty. I was pretty sure if I asked it if I was the fairest of them all, my reflection would have instantly responded yes with a dazzling smile.

The smile I’m wearing forms into a frown as the mirror reveals early signs of wrinkles, deep bags from lack of sleep and blackheads on my nose. My mind starts to wonder: “Maybe my legs look too skinny in this dress?” “Maybe the eye shadow is what’s making the bags under my eyes look so prominent?” “This dress doesn’t make my legs look too skinny; it makes me look too skinny!” “Maybe I should try a different dress” which inevitably leads to the thought “Maybe I should just put on some nice jeans and a nice top and call it a night.”

The smile disappears completely now and I turn away from the mirror in a huff, wondering why I bothered staring into it to begin with.

How nice it would to be to blame the mirror for my lack of self-confidence or lack of self-belief but a mirror is an inanimate object and the only thing I can blame it for is, well, nothing. I learned from really young that the way we determine our self-worth is through our mindset. The mirror is a reference tool but what stares back at us, or rather what version of ourselves we think stares back at us, lies in how we think of ourselves. We are a testament to our thoughts—what kind of person we will be, how successful we are in life, how happy we are or vice versa, what we believe in. It begins with one single thought. The problem lies not in only learning to conquer our traitorous thoughts but having the discipline to change them.

From the moment we are born, we are lead to believe that we have the power to do anything and as we age, as life beats us up, we stop believing so much in the possibility of what we are capable of, and settle for the little we can do in the futile hopes it will be enough. I grew up in a house full of broken people who desperately sought peace, but settled for the smaller pleasures that alluded to a temporary kind of peace. I was also one of those people.

As a tomboy in a family of women who were the definition of girly-girl, I was the black sheep. I only wore long pants, baggy tops, sneakers and always had my long, dark-brown hair wrapped in a tight bun. I had a unibrow and mustache. I didn’t shave my legs till around the age of sixteen. I used to wear jackets with every outfit. I walked with slumped shoulders and never looked people in the eye.

And I barely talked. I was CRIPPLINGLY shy and I struggled to converse with people. I mean I had friends from school and around the neighborhood because I grew up with them but I never felt like I was one of them, like I was accepted by them. I always felt like the freak in a land of pretty people who knew how to piece together the right outfit, wear the right make up, style their hair the right way, and had fuller bodies where mine was rail-thin skinny.

I always believed if I could just stop being skinny than somehow magically all my other insecurities would disappear. All I needed was a fuller waist-line, a bigger butt and bigger boobs and I’d be totally be set. I mean I’m Puerto-Rican, everyone pretty much has big boobs and big butts and curvy figures, so my skinniness made me feel even more like the black sheep.

From childhood, I hated being skinny. I hated mirrors because they reminded me of how skinny I was. I was told I looked like a super model, even by my pediatrician, but I never believed it. I thought super models had the right kind of skinny and somehow my skinny was wrong.

When I was fourteen (at least I believe it was when I was fourteen. Maybe thirteen?? Apologies. The mind tends to wane with age and only keeps track of useless information nowadays), I had gone to the mall with my then best friend and her mom. I hadn’t eaten for a few days prior to that point. I hadn’t even realized I hadn’t eaten food. An hour into shopping and I started feeling horrible. The kind of horrible that makes your whole body break out into a sweaty mess, your stomach turns into knots as tight as clenched fists and the world around you is spinning uncontrollably. I used all my strength—er, well, what strength I had—to keep myself on my feet and quickly rushed to the bathroom where I did the unmentionable while vomiting and my body broke out in fits of uncontrollable shaking.

You see, when I was growing up I kept all my emotions locked inside, including how much I loathed being so dang skinny, and I would literally forget to eat. I wouldn’t even think about it. My mom would have to ask me if I ate and that’s how I would remember that I should probably get something in my stomach. My insecurities about my body were so blinding back then, especially in my teen years, hence the above episode in the mall. Lo and behold, who woulda thunk I’d feel better after getting some food into my body *gasp*.

After that day at the mall, I decided I was going to start having to change the way I thought about myself or at least start speaking up a lot more about how I felt and definitely start paying attention to eating. I was scary close to developing an eating disorder without ever actually thinking about it. *shakes head*

But conquering your traitorous thoughts is easier said than done. Changing the way you think, ESPECIALLY about yourself, is as fun as putting a needle in your eye over and over again. What you really want to do is hit up the ice cream section at Wal-Mart, grab a pack of brownies from the bakery, and snuggle up in bed with a movie where things blow up, while you stuff your face so you don’t even think about how hard it’s going to be to change yourself.

It took a near breakdown when I was sixteen (a story for another day) to get me to a place where I was determined to change because I couldn’t take the self-loathing anymore or the demands of the world around me.

This is what I learned:

I Am Beautiful! Beauty is a relative term. For every person you ask, he or she will give you a different response. It took me a while to understand that I didn’t need to define my own beauty by comparing it to how it mounted up to anyone else’s version of beauty. Beauty can be found everywhere in anything and in anyone. It all depends on how you choose to define it. I believe the most beautiful things come from the most broken.

