Kimberly A. Bettes's Blog, page 14
May 6, 2012
False Positives
A couple of days ago, I came across an online conversation between a handful of authors. There was something about it that made me curious, so I read all the exchanges between them. And it aggravated me. Normally when I read something some closed-minded or under-informed person says on the internet, I roll my eyes and go on, but this has stuck with me and it still bothers me.
Several things were going on in this conversation. First, they were bad-mouthing indie authors, saying that any idiot (and that’s the word they used) could publish their work, and if you’re an indie author, you’re nothing; your work is crap and you aren’t a real author. This part made me angry. Mostly because I am an independent author, but also because while it’s true that pretty much anyone can publish their work, the cream rises to the top. If it’s crap, people will see it’s crap and you’ll have no success. I kept wondering if these guys don’t consider J.A. Konrath a ‘real’ author because he’s self-published a great portion of his work. What about Blake Crouch? What about the string of other successful indie authors? Are they to be dismissed as well because they have more sense than to hand over control, rights, and money to a publisher? They said you’re an idiot to self-publish, but I – as well as a whole slew of other authors – say you’re an idiot not to. (I mean, come on. Why hand over control and rights to YOUR work to someone who doesn’t have the passion for it that you do? Why choose 15% royalty over 70-75%?)
The second thing that was going on is they were talking about reviews. They were saying that indie authors were told to create sock puppet accounts so they could give themselves 5 star reviews. They also said that anytime they see a 5 star review, they automatically think ‘friends and family’ wrote it and ignore it. I don’t even know where to start on what bothers me about this.
I have never and will never create a review for myself. Ever. And I don’t know of any authors who do this. I’m not saying none of them do, I’m just saying I don’t know of any and I didn’t even know that this was an issue. I know I would never do it, so it never crossed my mind that others might. And as far as friends and family giving 5 star reviews, I’m sure friends and family do give 5 star reviews. But not all 5 star reviews are written by friends and family of the author. I have received MANY 5 star reviews for my books from people all the way across the country, people I don’t know and have never met. So only a fool would think that an author can’t get a 5 star review based solely on the merit of his/her work. Which makes me wonder if maybe these ridiculously arrogant authors were saying these things because that’s their experience. Maybe they’ve been unable to gain an honest 5 star review for their work.
So what are your thoughts on the subject? Would you ever give yourself a false positive review?
May 4, 2012
Once Upon a Rhyme… Giveaway!!
If you haven’t noticed, I’ve released a new book called Once Upon a Rhyme… over at Amazon. It’s a collection of rhyming short stories and poems, all in keeping with the dark and twisted themes that you’ve come to expect from me. You’re welcome.
In order to create a buzz and possibly get a few reviews going for it, I’ve decided to have a Kim’s-Finally-Gone-Off-Her-Rocker-Giveaway. All you have to do is ask. Really, you can’t get any simpler than that. You can either leave your email address in the comments section below, or send an email to kbettes[AT]mcmo[DOT]net requesting your copy (just put Rhyme in the Subject line so I’ll know that you’re not my rich uncle from Africa who’s looking to transfer a kabillion dollars to my checking account if only I’ll hand over every single piece of personal information related to me or any other member of my family).
Also, while I have you, there’s a button at the top and a button at the bottom of this page. Click either of them. Somewhere, in a dark room, a phone will ring. A stranger will answer. He’ll only listen, then nod slightly. Then, he’ll cut the ropes that bind a young girl to a rusty pipe. Without saying a word, he’ll point to the door and she’ll run, finally free, back to her family. The stranger will then throw back his head and sigh to the heavens.
Alright, fine. That won’t happen, but an email will arrive in my inbox letting me know that you’ve followed my blog. If you have a blog, I’ll return the favor. Assuming you’re not the rich uncle I mentioned a moment ago. If you don’t have a blog – okay even if you do have a blog, I’ll ask Santa to bring you something extra special this year for making me so happy. I’m pretty tight with Santa. We play Mahjong on Thursdays.
