Rachel Thompson's Blog, page 29

Announcing #MondayBlogs!

Announcing #MondayBlogs!

 

If you use Twitter, there has been a lot of confusion over what exactly #MentionMonday is.

 

For a few years now I’ve taken advantage of what was originally intended as a blog meme (rhymes with theme), as a way to share my latest blog post and that of other writers, bloggers, and authors who also participated.

 

However, there have been a few drawbacks.

 

Let’s deconstruct the issues and my proposed solution.

 

PROBLEMS

 

1)   The name itself: #MentionMonday seems to imply that we should be ‘mentioning’ people, similar to a #FollowFriday (aka #FF) or #WriterWednesday (aka #WW). Most people (especially those folks new to Twitter, which is a nice way of saying kinda clueless) have taken this opportunity to make it a mention party. For example, ‘Hey girl! You gotta follow @PrincessAwesomeness cuz she rocks my world!!!!’ which not only makes me want to strangle someone but also goes against everything #MentionMonday was originally intended for.

 

(Hey, Capricorns like traditions to be well, traditional.)

 

2)   Subtweets: In case you missed it, this is the hashtag taken by people who are either A) creating ‘subliminal’ tweets (talking about someone as if they’re paying attention to you but they could really care less) or B) trolling for sex. On Mondays. (Yea. I don’t get it either.)

 

They’ve taken it upon themselves to use the #MM along with the #subtweet hashtag as a way to post relationship stats, pick-up lines, hook-ups, and other various and sundry things that have nothing to do with sharing blog posts and supporting others. Well, not like that anyway. Oh shut up.

 

Honestly, I wouldn’t care if they posted erotica blog posts. It just bugs me that they’ve bogarted the hashtag.

 

Speaking of which, there are two damn days that start with an S. Get off my hashtag. What.

 

3)  Books: #MentionMonday is a blog meme, not a book meme. Hey, I’m an author. I get that urgency to want to do whatever it takes to get my work out there (except subtweet). But many writers seem to think that #MM is primetime for hawking their own books. It’s not, but I understand the confusion.

 

So…now what? I’m tired of being the bad guy and kindly (ahem) informing those who don’t get it. I’m busy, ya know? Plus, and this is the issue more than anything, I want to support other authors, writers, bloggers and small businesses who are doing it right and make it easy for others to do the same! But I have to scroll through hundreds of other (frequently inane) messages to find the right ones – as does everyone else who wants to share the blog love – and that’s just dumb.

 

MY PROPOSAL:

 

This seems kind of obvious yet nobody seems to have done it. So I’m going to.

 

I’m gonna change the hashtag, baby.

 

But I didn’t unilaterally decide this (ahem). I did some informal market research first: I ran a few hashtags past my Twitter following and Facebook folks and the consensus is:

 

#MondayBlogs. AND, if you follow @MondayBlogs and mention us in your tweet, we’ll retweet you!

 

(It’s worth noting that the preference was #BlogMonday except when shortened it looks like this: #BM. So, no.).

I like the cleanness of it. It says BLOG right in the title. I mean, it would be much more alliterative if there was a day of the week that started with a B, but since that’s not the case (yet. I’m working on that, too), this is the best we all could come up with.

 

And I like that even the newbies will see #Blogs in there and think…hmmm. Maybe I shouldn’t be promoting my book cause it says #Blogs, not book. (Duh.)

 

(Of course, now that begs the question: should we create #BookThursday – since people seem to be hawking their books every day, all the time, maybe a gathering of the masses might help? Would love your thoughts on that!)

 

#MONDAYBLOGS

 

So this coming Monday, DON’T USE #MentionMonday if you want to share your latest blog post and RT others. USE #MondayBlogs.

 

Let’s occupy this mutha.

 

 

 

Like this? Tell everyone you know who has a blog!

 

I welcome your thoughts, comments, curses, and Nutella.

 

Did you enjoy this article? Subscribe to my blog and you’ll never miss my weekly posts! Just enter your email address over on the right hand side of this page >>>>. It’s easy, and I won’t share your email address with anyone. Redhead’s honor. 

Need personalized help? Check out my services page.

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Announcing #MondayBlog!

Announcing #MondayBlog!

 

If you use Twitter, there has been a lot of confusion over what exactly #MentionMonday is.

 

For a few years now I’m taken advantage of what was originally intended as a blog meme (rhymes with theme), as a way to share my latest blog post and that of other writers, bloggers, and authors who also participated.

 

However, there have been a few drawbacks.

 

Let’s deconstruct the issues and my proposed solution.

 

PROBLEMS

 

1)   The name itself: #MentionMonday seems to imply that we should be ‘mentioning’ people, similar to a #FollowFriday (aka #FF) or #WriterWednesday (aka #WW). Most people (especially those folks new to Twitter, which is a nice way of saying kinda clueless) have taken this opportunity to make it a mention party. For example, ‘Hey girl! You gotta follow @PrincessAwesomeness cuz she rocks my world!!!!’ which not only makes me want to strangle someone but also goes against everything #MentionMonday was originally intended for.

 

(Hey, Capricorns like traditions to be well, traditional.)

 

2)   Subtweets: In case you missed it, this is the hashtag taken by people who are either A) creating ‘subliminal’ tweets (talking about someone as if they’re paying attention to you but they could really care less) or B) trolling for sex. On Mondays. (Yea. I don’t get it either.)

 

They’ve taken it upon themselves to use the #MM along with the #subtweet hashtag as a way to post relationship stats, pick-up lines, hook-ups, and other various and sundry things that have nothing to do with sharing blog posts and supporting others. Well, not like that anyway. Oh shut up.

 

Honestly, I wouldn’t care if they posted erotica blog posts. It just bugs me that they’ve bogarted the hashtag.

 

Speaking of which, there are two damn days that start with an S. Get off my hashtag. What.