Being Skinny Rocks! This is a harder one for me. I have my great days with being skinny and my crap days. There are days I can dance around in shorts and a tank top with bare feet, shouting “Girls just wanna have fun!” with Cyndi Lauper and not give a care in the world how skinny I may look in my shorts. But there are days I keep trying to cover up my waistline and some days I can’t look in the mirror. It’s still a fight inside my own head. It’s crazy though! My mom was 98 pounds at 24 when she had my brother and my mom looked FABULOUS (she still does) and everyone says I’m my mom’s twin, so why can’t I see myself the way I see her all the time? *sigh* I think most days I’m good. I’m thankful to have a small frame and stature. I can fit in places other people can’t. I can move fast and agile. I can ride bike and chase after my nieces and nephews for hours. But sometimes, there are days when that voice whispers, “You’re not the right kind of skinny.” Those are the days I have to look in the mirror and tell my evil bitch twin self to shut the flip up and give her the finger. Sometimes that’s what you have to do. Just give the world the finger and laugh hysterically while you do it when you rather cry instead.

I Am Valuable BECAUSE of My Waistline! You can’t define your self-worth based off how much society keeps propagandaing pencil-thin waistlines, mega-huge boobs, and Marilyn Monroe blonde locks. If you don’t fit the stereotype who cares?! Your value as a person comes from WHO you are and HOW you treat others around you. Learning to love yourself isn’t selfish or conceited. It’s NECESSARY. In order to love others the right way, you gotta learn to love yourself. It may sound all Karate Kid wisdom but it’s still true.

The truth is I do love my skinny, short frame self. It may not fit everyone else’s concept of beauty but it fits mine. And in the end, my opinion of myself is the one that matters most *wink*

 ***

 Lucifer (Sons of Old Trilogy, #1)

Check out on Goodreads!

Purchase on Amazon and Barnes & Noble!

Have you ever wondered what could be hiding in the shadows?

Well, for eighteen-year-old Zahara Faraday, she doesn’t have to wonder. You see she comes from a lineage of Light Witches, those who have chosen to help protect and serve between the supernatural world and the human world. The only problem is Zahara, like her father Solomon, is as human as a human being can be whereas her mother, Mia, and her Aunt Catalina, were born as Light Witches. As a family they hunt down rogue supernaturals—creatures who harm humans or who have committed an act against their kingdom.

Zahara’s hunting skills are usually kept dormant since her parents would prefer she live life as a normal human girl without knowledge of the supernatural world. She plans on doing just that—except when she finds a couple being attacked by fairies, she has no choice but to step in. Before she can return to pretending to be blissfully ignorant, Zahara encounters a problem she isn’t the least equip to handle: Bryan Hamilton, the good looking new co-worker she has to help train. In a heartbeat, her best friend, Becca King, has set her up on a double date with herself and her new crush, Rekesh Saint-Louis, who happens to be the most powerful leader of the biggest Imago Coven in South Florida –supernatural creatures with the ability to control water . . . and suck out human souls.

Zahara has no time to focus on how she’s going to explain her double date with her best friend and the enemy they have a tentative truce with to her parents because soon one of the members of Mia and Catalina’s coven is found murdered with a strange tattoo of a snake with wings carved into his arm.

Zahara is then thrown into a whirlwind battle with an angel determined to have revenge against God, an Imago coven she doesn’t think they should trust, and slew of dream-eating fairies and powerful Nephilims, hybrid children of angels and humans, more than happy to rip her to shreds.

Normal just got a deadlier definition.

About the Author

Annabell Cadiz was born in the sweltering heat of South Florida. She was raised surrounded by Puerto Rican chefs and band of siblings that weren’t all related to her. A self-proclaimed nerd and book-a-holic (her room does hold much evidence to prove her claims are justifiable), she created TeamNerd Reviews to showcase her EXTREME love for novels where, along with her best friend, Bridget Strahin, she hosts book reviews, interviews, giveaways, Indie Shoutouts and much more. She also had the pleasure of being published in three separate issue of Suspense Magazine. She is currently attending Trinity International University to attain her B.A. in Psychology. She also adores Cinnamon Teddy Grahams, has an addiction to Minute Maid Orange juice, and is a proud Jesus Freak. Her debut novel, LUCIFER (SONS OF OLD TRILOGY, #1) was published January 2013 and the second book, MICHAEL, will be out Winter 2013/Early 2014 and the third book, NEPHILIM, will be out Spring/Summer 2014.

Where to Stalk Annabell

Website/Goodreads/Twitter/Facebook

 

Welcome To The Jungle. I Mean, The Holidays.

‘Once a year the holidays come swinging at your head. Feast until you’re full of pain again.’

~ Jonatha Brooke 

Welcome to the Holidaze.

Christmas Biscuits by Grant Cochrane via
freedigitalphotos.net

It’s December 1st (as I write this) and I’m already tired.