April 25, 2012
Honest v. Dishonest
Recently, it came to my attention that there are some unscrupulous people putting their name on other authors’ ebooks and passing them off as their own. Call me naive if you wish, but of all the scams and rip-offs that I know go on every day, I would’ve never thought about this one, probably because I would never do such a thing and I just assume (foolishly) that no one else would either. I can’t believe there are people that would do it, but there are.
*Flashback*
When I was a teenager, we moved into a house that I absolutely loved. Out back was a huge, weird metal building. Naturally, I had to check this out and see what was in it. Turns out, there was boxes and boxes of old military stuff. Uniforms, etc. Among this stuff I found a folded piece of paper. Of course I had to read. (Oh, come on. Like you wouldn’t have read it too.) It was a handwritten poem about World War II. It was good. Damn good. By this time, I had a ton of poems under my belt and had already started my first novel. I showed everyone this poem, and they all asked the obvious question: “Did you write this?” To which I quickly replied, “No.”
*Back to the present*
The point to the flashback was this – I have never and I will never take credit for something I didn’t do. I didn’t write that poem. I could’ve easily taken credit for it. The author was dead, and the poem forgotten about. But that’s not me. What kind of person would I be if I took credit for another person’s work? You know the saying…The things you do when no one’s looking are the things that define you.
So what kind of person are you? Would you have taken credit for it, knowing no one would ever know that you didn’t write it?
April 12, 2012
Unruly
You know those unruly children that just won’t listen to you no matter what you do? They run around, screaming and yelling, arms flailing, doing whatever they want to do while you stand there, hands on hips, head to the sky asking ‘Why, Lord? Why me?’ I know you know the kind I’m talking about. After all, I’m sure you’ve been to Wal-Mart at some point and have at least seen one of these kids.
Well this story I’m working on is one of those unruly kids.
It started out as a short story. And it was coming along smashingly. In a couple hours time, I had a few thousand words and was really cranking along on it. But then I decided that it was going to end up too long to be a short story. A novella, perhaps? No. I wanted to go full-blown on this one and make it a novel. So with my mind made up about it, I set out to write the story. But that’s when the little devil downed three Mt. Dews and a handful of M&Ms and started running around on me, screaming and ignoring my pleas for mercy.
So I walked away. I left that sucker sitting there, waiting on me for a change. I went about my life, but everyday, it was in the back of my mind. It kept me up at night. I thought of all the things I could do to make this story awesomer than it already was. Maybe if I threw in other stuff, it would listen and act right for once.
And boy, did I come up with a brilliant plan for this story. It is going to be FANFREAKINTASTIC. So I sat down, jotted down all my notes, and started writing on it. And the damn thing still wouldn’t do things my way. ‘But I don’t wanna be a novel,’ it whined. ‘But I don’t wanna take place all in one night.’ Wah wah wah. So I grabbed it, I strangled it a little bit, and I tossed it to the side, because damn it, I’m the boss here. I say what we do and what we don’t do.
So, while my unruly demon spawn rests in a heap in the corner, waiting for me to come back to it, I’ve decided to go on to this other brilliant story. And you know what? This one is listening to me and doing everything it’s supposed to do, and our relationship is amazing. I’m having a good time with it.
I suppose it’s true what they say. People with two kids have one that is rotten. And this is why in real life, I just have the one kid. He’s awesome. If I had another one and it was awful and refused to listen to me, there would surely be consequences for choking it and throwing in the corner and walking away. Yup. Probably some consequences.
But rest assured, I’m really getting somewhere with this story. I’m 5,500 words in now after 2 days. That’s pretty good. I know where I’m going, and apparently it’s more than willing to come along with me (knock on wood). So I’ll keep you posted on the progress. And I’ll let you know if when I’m finished with this story the other one decides to behave and do things my way.
Until then, read something.