 

3)  Books: #MentionMonday is a blog meme, not a book meme. Hey, I’m an author. I get that urgency to want to do whatever it takes to get my work out there (except subtweet). But many writers seem to think that #MM is primetime for hawking their own books. It’s not, but I understand the confusion.

 

So…now what? I’m tired of being the bad guy and kindly (ahem) informing those who don’t get it. I’m busy, ya know? Plus, and this is the issue more than anything, I want to support other authors, writers, bloggers and small businesses who are doing it right and make it easy for others to do the same! But I have to scroll through hundreds of other (frequently inane) messages to find the right ones – as does everyone else who wants to share the blog love – and that’s just dumb.

 

MY PROPOSAL:

 

This seems kind of obvious yet nobody seems to have done it. So I’m going to.

 

I’m gonna change the hashtag, baby.

 

But I didn’t unilaterally decide this (ahem). I did some informal market research first: I ran a few hashtags past my Twitter following and Facebook folks and the consensus is:

 

#MondayBlog.

 

(It’s worth noting that the preference was #BlogMonday except when shortened it looks like this: #BM. So, no.).

I like the cleanness of it. It says BLOG right in the title. I mean, it would be much more alliterative if there was a day of the week that started with a B, but since that’s not the case (yet. I’m working on that, too), this is the best we all could come up with.

 

And I like that even the newbies will see #Blog in there and think…hmmm. Maybe I shouldn’t be promoting my book cause it says #Blog, not book. (Duh.)

 

(Of course, now that begs the question: should we create #BookThursday – since people seem to be hawking their books every day, all the time, maybe a gathering of the masses might help? Would love your thoughts on that!)

 

#MONDAYBLOG

 

So this coming Monday, DON’T USE #MentionMonday if you want to share your latest blog post and RT others. USE #MondayBlog.

 

Let’s occupy this mutha.

 

 

 

Like this? Tell everyone you know who has a blog!

 

I welcome your thoughts, comments, curses, and Nutella.

 

Did you enjoy this article? Subscribe to my blog and you’ll never miss my weekly posts! Just enter your email address over on the right hand side of this page >>>>. It’s easy, and I won’t share your email address with anyone. Redhead’s honor. 

Need personalized help? Check out my services page.

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The Weight Of Bravery

“A pulse of unfinished business…” ~ Sara Zarr.

I’m participating in the weekly ‘Just Write’ challenge from from Becky Tsaros Dickson and Laura Conant Howard. Want to participate, also? You have until Friday! Check out Becky’s post. 

 

The Weight Of Bravery 

 

She felt his hand in hers as she climbed her way out of the last cottony dredges of the deepest sleep she’d had in years.

 

He smiled.

 

‘Good morning, Starshine,’ he said quietly. She smiled inside, knowing he was waiting for her usual response. But she wasn’t ready for the world.

 

He leaned close to kiss her, stopping just at the moment of contact, the space between their lips, swollen and warm from sleep, aching to touch.

 

She could see the questioning look in his eyes, but didn’t have it in her to lean in to him. Avoiding his gaze, she drew her eyes to the ragged edges of her nails.

 

“Damn, I need a manicure,’ she replied to his non-kiss, as if that meaningless sentence carried any weight. She supposed it did — the pulse of unfinished business coursing in snaps against their skin.

 

He sighed, the kind of sigh that carries the gravity of everything he couldn’t, wouldn’t say. Her mind knew he needed her to open up, but her heart kept that heavy door firmly shut.

 

As she squeezed her eyes tight against the image as it slammed into her, the song ‘Hopelessly Devoted To You,’ inexplicably popped into her head. Schmaltzy lyrics, insipid tune. Yet…yet.

 

As he stripped off his pajama bottoms, his body firmly muscled and tan from their recent beach vacation, tears sprang to her eyes. She didn’t know if she deserved this loving man. She didn’t know much of anything.

 

Since.

 

After.

 

Hurting someone so hopefully devoted to her, who would lasso the moon if she asked him to, made her feel cowardly. But she couldn’t be brave. Not anymore.

 

Closing her eyes, sleep bearing down heavily, she gave in to the weight of bravery.

 

A weight too hard to bear.

 

I loved this challenge because I followed Becky’s instructions: ‘don’t think, just write..’ It’s hard for writers to do that — our internal editor tends to take over. I encourage you to participate and hope you’ll check out Becky and Laura’s work and blogs. Both are incredibly talented.
Did you enjoy this article? Subscribe to my blog and you’ll never miss my weekly posts! Just enter your email address over on the right hand side of this page >>>>. It’s easy, and I won’t share your email address with anyone!

Need personalized help? Check out my services page. 

 

 

 

 

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All Fall Down: A Highly Personal Guest Post on #MentalIllness by @ChristineNolfi

Christine Nofli is a brave soul. When I asked her to share something deeply personal about her life for a guest post, she laid her guts bare to me. And now, you. A spiritual person, Christine shares how she coped when her world began to implode. Thank you Christine, for sharing a piece of your world.

All Fall Down

Writing Through Life’s Tragedies by Christine Nolfi 

 

Mental illness is hard to describe to anyone unfamiliar with the signs. I think of the last years of my marriage as the frog in the pot: Drop a frog into a pot of boiling water and it’ll jump back out. Drop the frog in and slowly raise the heat, and the frog will boil to death.

 

I was the frog at risk of boiling to death. Worse still, my children were in the pot too.

 

In February 2004, my husband and I were in the Las Vegas airport when he broke down and made a confession that was terrifying. I already knew Scott was suicidal. At some level, I understood that a man capable of killing himself might take his wife and kids along for a ride straight to hell. But that was the easy stuff. What he told me in the airport made me realize I needed to end my marriage. And I needed to wade through the mire of divorce while continuing to protect my husband or he would kill himself.