As a young mom (my kids are now 14 and 8), I used to look forward to all their darling pre-school performances, plays, and holiday feasts. All the kids were so cute in their fumbling attempts at performing songs they barely knew the words to and dance moves that made us all laugh.

Now that they’re older, I begin to dread fall. I love the leaves turning and the colder weather (for those of you who haven’t kept up, I moved to Northern California last year), lighting candles and chimneys burning, wearing sweaters and boots (it’s a girl thing). It’s wonderful. What I don’t love is the mad rush to create a big deal out of every single little tiny minute detail of our kids’ lives.

Let’s deconstruct.

EMAILS

If you’re a parent, you know what I mean. In an attempt to get with it, my second-grader’s school now sends us ‘event notices’ from Shutterfly for EVERYTHING: ‘we will be sharpening pencils on Tuesday at 10am. Please make a note of it.’ Okay, I exaggerate but honestly, doesn’t it seem that way? I love that they want to keep us informed of what’s going on with our kids when we’re not there, but really? ‘PE this Wednesday.’ Yes, I know. It’s been PE day at his school since it opened. We KNOW (and we’ll still forget the change of clothes).

PERFORMANCES

Kids have been doing school performances in every country since man started walking upright. You and I did them and our parents dutifully came and oohed and aahed. It’s our job as a parent to attend, enjoy, and make a big deal. And we love it! We do.

I especially love when I catch my boy doing dance moves or singing their assigned song when he thinks nobody is paying attention. Those candid moments are like little peeks into his psyche and it’s so adorable, I almost squee (and I hate that word).

What bugs me is when we do get there finally, for the long-awaited performance, traffic is a nightmare, parking is non-existent, and families are saving 25 seats in front for ‘immediate family.’ We all want to see, parents! Oh, and don’t forget the mom who takes 20,000 pictures of her child, blocking everyone’s view, while we all stare at her ass (she really should NOT be wearing those jeans) instead of being able to see our own darling kid (not to mention that there’s a professional photographer and videographer who will be selling tapes of our darlings for $29.95, plus tax).

FOOD

If you know me at all, you know I don’t cook. I don’t bake (my mother will insist I used to bake cookies but I think she’s getting old). I burn. So when it comes time to bring homemade ‘special to our family treats,’ I do what many a working mom or dad do: I go to the store and visit the bakery. Hey, those people work hard to make homemade stuff for us (in their large, industrial warehouse kitchens). The ingredients are all the same.

(Hey, I bought them with love.)

I have nothing but respect for people who cook and bake. I’ll happily eat whatever you make. So will my kids (unless it’s got too much garlic — kids don’t love that, especially in cookies. Just sayin.’) I don’t try to keep up because I simply cannot. Besides, keeping up takes too much damn time — time I’d rather spend with my family watching the same old Christmas movies in our cozies.

I’m sure I’ve forgotten something else (I’m hurrying to write this as we head to the mall — I know, right? — for our Christmas pictures…and I’m Jewish), so feel free to add your favorite annoying moments. And just in case you think I’m a scrooge, I will remind you that while my tongue is planted firmly in cheek as I write this, I’m no different than any other parent — I enjoy the lovely wonder and joy of the season.

Just not all at once.

 

Don’t forget — please donate even $1 to purchase Kindles for our troops — and you’ll be automatically entered to win a Kindle! All monies go directly to the Ebooks For Troops organization. Thank you! (Drawing on December 21).  

 

If you haven’t read Broken Pieces yet, it’s FREE Monday and Tuesday this week! Go to Amazon, download, done. Buy for a friend. If you don’t have a Kindle, that’s okay — they have free apps for computer, tablet, cloud, and smartphone.

E-books for Troops: Donate to Win It

Image courtesy of imagery majestic at freedigitalphotos.net

Rachel and Kate have decided that this November we want to give back to the troops who serve to protect us each day. After much research into ways to help ,we discovered E-Books for Troops. E-Books for Troops mission is: “to provide U.S. military personnel with free e-book readers in order to enhance their opportunities for recreation and renewal while defending our nation at home and around the world.” We want to be a part of that and we hope you do too.

To thank everyone who donates directly to E-Books for Troops, we are offering a Kindle raffle including all of Rachel’s books. In order to qualify to be entered to win the Kindle you must:

Make a donation directly to E-Books for Troops HERE (or via the PayPal button on the right side of their main page here.)
Take a screenshot of your completed order (or your email receipt)

For Mac: Press down Command + Shift+ 3 or follow these instructions.
For PC: Press down Windows key + Print Screen or follow these instructions.


Email the screenshot to Kate Tilton at assistantk8@yahoo.com
Kate will verify your donation with the screenshot and add your name into the drawing.

To make things fair for those who want to donate larger amounts, we will count an entry for every $5 amount you donate. So if you donate $5 or less: 1 entry, $10: 2 entries, $15: 3 entries, and so on.

Deadline is December 20th at 11:59pm Eastern.

 

Ebooks for Troops purchase and/or acquire Kindles via fund-raising and other donations, and distributes them to sponsored military units that are deployed overseas.  Ebooks for Troops require their Kindle donations to be shared within the sponsored unit and require the Commanding Officer’s written agreement via e-mail stating the gifts will be shared within the unit and become inventory of the unit and listed in the unit property books.

 

Authors! If you would like to donate an ebook for troops, please sign up here and we’ll contact you when we know more!

How Much Can Indie Authors Realistically Make? with guest @LizSchulte

Last month I wrote a post showing my sale numbers and other numbers a few authors have shared with me. Today I have the wonderful Liz to talk about her earnings. 

*****

Hello. My name is Liz Schulte and I am a self-published author of mystery and paranormal romance. I recently read Rachel’s article about what a self-published writer can realistically make.  I have been publishing for around three years and this past year (in June) I became a full-time writer.

I find when I tell people that they tend to think it is because I am married and have another means of support, but that isn’t true. I am single, I have mortgage, and I have two dogs. I am living on my writing income 100%.

Rachel asked me to share with you guys my story about my journey to being a full-time writer. I have been thinking a lot about this, and I think the best way is to first explain a few misconceptions I had and I see other new writers coming into this with, and then I will hit you with my numbers for all three years.

So-and-so author did it this way, so it will work exactly the same for me. False. It is important to remember that everyone’s story in self-publishing or any form of publishing is different. What works for one person may not work for others. It is always good to research and know what others are doing, but if it doesn’t impact your sales, try something different. Find your market.
One book will make me rich. False. Very few people release one book and skyrocket to fame and glory. Very few writers will ever skyrocket to fame and glory. Yes, some do it, but most don’t. Look at any artist industry: music, acting, art, etc. There are three types of people: the elite standouts, people who make a living, and the rest (the majority) who work day jobs. It is the reality of the industry. Making your place in this industry is hard work. It isn’t a 9-5 job. I work all day and most nights every single day of the week. All other aspects of my life have suffered in order for me to get here. It takes dedication and determination beyond anything your non-writer (muggles) friends and family will think is reasonable.
I am an excellent writer and I don’t need to hone my craft. (This one is going to hurt.) False. It is great to have confidence, but no one’s first book is ever their best—nor should it be. Everyone needs an editor, and everyone should continue to study and grow as a writer. If you are not willing to do those two things, you probably aren’t going to last very long.

Now for the numbers.

**Note: All numbers are before taxes, and  I always have travel, conference, and professional membership expenses, but I do not consider them a must-have for publication so I am not including them here.**

2011: 2 Books published – Earnings- $462.67; Expenses (advertising and production) – $2,591.13 NET LOSS

2012: 3 Books published and one short story (total of 5 books and a short story for sale) – $61,102; Expenses (advertising and production) – $8,916.39

2013 (so far): 4 Books published (total of 9 books and a short story for sale) -  $100,987.24; Expenses (advertising and production) – $9,111.56

These numbers probably lead you to a few questions. What are “production costs”? How do I advertise? And what changed between year one and year two?

Production costs. Included in this are cover, editing, and formatting. A breakdown of my expenses in this category looks something like this: copy editor – $2.50 per page (250 words per page), proofreader – $1.00-1.25 per page (250 words per page), cover design (all formats) – $50-150, and formatting (all formats) – $70-100. These are the essential things you have to do to publish a book.
Advertising. The truth to this is that I try everything at least once. Some work for me and some don’t. I have had the best success with Pixel of Ink (free), Bookbub (paid), and Ereader News Today (free and paid). Blog tours are great for growing a fan base and improving your SEO, but I have never noticed a huge jump in sales from them.
The majority of the money I made in year two was made toward the end of the year. The factor that changed was that I published the third book in a series and made the first book free then ran ads with the three places mentioned above. It gave my books and series the boost they needed to get noticed. I don’t recommend using free books or having sales when you only have one or two books out. It is best to wait until you have multiple books so you get more bang for your buck.
More than anything—and I cannot stress this enough—write more books. Stop stalking your sales, returns, ranking, and reviews and write.

This has been my experience with self-publishing. I am happy to talk to anyone who has questions. You can reach me on Facebook, Twitter, or my website.

-Liz

About the Author:

Many authors claim to have known their calling from a young age. Liz Schulte, however, didn’t always want to be an author. In fact, she had no clue. Liz wanted to be a veterinarian, then she wanted to be a lawyer, then she wanted to be a criminal profiler. In a valiant effort to keep from becoming Walter Mitty, Liz put pen to paper and began writing her first novel. It was at that moment she realized this is what she was meant to do. As a scribe she could be all of those things and so much more.

When Liz isn’t writing or on social networks she is inflicting movie quotes and trivia on people, reading, traveling, and hanging out with friends and family. Liz is a Midwest girl through and through, though she would be perfectly happy never having to shovel her driveway again. She has a love for all things spooky, supernatural, and snarky. Her favorite authors range from Edgar Allen Poe to Joseph Heller to Jane Austen to Jim Butcher and everything in between.