 

My prayer life became intense—I read the Bible for strength and stayed in an ongoing conversation with God, day and night. As my family struggled, I desperately sought shore.

 

Mental illness can be like a virus. It can infect other members of a family. Don’t ask me how this works—I’m a novelist and not a psychiatrist. But within months of Scott’s nervous breakdown in the Vegas airport, my youngest daughter announced to her fifth grade class that she wanted to die. While I tried to manage Scott as he began anti-depressants and my other children bounced off walls, she’d been sneaking into the kitchen and making cuts on her arms with a paring knife. My daughter’s psychologist explained how adept children were at hiding the signs of depression, even going so far as to live in long-sleeve shirts year round.

 

Months of counseling passed and by late 2005, Scott was settled in an apartment while we mapped out our divorce … and my daughter’s knife fetish reached an all-time high. The Cleveland Clinic asked me to have her admitted in the adolescent lock-down unit for several days while they tried to stabilize her. The day of her admittance still haunts me, the lonely waiting room with its wall of Plexiglas overlooking the Clinic campus—how the Plexiglas bore a thousand marks etched by children in various stages of mental illness, the angry profanity, the sorrowful pleas and haunting, disjointed sentences. Sunlight glimmered through the marks, bringing them into high relief and driving each message into me with painstaking clarity.

 

On the third day, The Clinic asked me to come down to bring my daughter home. But they wouldn’t let us leave. The nurse instructed me to call my soon-to-be-ex husband at his office and ask him to come immediately. He did, and a nurse took our daughter off to a play area while three psychiatrists escorted Scott and I into a private room.

 

I can’t tell you what it’s like to realize you’ve become one of the women society must protect. Me? Need protection? Why, I was a great mother. I was educated. I’d run a company before adopting my four kids at the grand old age of 37. Talk about arrogance. I was so over my head, I didn’t know I was drowning or that my children were going down with me.

 

In a state of shock, I listened as the psychiatrists told Scott he was normalizing mental illness for our children. He was making them sick. Not that I had much time to accept the truth: within a month of my daughter’s release from The Clinic, I learned my mother was dying of lung cancer. As I struggled to gain my sea legs as a single parent, as I stumbled in from a meeting with Scott or my daughter’s psychologist and my other kids veered from anger to tears, I began the long trek of caring for a dying parent.

 

If you’re wondering how any woman could survive so much tragedy in such a short amount of time, here’s an answer from Exodus, Chapter 23 Verse 20: I am sending an angel before you, to guard you on the way and bring you to the place I have prepared.

 

Angels began to appear everywhere I looked. The boy my oldest daughter began dating would stay late to help my younger kids with homework. A woman on the school PTO quietly took me aside and shared her husband’s struggles with depression. The adults involved in Life Teen at our church kept my kids busy with fun activities, and my older sister dragged me to yoga class to ensure I didn’t have a heart attack. I began swimming laps and visiting the gym daily with a deep, unshakeable knowledge: my four children had lost their biological parents and their adoptive father, but they wouldn’t lose me.

 

Something else happened during this most difficult phase of my life: I began writing fiction full-time. Don’t ask me how I found the time to write—I did. If there’s such a thing as God putting a fire in your belly, He lit me up like a Roman candle. I wrote in every free moment, whether it was 5 AM or in between kids’ sporting events. And the stuff pouring out of me was pretty good.

 

The first book completed, Second Chance Grill, became a finalist in a national competition. I signed with my first agent but our relationship didn’t work out.  The second book, Treasure Me, became a finalist in an international competition and Publisher’s Weekly gave the work a complimentary review. Agents all over the country were suddenly interested in my career. They began to do something they never do: they’d write lovely letters on how to make the book even better. One agent actually called and wasted an hour of her day telling me exactly how to improve the novel. Another agent said I’d eventually make it on the bestseller’s lists because I had the power to make women laugh and cry on page after page.

 

Will my career flourish? I don’t know. Do I worry about it? No. Whenever I’m exhausted or disheartened by the amount of work involved in launching a publishing career, I remember: my family survived. There was a time in my life when I could’ve lost either my ex-husband or my youngest daughter.

 

My family survived. That’s good enough for me.

 

About the Author: Recently Christine’s debut Treasure Me became a finalist in the 2012 Next Generation Indie Awards and was listed as “highly recommended” on The Midwest Book Review’s Bookwatch. Her second release, The Tree of Everlasting Knowledge, continues to earn high marks on GoodReads and Amazon. Look for her third release, Second Chance Grill, in October. Visit Christine at www.christinenolfi.com and @christinenolfi on Twitter.

 

 

 

 

 

Treasure Me on Amazon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Tree of Everlasting Knowledge on Amazon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *  *   *

Please comment below and share your own experiences!

 

Did you enjoy this article? Subscribe to my blog and you’ll never miss my weekly posts! Just enter your email address over on the right hand side of this page >>>>. It’s easy, and I won’t share your email address with anyone!

Need personalized help? Check out my services page. 

Top 5 Learnings From This Year’s Self-Pub Book Expo!

Report From The 2012 Self-Publishing Expo #SPBE in NYC 

 

As I write this, I’m grateful to have been able to leave NYC on Sunday night just as they started cancelling flights. Kudos to JetBlue, who went out of their way to help everyone get out in the literal calm chaos before the storm.

 

Okay! So now I want to share with you the highlights of my experience at the Self-Publishing Book Expo (SPBE) this year. Here are the highlights from the five panels/presentations I attended.

 

1) The day started with a keynote by Bella Andre and Barbara Freethy, both multi-million, bestselling authors – who are INDIE. Yea, baby.