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Easy Bake Coven:

For Selene Warren being a witch is no big deal. She dabbles in harmless magic with her friends and never thinks much about it. However, when a stranger who seems to know her shows up at her studio and her grandmother is brutally attacked, her simple life becomes complicated.

A world of elves, half-elves, fae—and one peculiar Sekhmet named Femi open up to her. She will discover that fairy tales are real, politics are ugly in any world, and there is a lot more to her life than she ever dreamed possible.

This new reality threatens swallow Selene whole, but with a forgotten past beating down her door, she will have to dive in to save her future.

Amazon

The Balancing Act of Author Street Teams by guest @K8Tilton

I just launched my first street team, The Bad Redheads, so I asked my author assistant if she could write a bit about street teams for those who don’t know what they are. If you are interested in joining The Bad Redheads you can do so over here: The Bad Redheads

*****

Over the years I have joined a variety of street teams, launched street teams for my authors, and talked about the “what” and “how” of street teams online. The one thing in all of this I can guarantee about street teams is that each one will be different from the next.

What is a street team?

A street team is a group of fans that join together to support an artist, brand, author, band, or other similar people/products. Street teams are powerful marketing tools because they tap into an established group of fans and utilize their passion and connections. Street teams hone in on word of mouth marketing by encouraging your fans to share their love of your work with others so you can reach a larger audience.

What are the different types of teams?

The non street team

If you search online for street teams you are bound to find a few of these street teams that are in fact NOT street teams. These groups are author Facebook groups, groups with no sign up process, or the author’s early reader team. Although it is great for an author to want to connect with a Facebook group or develop a group of early readers, this doesn’t make them street teams.




The “hands-off” team

These are the teams that require members to sign up and usually require some tasks in order to be officially a part of the group. But after the initial set up these teams are not offered regular guidance.




The mission focused team

These teams require sign up by members like a “hands-off” team but go beyond just the initial set up. The author or team leader interacts regularly with the street team and sets up monthly optional missions to guide members to be the most effective and engaging.




The hard-sell team

This team requires members to positively review every book the author has ever written (just to sign up) and religiously counts points and stats of each member. Being part of this team feels like a job.

Which team is right for me?

The non street team

The non street team option is for authors who are not ready to establish a team. If a team setting is not right for you consider setting up a group for fun with a few readers or getting together a group of advance readers. This method is all about having fun and building up relationships.




The “hands-off” team

This option is good for those who want to either seriously limit the number of street team members or who just want to give things away without making a huge time commitment. For authors who want a very small team with low maintenance required, setting up a team of the very best and most passionate readers will allow you to step back and let the readers do what they have already been doing. For authors who are just not ready to commit to running a team (or hiring someone to do so) setting up a “hands-off” team can be an option to spread some promotional material to readers who will hopefully share it.




The mission focused team

This is the team you start when you want to commit to really building up a marketing force and building relationships with your passionate readers. These teams require a sign up process and a monthly mission/goal that includes spending time sending out the missions and collecting the results. A mission-focused team will require more time and money, but if you commit to it you will see results.




The hard-sell team

These teams are not right for ANY author. Just don’t do it. Trust me.

The Balancing Act

Much of the debate on what street teams are and how they should be run revolve around a balance. As an author you don’t want your street team to be too loosely put together or it won’t really be a street team at all. You also don’t want to cross moral lines and create a monster hard sales group (which never works in our current market). So how do you balance between too much guidance and not enough?

For the street teams I have launched and run for my authors I focus on making the teams mission based. Having missions gives readers direction. Sometimes we just don’t know what to do to help our favorite author. By giving missions you answer that question. Keeping the missions optional allows readers to participate when they feel comfortable. Having this environment lets your readers be honest and true with others, and that is the best marketing you can get.

At the end of the day your street team is YOURS. Make it a group you can be proud of and enjoy.

What do you think about street teams? Have you started a street team or joined one? What team was it?

About Kate Tilton:

Kate Tilton has been in love with books for as long as she can remember. Kate believes books saved her life and strives to repay authors for bringing books into the world by serving as a dependable author assistant. A cat-lover and fan of many geeky things, Kate can likely be found curled up with the latest Doctor Who episode, plotting world takeover, or assisting authors and readers in any way she can. Kate is also a self-proclaimed Twitter addict. You will find her hosting #K8chat, her own creation, every Thursday night on Twitter from 9-10pm Eastern.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | LinkedIn | Pinterest

“My goal for the longest time has been to help authors. Make their life better because they make my life better. You are my rockstars.”

 

When Everyone Says You’re A Dumbass, Guess What? You’re A Dumbass.

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I wasn’t going to even bother with this whole scenario that occurred on Twitter yesterday, but several of my followers were honestly so shocked by this, they asked me to write about it. So here ya go: 

I received another mass tweet from someone I’ve never met, who doesn’t follow me, telling me to purchase his poetry, retweet his tweet, and get others to support him.

Normally, I just unfollow these folks – it’s obvious they don’t ‘get’ the social in social media. But for whatever reason, his aggressive manner rubbed me the wrong way. So I tweeted him back: ‘you might want to interact, engage, perhaps follow people, not just spamming the same link to hundreds.’

He was not pleased. He decided to tell me how Twitter works. Yea, I know.

(I’m thinking maybe he didn’t read my bio. Not that I say I’m sort of guru, because I’m not. But because maybe he would see that I own a media company and was really just trying to help him.)

Let’s deconstruct.

WHEN EVERYONE SAYS YOU’RE A DUMBASS, GUESS WHAT? YOU’RE A DUMBASS

Growing up, my older sister used to say this: if enough people say you’re an asshole, you’re an asshole. Being young, and a sibling, I disagreed – ya know, just to be contrary. Anyway, back to the guy: multiple people engaged in the conversation, and to a one, we all suggested that he spend time interacting, curating interesting content, being generous to others, and connect with readers — as opposed to making his timeline singularly self-focused.

Instead of taking the advice of other authors, he insisted that there was something wrong with US – that he has every right to spam links (he called it advertising) etc., and we have no business making suggestions that he try a different tactic. (Hint: read the Twitter Rules on spam). He even went so far as to say how sad it is that authors won’t support each other, a ‘subtweet’ jab directed at me. Whatevs.

Sigh. I directed him to my @BadRedheadMedia stream, where I give out hundreds of free tips weekly. To authors. To support authors.

JOE WILSON TV

One lovely new friend suggested I watch this hilarious (and stingingly honest) video (Stop Spamming Me With Your Work On Twitter) from @JoeWilsonTV. Every author, musician, actor, screenwriter, and businessperson needs to watch this video and take it to heart. (In fact, I love it so much, I just asked Joe’s permission to use the clip for this post — I promised not to spam it. And he laughed. Score!)

What I loved about Joe’s video was this: I’m not (he’s not, you’re not) the Twitter police. Do whatever the hell you want. But if you want to sell some damn books:

 Stop spamming us with your links. Once every few days is plenty. 
Don’t rationalize your spamming because you look like a dumbass
We support you when you’re not being a dumbass – when you are, not even your mother wants to be around you or read your books.

POINTLESS

I ended up blocking this guy (after I wished him all the best. What.), because he just kept going on and on about his amazingness, his right to spam, but mostly because he didn’t bother to admit or consider for a moment, that perhaps, just maybe, he might be oh, just a tiny bit mistaken in his marketing efforts.

Actually, the main reason I blocked his ass was this line: my own stats prove that Twitter sells my books.

This is patently false. Nobody has those kinds of stats — not because Twitter isn’t effective for book sales – it absolutely is – um, we think. But because there’s no way to check click-through rates to one’s book link (unless you’re using a customized link shortener like bit.ly – which he isn’t),  because Twitter nor Amazon provides us ANY data about that. We also don’t know how many clicks from Twitter (or anywhere) result in sales. All we know: our sales and rankings (updated hourly) on Amazon.

Listen, it’s just Twitter. Use some common sense – if you wouldn’t do something in real life, don’t do it on Twitter.

If this guy wants to actually sell some books, I suggest he take free advice from people who can and want to help him. Maybe he’ll learn a little something.

I know I did. I learned my sister is always right. Dammit.

 

 

If you’d like to read a free sample of my third release, Broken Pieces, here’s the link to Amazon. It’s also available on Barnes and Noble. The print version will be out before Christmas from Booktrope. 

 

 

 

 

 

Shards (Excerpt From My Upcoming Book BROKEN PLACES)

I’ve had several requests to share a piece from my next ‘Broken’ book, Broken Places, titled Shards.

If you haven’t read Broken Pieces yet, read a free sample here. It’s currently only in eBook format on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, but the print version will be out soon from Booktrope. The book is currently ranked #2 on Amazon’s Women’s Poetry list and #5 on Abuse (paid lists).

 

SHARDS 

Why aren’t you here for me? As I cry alone in the shadows between what I need and what you give, shards emerge, cutting through this glittering fog of lust.

Even the sun and moon fighting for your clear, sea-blue eyes aren’t enough to make you see. Maybe you do. I can never tell.

You hold back, you pull me close, your eyes raging as you enter me, an anger I cannot soothe, a space I cannot fill.

Though I try to be the woman you desire, I realize I never can. Because I already am, and it’s not enough.

Enough for me, I tell myself, gathering my things. You don’t deserve, me.

Feel this? This is my anger at what could have never been. At myself for believing you were enough for me. Knowing fully, with rage-filled goose-bumped clarity, why you aren’t here for me.

Taking your language into my soul, feeling it separate from sentences to words burning with flight, til all I have left are meaningless letters pushing fire through my veins.

Words can draw blood if you’re very, very careful.