 

Bella gave out a few key points:

 

Style: If you have a series, use a similar look throughout. Your books should be recognizable just by title or look, not necessarily your name.
Cover art: She found, with her romance books, that having a bare-chested hot male on the front was actually hurting her sales. When she switched to a sweet, loving couple, sales soared.
Titles: Make sure you brand your titles. We all learned this from Fifty Shades of Porn Grey – similar look, similar titles. This is called branding.
Writing: Write what you love. If you receive poor reviews, don’t let it take away from your vision. Protect your creative process!
Write fast (if you can). Bella puts out a book every three to four months for one of her two or three series.

 

Barbara’s tips were also quite helpful:

 

Distribution: Both authors are so successful because they studied the best markets for their books. Distribution can be challenging for self-published authors so if you want to be in with the big boys…
Keep writing: It’s a slow build. Both authors have been writing for a while, and have written multiple books, although Barbara says she writes only one book per every 6-12 months.
Creative process: whatever is your creative process, protect it above all else (be that criticism, editors, poor reviews, whatever). You are the most important ingredient in writing your books.
Promotion: Spend more time writing than promoting.
Build your community of writers: Yahoo has writer’s loops; social media is quite interactive for writers also.

 

I really enjoyed these smart, talented ladies very much.

 

2) The next presentation was by Mark Levine, author of The Fine Print of Self-Publishing (now in it’s fourth edition), and founder/owner of Hillcrest Media Group.

 

Mark is an attorney and author – so he knows the ins and outs of book publishing from first-hand experience as well as a contractual standpoint. His presentation reviewed quite a bit about self-published authors, eBooks, print options, and distribution. Mark is a wealth of information and thanks, dude for the shout out.

 

3) I then attended a presentation by marketing expert, Brian Jud. His focus was on selling your book in different venues: i.e., connecting with an association, museum, specialty shop or a company. He also had some interesting info I’d not heard before or had forgotten:

Remember the four P’s of sales: product, price, place, and promotion.
Create a one-sheet synopsis that describes your book. Send it to corporate buyers or brand managers.
Barter newsletters: ask to provide an excerpt in exchange for a free ad on your site or
Donate a percentage of your profit in exchange for a free ad.
This is great info: If you participate in ‘Search Inside The Book’ on Amazon, your entire book shows up in Amazon search!
A few sites to look at: ChoiceBook.org to find out what sells in bookstores; EventNetwork.com for museum gift shops; GreatRep.com tell you who the reps are that sell into wholesalers (offer them a percentage of total sales); Manta.com for prospecting – who to contact in various companies; and finally Weddles.com for lists of associations.

 

4) I was able to attend the last fifteen minutes of Jon Fine’s presentation. Jon is the Director of Author and Publicity Relations for Amazon. I caught up with him in the hallway afterward, and asked him this question: Why do authors have to create Amazon Author Central pages for EACH country? The book populates over; why can’t the author pages?

I’m pleased to say I stumped him. He asked me to email him and he promised to get me an answer. Good guy.

 

5) Finally, my next presentation was by Dan Blank, social media and author platform consultant and owner of WeGrowMedia.com. Great info!

 

Pick genres or categories that already exist. People need filters. You must use categories they can recognize. Many times authors want to create a new genre; problem is, it’s makes you that much more difficult to find, according to Dan.
Look at the covers of the genre you’re interested in. Notice the font, placement, colors and style of the bestsellers – they’re all very similar.
Focus on a core audience in the early days of your book sales. It doesn’t matter if you have 100 or 10,000 followers – only a handful will truly love and support your work. Interact with them; reward them (a fan club, swag, first looks, etc.).
Develop your audience of readers. Most people make the mistake of connecting with all writers – which is great. We’re a generally supportive group. But are writers your demographic? Doubtful.
Learn how to describe your work quickly. What’s one sentence that explains your book?
Build trust with your readers. Your career is based on relationships.
Try video – it’s a much less crowded channel right now, with huge potential (YouTube, Spreecast, Google+ Hangouts).
‘You write to be read. Not followed.’ Great quote.

 

In the exhibition hall, I was pleased to meet the innovative Miral Satter (formerly of Time Magazine), creator of BiblioCrunch. Great site, so helpful for any author. I urge you to check out their site and services. I wanted to chat with Amy Edelman of IndieReader.com but the line was a mile long! She was kind enough to email me and follow up.

 

Overall, I found the expo worth attending. My only concern was the amount of time spent talking about print books. Hello: most self-published authors have found great success creating digital books only – not only less expensive for us, but also greener and less expensive for the consumer. Add that eBooks can be read on any electronic device (not only Kindle or Nooks), eBooks make the most financial sense in this economy.

 

This was a self-publishing expo and a lot of good information was offered. I would love to see more presentations like Mark, Brian, and Dan’s as well as a few more women!

 

I’m a happy indie author. I’m not looking to query publishers or agents. I’ve written for multiple publications and have sold a decent amount of books. The game has changed immensely. As I recommend to all my clients, I used professional services (editing, proofing, design), and highly recommend using critique groups and betareaders. Make your book the best possible product it can be before you do anything else.

 

My suggestion to any indie/self-published author (or working on it) is to research your options thoroughly – even if you can’t make it to NYC next year. There is tons of information available in books, blogs, on social media, and by asking other authors what they have done.

 

Ultimately, the decision is solely yours.

 

If you attended, please share you thoughts. If not, please tell me what you think about the information presented. Thanks!

 

Did you enjoy this article? Subscribe to my blog and you’ll never miss my weekly posts! Just enter your email address over on the right hand side of this page. It’s easy, and I won’t share your email address with anyone!

 

 

 

 

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When My Baby Inside Screamed, “Shut Up!” by guest, author Susan Salluce

When My Baby Inside Screamed, “Shut Up!”

by Susan Salluce

A few weeks ago, a fellow author friend of mine {Ed. Note: That’s me, Rachel – I shared this excerpt from my next release, Broken Pieces, on Gabe Berman’s blog} wrote a memoir on a blog titled, “A Letter To The Pedophile Next Door,” chronicling her molestation at age eleven; how it not only affected her as a young girl, but how her “world imploded” as an adult upon leaving her daughter with a babysitter. I encourage you to read her article.

I wish this was the first time that I’d heard such a story, or at the very least, one of the first. It’s not. I’ve heard hundreds. Not only am I a psychological fiction writer, author of Out of Breath, and grief specialist, but prior to that I was a sexual abuse counselor. By prior, I mean my early twenties, and carrying my first child.

Sexual abuse counselors are often the first ears to hear the graphic, frightening stories of abuse. They strive to validate the survivor’s feelings and details of abuse. Frequently, parents dismiss or outright call their children liars or accuse them of exaggerating—”Uncle Fred could NOT have done that to you. He’s my brother!” To the parent, having a family member, friend, neighbor, or priest commit such an atrocious act is simply unthinkable, and yet, who gets shut down, accused of lying, then receives no help, and left in the dark, and potentially, set up for more abuse? The child. This also allows the offender to go on to commit more crimes against children.

Whether there is disbelief, minimization, or simply a “We’ve done what we can do, but it’s over and we won’t speak of this anymore,” attitude, what I witnessed in children who were molested and in adults who were recounting their childhood traumas, was a body/mind response. Today we are learning more about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Soldiers witness horrific scenes, have to carry on while still in battle, yet, upon returning home have outbursts of crying, rage, an inability to integrate into society, and often a total breakdown. And yet, they are expected to move on, blend in, act as if they didn’t see death before their eyes, and destruction all around them. That is crazy making!

With childhood abuse, particularly sexual, how is this different? A child’s predictable, safe, rhythmical world is intrusively disrupted. Blown apart. A grenade is thrown into the playground of life—it becomes a battle scene. And yet, the child is supposed to carry on, act as if all is normal, that “Uncle Fred” didn’t come into her bed in the middle of the night, and give her that “special hug”…that “special hug” that involved the touch that hurt…that got him arrested…that made her feel dirty. Now she’s having nightmares, sometimes she wets the bed, she’s going to counseling, and Mommy is crying, and she can’t concentrate, and, and, and…this is a body/mind response that we now refer to as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I hear people say that we live in different times, that there is more sexual abuse now. Maybe. This is my personal opinion, and I have nothing to back this up, and certainly statistics are skewed, as they are based on people reporting honestly, which I believe abuse victims do not. So, here it is: molestation has been going on for generations, but it is now more socially acceptable to talk about. What does not seem to be changing is the multi-generational pattern. If 1 in 3 girls are molested and 1 in 5 boys, why ISN’T this changing?

A number of specialists in this field believe that change isn’t happening due to the media hype around the one Amber alert case that shows up on the news now and then, placing emphasis on how dangerous a world our children live. Then, as a reaction, we talk to our kids about “stranger danger,” not wandering off, and literally putting the fear of God that our world is unsafe. This fear-based propaganda is allowing us to not deal with the real conversations that we need to have with our children. The real facts are this: most molestation happens within families, neighbors, or family friends. They are molestation of acquaintance. The “offender” capitalizes on knowing the child, getting into the child’s world through gifts, personal attention, and time spent. If this is making you feel slightly ill, and your skin crawl, it should. However, these are the sad facts.

The day I quit my job, I was in a group counseling session with six men who were in diversion from jail. They had all molested young girls. I was eight months pregnant. Somehow, I was able to keep it together. Until I didn’t. One of them, a young man, who had molested a young girl, was whining about not being able to go somewhere because of his probation. At about that time, my baby kicked, and something inside me split. Tears start building deep inside me. My face grows hot and red. I’m losing my professional objective. The veil between therapist and Mommy is growing thin…I’m effacing, metaphorically. My calm demeanor gives way, and two rooms over, someone hears my voice, as I scream, “You want to know about freedom! You took away that girl’s freedom the minute you entered her body!” Woops, probably not in the therapist’s handbook, but damn, it felt good.

One week later I quit. My boss said that my “tirade” snapped him out of his pity party.

Ten days later I gave birth to a baby boy.

I never could go back to sexual abuse counseling. All I could see were my children’s faces.

If you were molested as a child, get help. Talk with a friend, call a counselor, and get it out of your body. It’s living inside of you, and it will keep festering like an untended wound. Not every parent is available to listen—I wish that were the case, but it isn’t. Parents are limited, and hearing that you were abused can often set off their denial system, leaving you to feel re-victimized. Really, really think this over…please!

I still consider the Laura Davis’ book, The Courage to Heal, the Bible of sexual abuse recovery books.

Rachel’s story is all too common. Her ability to put her abuse into written word allows others to delve into their unfinished business, and consider why old pain is suddenly new pain. Thank you, Rachel, for letting us walk with you into the dark corner of your pain. More than that, thank you for letting us walk into the light of your healing, and for getting the help you need so that you can be a heroine for your daughter, and for future generations.

 

Thank you, Susan, for your beautiful honesty. Please leave your comments and questions below.

Follow Susan on Facebook or her website or purchase her book Out Of Breath on Amazon!

 

On a side note: If you haven’t purchased A Walk In The Snark yet, this week only it’s 99cents! I’m in the editing phase of my next book, Broken Pieces, hoping for a November release!

 

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In Social Media, Do Our Vulnerabilities Make Us Stronger?

In Social Media, Do Our Vulnerabilities Make Us Stronger?

 

I read an article recently that discussed how our vulnerabilities create connections to others on social media.

Via free Google Images

 

If you’ve read either of my books, A Walk In The Snark (free now through Monday October 15, 2012, at midnight),or Mancode: Exposed, you’ll know that I’m a proponent of laying myself bare. In my upcoming work, Broken Pieces (not humor this time), I discuss the real-life experiences that form many of us, particularly women: sex, love, grief, abuse, and desire.