 

So that’s it for now. I hope you enjoy it and would love your feedback. Meanwhile, I’m collecting names for betareaders — want to get the very first copy when it’s ready and give me feedback? Please sign up for my newsletter over there >>>>>> and add ‘betareader’ in your copy. Any questions, let me know! 

Need help with your social media or book promotion? Contact me at BadRedheadMedia.com.

3 Reasons Why Your Twitter Following Isn’t Growing

Nobody is following me! 

My Twitter growth is going backward, not forward.

What am I doing wrong?  Nobody likes me. I must not be funny enough. 

Any of these statements sound like you? I hear these daily, especially from authors who want to sell more books and a) aren’t sure Twitter will do that for them (more on that in a moment), or b) Have a Twitter stream but no idea what to do with it or how it relates for marketing and selling books.

Let’s deconstruct.

FOLLOWING 

The number one way to grow your Twitter following is so obvious, people often miss it: follow others. Follow people back. Pay attention. I’ve always aggressively followed people — typically I follow 500/day on my @RachelintheOC stream, and 300/day on my @BadRedheadMedia stream. Following begets following. It’s really not a difficult concept, but so obvious most people either don’t know or forget to do it or just aren’t sure how (I recommend using ManageFlitter).

What’s difficult for most people is how to go about following that many people, how to keep track of so many (more below), and if it’s even worth the time. Right?

You can read the same articles I can about whether Twitter (or really, any social media) is worth it, but what I can share here is my personal experience: 90% of my blog traffic comes from Twitter. And while Amazon doesn’t provide any sales or click data, I do know exactly how many people are clicking over to my book Broken Pieces on Amazon from Twitter — even though Twitter doesn’t provide that data either.

How? Easy: I customized and shortened my book’s link from Twitter to Amazon using bit.ly. I can tell you exactly the number of clicks per day, week, month, or year. The only information missing from that equation is how many purchases are made from those clicks. Looking at sales data provided by Amazon, I can tell you this: I still have no idea!

But I can see that I had 100 clicks on Tuesday, and I sold 10 books on Tuesday. Does that mean they all came from Twitter? Nope. Maybe. Who knows? But I do know for a fact that people are heading over to my site (and I have a bit.ly link for Broken Pieces for my site that’s different than the Twitter one). Make sense? If you mind feels boggled, come back to this. And really check out all the bit.ly offers (no, they don’t pay me to say any of this). I just really like the tool.

SLIDING GROWTH 

I usually find that when people’s numbers are sliding backward, it’s one of two reasons:

They aren’t following people back or
Their content is too random, scattered, unfocused.

If you’re going to participate in social media with the hopes of growing a following, you absolutely must follow people back. Don’t get caught up in the numbers and ratios. All that will sort itself out as you grow. Yes, there’s a ratio limit cap at 2,000 (you can’t follow beyond 10% of who is following you), but it’s easy to move past that using ManageFlitter to dump eggs, inactives, and nonfollowbacks, as well as utilizing Lists – you can list over 1 Million people without following them. Cool, right?

With regard to content, this is a bigger issue, but for now, let’s discuss what you are sharing. Do you have some sort of theme (beyond hawking your books)? You need to discover what is most interesting to you (cooking, wine, books, bicycles) and combine that with whatever it is you’re selling (book, music, service) in a way that’s natural and not forced or hard, and most importantly, connects you with readers. And remember, above all else, treat others on social media how you wish to be treated, and go from there. Be generous, give back, stop making it all about you.

WHAT DOES LIKE HAVE TO DO WITH IT? 

I don’t have to like an author to purchase their book (though I make an exception for Jonathan Franzen, who is such a pompous ass I swore I’d never purchase another one of his dirges again in this lifetime, but I digress). As an avid reader, I want good books. I don’t care if the author prays to purple aliens or wears rainbow tube socks (though I will question their fashion sense but again, I digress). As with many readers, I’d love a chance to interact with a famous author. Twitter allows us to do that. It’s the ‘great equalizer’ I like to say, because you can engage in discussions with practically anyone, famous or plain old regular folks like you and me.

You don’t have to be funny. You just have to be yourself. Decide which parts of yourself you want to share, and share those parts. Ask questions. Do what people do in regular conversations — listen, ask, engage.

Make a friend, make a sale.

 

 

Do this tips help you? Please let me know what works (or doesn’t work) for you.

Interested in learning more about my services or books? Click here. 

Also, don’t miss out on my newsletter for book and biz updates! Fill out that form over yonder >>>>> Lots of cool stuff coming up! 

 

 

Driving and Crying by guest @hiyacynthia

*Trigger warning. This post discusses an abusive sexual situation that could disturb some readers.*

Please join me in a big welcome back to Cindy Brown. This post continues Cindy’s story after her last post on Rachel in the OC, Bad Things Come in Threes.

Driving and Crying by Cindy Brown

I backed out of the driveway and drove toward the tracks. I made it over the rails, turned the corner, and the tears literally exploded from my body like nothing I had ever experienced. Heavy, thick, full body shaking sobs overtook me. I almost pulled over. I shouldn’t have been behind the wheel.