 

Writing this book seemed a natural progression for me, so I followed that muse. I gave myself permission. Many of my stories contain universal truths for so many of us, delving into experiences I had buried or was afraid to reveal for fear of repercussion. It’s the most nervous I’ve ever felt about releasing a book.

 

But we’re discussing social media, not books.

 

In a social media setting, is revealing our most personal stories exploitive? Is sharing our hidden truths something that has no business in a business world? Is it possible to have a public and private personas separate and still be real?

 

Yes, absolutely. But what it comes down to, for me, is a question of the B word: branding.

 

My author account, RachelintheOC, is me, vodka and all. I’ve made a point of revealing personal stories because I’m a non-fiction writer. And because my books are about real-life, so is my social media presence. I share my personal opinions, editorial, and experiences.

 

On that account.

 

However, I’m also BadRedheadMedia, the chick who helps you with understanding things like branding, social media, and author platform. I discuss those topics and more on that account, across all of those particular channels (blog posts, Twitter, Facebook, G+, etc). What you won’t find are the intensely personal stories that show my, well, vulnerability.

 

So that begs the question: is there a way for businesses to show strength and vulnerability at the same time?

 

I believe so, yes. By setting the tone of your account (whether social media or blog), you control the information that others’ see about you, whether it’s well thought out or a brain dump. We generally write about what we know, or ask others to share their opinions.

 

And yet, when we see people’s responses to our work, whether in social media, blog comments, or reviews, that’s when you have to realize that you have initiated some type of reaction in people, whether positive or negative.

 

Sharing relevant, universal truths in either setting is, in my opinion (and this is my blog so I can say this), a critical component to our success. Everyone expresses some sort of opinion in their writing, as do the people who read it. Debate and discourse are at the heart of intention.

 

Ultimately, we are who we write, particularly on social. We’re naturally drawn to reading and writing about our inherent interests. We write with both conscious and subconscious leanings. We learn from each other. Social is the ultimate word of mouth, right?

 

You know me as the snarky redhead author. That’s my branding. Yet, I’ve recently and purposely changed the tone on my personal blog, to reflect the more serious stories from life, whether it’s via my own situations or the incredible guest bloggers who share their own real-life experiences.

 

I coach these writers that putting out there what has formed them shows their vulnerability, makes them real, moves us. Embracing our vulnerabilities and mistakes in a public forum is what makes us human, real, and ultimately, authentic. And yes, many times these stories are intensely personal and difficult for them to write – and for us to read.

 

Vulnerability is how we connect to others, in real life or online. Each of us is different, yet we’re all still very much the same. The key is allowing our real selves to show.

 

What do you think? Is it possible to be real without revealing private truths? Am I way off base? Please share your opinions and experiences below.

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At Least He Didn’t Hurt Me by guest @SwiftInkEditor

At Least He Didn’t Hurt Me

One of my very best friends is also my editor — and I still adore her! Jessica Swift is incredibly talented and truly a visionary. If you’ve enjoyed my books, it’s because of her help. She’s also a writer. I’m so glad she took me up on my offer to write about this terrifying experience and how it has changed her. Please read, comment, and share.

 

“At least he didn’t hurt you.”

 

I’ve heard that phrase hundreds of time, relief evident in the their voice coupled with the certainty that they’re saying the right thing.

 

No, he didn’t hurt me. Not physically. But that’s the only way he didn’t.

 

I didn’t know he was watching. Waiting. Prying. Preying. Raping my body with his eyes and unidentifiable lust. I didn’t know he wanted to hurt me. Physically. The way everyone was so relieved that he didn’t.

 

I’ll never know all that he saw. My smile? Yes. My body? Yes. But did he see me dancing while I vacuumed? Did he watch me read in the false comfort of my home? I’ll simply never know.

 

Because he took what I did not give. What I wouldn’t have. He robbed me of my power, of my safety, of my sanity. By looking, roving, staring, and scheming, he raped my mind of what I thought I knew.

 

I believed I was safe. I believed that behind locked doors and windows, I could be me. I was wrong.

 

                                                                                                                                                           

 

I found his note in my car on Mother’s Day, 2003. Scribbled on the back of a picture—of his motorcycle.  I was late for a photo shoot so I just tossed it in the passenger seat, thinking it must be a picture my girlfriend stuffed in the car, since we’d been going through pictures the night before. Then I read it. Then the split of me was torn wide open.

 

I swiveled my head around, looking for the glint of the telephoto lens I was sure I would see, reminiscent of a Lifetime movie. There was none.

 

I continued driving to work and was then introduced to my first panic attack. Breath, gone. Control over my body, taken. Vision: Eternally changed. But still I drove, motivated by my commitment to my job. Then I left because I had to, my dedication to my job, stolen.

 

“I know you’re lonely.” “You’re such a doll.” “Sorry to pry.” Signed, Dave. How could he know these things?

 

After I called the police, I was immediately ashamed. It’s not like he did anything. I’m so stupid for wasting the police’s valuable time. I shouldn’t have called. At least he didn’t hurt me.

 

After an examination of my home, that my phone lines had been cut was discovered. I had thought when my phone didn’t work that there had been some sort of construction snafu from the contractors who’d worked outside my house the day before. But at least he didn’t hurt me.

 

In a stroke of what he must have thought was clearly reaching out to soothe my loneliness, he left a phone number. An untraceable one. When the police couldn’t track him down, it was decided that I should call him from the station, a recording device strapped to the phone to monitor and record everything he said.

 

“Don’t try to trap him. Don’t say anything misleading. Just try to get him to talk,” the detective instructed.

 

“I need a pen and paper,” I said with shaking hands.

 

“Why? The conversation is being recorded?”

 

“I’m a reporter. I talk to strangers every day to get a story. And I take notes. I need to do that now.” I didn’t say that I needed to clutch something, that I needed to feel some kind of connection to that which genuinely soothed—words.

 

I called. He answered. We talked. He obviously knew where I lived, what vehicle I drove, and that I did, in fact, live alone. He tried to reassure me, “It’s not like I looked in your windows.” According to some in the police force, fifty percent of what we say we didn’t do, we actually did.

 

Scribbling notes furiously I tried to speak with him as I would a friend or a potential date. But no flirting. No misleading. His phone disconnected but I called him back, still strapped to the recorder, still with pen in hand.

 

He told me over and over that I was a doll. That he wanted to take me for a ride on his motorcycle. “You’re so beautiful. You’re such a doll,” his words a terrifying non-compliment. We said our goodbyes like old friends. At least he didn’t hurt me.

 

Eventually the police arrested him. I don’t remember how they found him and, frankly, I don’t care.  In the interim, before his arrest, I was advised to sleep somewhere else and to hide my car. I did, but just for one night. When I returned home, I sat beneath a window, knife in hand, thinking that was the only place he wouldn’t be able to see me. I was a prisoner in my home, with no means of escape, and no phone. He won. At least he didn’t hurt me.

 

He pled guilty to charges of “unwanted stalking” (I think that was the charge—as if there’s a type of “wanted” stalking.”). His plea was unprecedented. No one pleads guilty to such a perceived “minor” charge. I believe it was his wife who bailed him out.

 

It’s taken years, but I can once again dance while I vacuum. I am once again able again to read on my couch in the “safety” of my home. But not without the lingering memory.

 

I survived without bruises. Without cuts or scrapes. But only on my body.

 

My heart and mind bear the scars. At least he didn’t hurt me.

 

Please leave your comments below for Jessica and share your own stories as well if you feel inclined. Thank you!

 

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Find Reviewers For Your Book With These 8 Steps!

Find Reviewers For Your Book With These 8 Steps!

 

I get a lot of people…I mean A LOT of people…on my stream every day asking (or, if they dare, telling) me to read their book, endorse their book, blurb their book, review their book.

I’m sure you do, also.

The thing is, i’m not a book reviewer! I don’t have a book blogger blog. I’m just a writer, like you.

Sure, I’m an avid reader and always have been. I still read a book every few days. And I read a lot of indie authors — not just because I am one and want to support other indies — but because some of the best writing I’ve ever read has been from indies.

But this isn’t a book blog, so I’m not gonna tell you what or who to read or what I like. Instead, I’m going to tell you some review tips I’ve learned.

Let’s deconstruct.

Don’t cold call. What does this mean? Don’t hit reviewers or other authors up on their Twitter or Facebook with a spammed message you’ve sent to 200 other people to read, review, or endorse your book. Not only is it rude, but when reviewers see that you’ve sent the same canned message to hundreds of others, that’s a guaranteed block, not to mention that you are spamming. Same with generic emails. Personalize it. Do you want to be approached in a spammy way? Remember the Golden Rule.

 

Be polite. I’ve been hassled and even scolded for not reading/reviewing someone’s book. Listen, I’m an author, too, but I’ve learned to approach reviewers and other authors privately and respectfully. We’re all very busy, so when you ask someone to take the time to read your book, expect nothing. Life happens. Most reviewers have a TBR pile a mile (or virtual mile) high. What makes you stand out is your approach. Send it off and hope for the best.

 

Be smart. Don’t randomly approach reviewers to read your sci-fi fiction if they’re a romance author. You’re wasting your time and theirs with the back and forth. Do your homework.

 

Have realistic expectations. Not every person you send your book to will read it. Not every person you send your book to will like it. If you expect the reviews back in a few days, you’re high. Same with expecting all 5-stars. Not gonna happen. Additionally, I’ve worked with authors who give their book promotion one month, and then whine about how disappointing their sales are. Remember, book promotion is a long haul. It took me nine months to reach bestseller status with A Walk In The Snark .

I personally have never approached Top 100 Amazon reviewers, though two have approached me to review my books. Most successful indie authors will go after these top reviewers. Again, be polite!

 

Man up. You will get bad reviews. So what? Some people will absolutely hate your work and I think that rocks. No, I’m not crazy. If you elicit an emotion, you’ve won. That said, take responsibility for your work. Have you had it edited, proofread, and formatted by pros? If not, and you get slammed for errors, take it. It’s your own fault. Do better.

 

Have an offense, not a defense. My company, BadRedhead Media, focuses on helping authors increase their virtual footprint, be it social media, blogs, sites, ads, interviews, etc. You don’t have to hire me — just create a plan. How are you going to go about making your book stand out? Become known? Get read? If you’re not sure, check out book marketing and social media books on Amazon (I recommend Lori Culwell’s How To Market A Book ) or read my BadRedheadMedia.com blog, Facebook, and Twitter timeline for tons of free tips.

 

Virtual Book Tour: Remember, you should NEVER pay for a review, however, it’s fine to set up a book tour (where there’s an administrative fee to the organizer), where book bloggers will review your book as well as feature you. There’s no guarantee of a positive review (see #5 above). If you’re in a Facebook or LinkedIn group, offer to trade reviews with others you trust to be honest and helpful.

 

Search. How do you find reviewers or authors who want to read your books? Use the Twitter Search (they even have an advanced search option) key for terms like #bookbloggers #bookreviewers or even genre, like #nonfiction or #paranormalromance. Find reviewers and look at their LISTS or see who they follow.

Not on Twitter? Fine. Search Google or Bing. Amazon forums or the Kindle Boards. There are tons of terrific articles out there on the Internet about how to              find reviewers. I like using Twitter because I can see who has followed whom — the work is already done for me. And guess what? People who have visited your blog or stream are excellent review candidates — DM, private message, email or Facebook them with a polite, individual request.