Instead of a DUI, I suppose I would have been slapped with a DWU; Driving while upset. It is one of two times I can clearly remember driving in a state of terrible emotional trauma. It was understandable, considering the circumstances of the previous fifteen minutes. I couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Driving and crying.

How… how could this happen? Why me? Why? Why, why, WHY?

“What am I going to do?”

The question was fruitless. There was no answer.

I was separated from my first husband, living back with my mother and stepfather. I was 21 years old. My husband and I only had one car at the time, so my grandpa loaned me my grandma’s old car. Man, I missed my grandma. She passed away when I was a teenager.

Driving and crying.

I had been packing things up at the apartment, preparing to end my marriage. I’d found a receipt for a hotel room above the visor in our car when he’d stayed out all night. There were other problems. That was just the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. I was done. There was no getting past that hump. At least, I didn’t think so.

Grandpa had been kind in letting me use the car. He was a nice man. Unless he was dressed up for a special occasion, you could always find him in overalls and straw hat. He loved his garden and took pride in selling his fruits and vegetables by the road. He just left the money jar on the picnic table with a scale to weigh the produce. He trusted that people would pay honestly and they always did.

He called me and asked me to drop by the house when I got a chance. He had something he wanted to talk to me about. Maybe it was about the car? Who knew? I figured he wanted to do something nice for me.

Driving and crying.

I went out to his house in the country and got the usual garden tour. My, it was a pretty day! We sat in lawn chairs out back near the garden. He patted my knee lovingly and fidgeted a bit as he began to talk to me about what was on his mind.

“You know, I’ve been real lonely since your grandma died and I know you could use some extra money right now and well… I’d pay you $20 a night to come out a few nights a week and sleep with me.”

Driving and crying.

Shock
Fear
Betrayal
Anger
Disappointment
Rage
Defeat
Emptiness

What emotion did I feel? I don’t know. I can’t nail down one single emotion that I felt in that moment. I was not expecting that to come out of his mouth. No siree, not one little bit.

If my jaw could have dropped wide open like it wanted to, I could have swallowed myself whole. I knew exactly what he meant. I was stunned.

What came out of my mouth in response was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said. I don’t know where it came from. I had to say something, but the words didn’t convey what I felt. My brain wouldn’t work right.

“Well, grandpa, thanks for thinking of me, but I can’t do that to grandma.”

Driving and crying.

Why in the holy hell did I say that? Of all things to say, that was my response? I didn’t even mean any of it in the slightest. WTF!

I guess it was all I could think of at the time to make my exit. I was still too nice to everyone and didn’t ever want to hurt anyone’s feelings, even my grandpa, who evidently wanted to pork me… for twenty bucks. Seriously? Help! Get me out of this lawn chair! What the hell just happened here?

I mustered the strength to lift myself up and start walking to the car. I made small talk and said goodbye. It was the last thing I ever said to him.

Driving and crying.

I sobbed the whole way home. The questions never ceasing, my body and soul in complete shock, I thought the impossible thought.

How am I going to tell my mother? It’s her father, for God’s sake!

I called my sister, still sobbing, and told her there was no way I could tell mom. My sister lived out of state, but I begged her to call her and tell mom for me. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t figure out how.

At least I was telling someone this time, unlike the rapes I successfully hid.

I avoided my mother until she got the call. It was late at night, but I’ll never forget that we took my grandma’s car to his house, attached a note thanking him for its use, and parked it quietly in the back garage without a word.

My husband had raped me in the near-empty apartment just before grandpa called me out to his house to talk that day. That was my third rape. It wasn’t long before I ended up going back to my estranged husband. I was so broken by the circumstances of life that it seemed like a good option at the time.

Driving and crying.

My grandpa died thirteen years later. I was having dinner with my best friend and her family at a pizza joint when I got the call from my mother. I did not shed one single tear.

I took a day off work for the funeral, but didn’t attend. I’d be damned if I was going to spend my birthday paying my respects to him.

He stole the sanctity of family from me. He stole a father figure and male role model from me. He stole what was left of my self-respect and dignity. He stole my respect for older men. He stole all of the good memories I had of him and of grandma. He betrayed her. He betrayed me. He stole the remaining good thoughts about men from me.

When I think of the years it took for me to repair my broken heart, I am sad. It didn’t matter that he didn’t actually physically molest me. The molestation of my mind was a consummated act that couldn’t be undone without a great deal of going through hell.

I’ve reconciled all of my hatred, feelings of self-blame (did I dress too skimpy around him and tempt him?), and learned to love men again. I now have a wonderful husband and a sound soul and I’ve learned, more importantly, to love myself again.

I have forgiven. But I will never forget…

Driving and Crying

About the Author:

I’m a freelance humor writer and I run a humor blog at EverydayUnderwear.com. Beautiful sights, great writing, and things that make me laugh are my main interests on Pinterest. Tweet @hiyacynthia.

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