 

Bottom line: Remember that reviews are just one small part of your book-selling pie. You also need to optimize your site/blog, have a consistent social media presence, be interesting and engaging, provide good info that’s not just your own book, and above all, use your manners.

Make your mom proud.

 

What have I missed? Please share you experiences and comments below!

Did you know I host guest writers here every week to two weeks? They share their personal, real-life experiences and I’m continually blown away by their candor and wisdom. Don’t miss it! 
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I Met The Devil Once by guest @KellySGamble via @RachelintheOC

When I asked Kelly Stone Gamble to write a real-life post for me, I never doubted she would deliver. This story will blow you away — not only her experience but the beautiful, clear way she shares it with us. Her courage is amazing and I’m honored she shared this harrowing story here.

I’m in love with Kelly’s writing. I can’t wait until she’s published so I can read more! Follow her, share this post with everyone you know, read it. Then read it again.

 

I Met the Devil Once 

by Kelly Stone Gamble

I met the Devil once. I’ve always thought that for those who die a violent death, it must be a struggle between good and evil until the Devil eventually wins. Who else could perform such horrible acts of violence on another being but Satan in human form? That is my belief, and therefore, I have to say, yes, I met him once. Not a nice guy; I have the scar to prove it.

 

I ran away from home three times as a teenager, but the first two times were for just a few months. It’s the last that I really consider my ‘runaway time.’ I was sixteen and was gone from home for over a year. I went to Tulsa and lived on my own, and at times with other runaways. No matter what you see on TV, I know from experience that they leave out the best parts, the parts most of us ex-runaways choose to tuck away, that only come back when we don’t keep our minds busy on something else.

 

And I do leave a lot of it in the past. But every day, I look in the mirror and see the scar I have that runs from the left side of my lip down to my chin and I remember. I’ve never had the scar fixed, because I don’t ever want to forget. Every day it reminds me. Wolves dress as sheep and Satan parades as neighbors.

 

I was seventeen, it was summer and I was living in a house of lost toys. It was late, I was bored and decided to walk downtown. One of my favorite pastimes was to go hang out with the homeless people that lived there and listen to their stories. A car stopped, two men in the front, who asked if I wanted a ride. I got in.

 

I wasn’t completely stupid. I knew the driver. His name was Bill and he lived two houses down. He knew all of the people in my house, came to our parties, sat on the porch with us and drank beer. He was neat, clean and had a respectable job. Once when he was sick with the flu, I walked his dog for him twice a day for a week. A cute little mutt named Bingo. Of course I could trust a guy with a dog named Bingo. I crawled in the back, a two-door prison with no escape.

 

There was no discussion between the two of them; it was as if they had it planned. Bill turned the car around and headed the other way. I said something about going downtown, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard me, but Bill just ignored me. His friend did all of the talking, and immediately began to tell me in graphic detail, all of the horrible things they intended to do to me. Bill drove. His friend talked. And I thought about what it was going to feel like to die.

 

Realizing I had no way out of the car, and couldn’t possibly break free from two men, I did the next best thing I could think of; I started to cry. The friend turned around in his car seat and laughed. He held a small thin bladed knife in his hand and put it to my throat and told me to stop. I choked back tears, but not before he made a thin slice on my face and made a comment about how nicely I bled.

 

I knew then that there was a pretty good chance I was going to die. Bill knew I was a runaway, so who would be looking for me? Just another throwaway teenager whose death wouldn’t make the paper. At some point during that ride, I decided that I was not going to make it easy. I would fight as much as I could, knowing without a little help, one scrappy teenager against the Prince of Darkness wouldn’t amount to much of a fight. It’s a good thing that I believed in Satan, because in doing so, it also meant that I believed in another existence in this world that would be my only hope.

 

We stopped at an apartment complex on the outskirts of Tulsa and I was hauled out of the car. Bill led the way; I was sandwiched between he and the Devil. I was numb, I had to focus on walking, knowing if I stopped I would get a nice prodding from the animal behind me. Nowhere to run, even if I could.

 

I looked up as we entered the complex, and noticed something familiar. I had been here before. As we walked deeper into the maze, I remembered. Terry lived here. Terry, a large ex-marine who I knew from back home, who collected guns and shot things for fun. I couldn’t remember which apartment was his, or how I could possibly use that to my advantage anyway. Then something amazing happened. You know the other existence I mentioned above that would be my only salvation? He showed up.

 

Ahead, I saw Terry walk out of his apartment with his dog. I don’t remember the breed, but he was one of those that you don’t mess with. I heard Terry tell the dog to ‘stand down’ as he saw that we were getting close enough to put the dog on alert. I waited, walking slowly, until we were right in front of him and I made my only move.

 

I can’t say I actually remember what that ‘move’ was. I don’t remember if I fell to the ground, flung myself in his arms, or reached for the dog. I only remember closing my eyes and yelling ‘HELP ME.’ Maybe I don’t want to remember, maybe what happened next is tucked away somewhere in my mind, waiting for the perfect time to come to the surface and show me the rest of the story. Maybe at that point, I just passed out and will never know.

 

What I do remember is sleeping on Terry’s couch with his dog by my side, and calling my dad the next day to say I wanted to come home. Everything changed after that night. Everything. Changed.

 

I’m not going to say I became an angel overnight, because being a street-smart kid starting over at seventeen wasn’t easy. I did go back to high school and graduated, and even set my sights on college.

 

So why, after all these years, have I not hired the hand of some wonderful plastic surgeon to fix the scar? Well, the deeper scar can’t be fixed, and the visible one is there for a reason. To remind me that miracles happen. To remind me that once, an invisible hand pulled me from the depths of Hell. To remind me that good, sometimes, does win over evil.

 

But not always.

 

I was spared for something.

 

And thirty years later, I’m still trying to figure out what that something is.

 

www.kstonegamble.com 

Kelly Stone Gamble

Writing blog 

Twitter @KellySGamble 

Facebook 

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