April 8, 2012
March 25, 2012
HELD Teaser
In anticipation of next Sunday's release of my novel Held, I thought I'd give you all a peek into the novel. A glimpse into the world of a scared, young wife and new mother, and of the madman who changes her world forever. This is only the beginning, for both you, the reader, and Nicole, the young woman in the story. I give to you now the first chapter. Hopefully, I'll see you next Sunday at Amazon, where for the low price of only $2.99 you can accompany Nicole through her nightmare.
Held
by Kimberly A. Bettes
Chapter 1
I squinted as I stepped out of the store and into the glare of the bright sunlight. As I walked across the parking lot, I went over the purchase in my mind. I was certain that the bubble-gum smacking cashier had overcharged me. I stepped into the narrow space between my smaller SUV and the behemoth SUV parked beside me, and pulled the receipt out of my purse to study it. With my attention on the receipt, I was unaware of anyone else until I felt a gun poke into my ribs.
He wrapped his left arm around me and squeezed my left shoulder. With his right hand, he shoved the gun into my ribs even harder.
My breath caught in my chest, trapped by shocked lungs. Everything happened so fast. He was there, gun pressed to my side, squeezing me against him tightly. I had no time to process the situation.
We certainly looked to others as no more than a normal couple. I knew no one could see the gun. My arm, bent at the elbow with the shopping bag dangling from it, hid it well. There were only a handful of other people in the parking lot, none of which even glanced at us. How could they? We were hidden by the SUVs.
My mind, every bit as shocked as the rest of me, struggled to grasp the situation and find a way out of it. I thought of screaming. I thought of wrenching free of him, turning and running. But I also thought of my husband and my son. If I did any of those things, this man would shoot me. It would be easy to do. The gun was already buried in my ribcage, his finger undoubtedly on the trigger. If he didn't mean me harm, he wouldn't have the gun. He meant business. And if the pistol were equipped with a silencer, he could shoot me and be long gone before anyone even realized I was on the ground. Had the parking lot contained more people, screaming and running might've been an option. Surely he wouldn't shoot me with so many witnesses. But that wasn't the case here. Not today. Not on a stupid Tuesday afternoon.
Before I could hate myself for not waiting until later when more people were at the mall before shopping for jeans that were supposed to be on sale but weren't because the pink haired bubble gum smacker rang them up wrong, he spoke.
"Open it," he commanded.
I dug through my purse, wishing like hell I carried a bear spray or Mace or hairspray or anything that would give me the second I needed to get away from him. But I didn't carry anything like that. I felt the pack of gum, the emergency tampon, the extra pacifier, my wallet, and finally my keys. I jerked them out of my purse, nearly dropped them, and clumsily began to unlock the door.
The closer we got to getting in the car, the harder he pushed on the gun. I was going to have one hell of a bruise.
When my trembling hands finally managed to unlock the door, he tightened his grip on my shoulder even more, causing me to wince. He leaned into my ear, which would look to others as if he were whispering something to me. Had he whispered, I wouldn't have heard him over the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears.
"You're going to get in, slide over to the passenger seat, and nothing more. Do you understand?" He spoke evenly, though in a low tone to avoid being heard by anyone else who might be listening.
I didn't look at him. I couldn't. I just stood there, staring at the pavement in shock and very much afraid. My mind was racing, my thoughts a blur.
"If you do anything, and I mean anything at all, other than what I've told you to do, I'll kill you. And if you manage to get away from me, I'll kill your family, and I'll take my sweet time doing it. Do you understand?"
This time, I nodded. I wouldn't let anything happen to my family.
He kissed me on the cheek quickly, causing the knot in my stomach to roll.
"Good. Now get in."
He snatched the keys from me and I did as I was told, though the urge to open the passenger side door and flee was overwhelming.
He got in quickly and started the vehicle. I made myself as small as possible and leaned against the door, watching through the window as we drove through the parking lot and away to wherever we were going. Hopefully someone I knew would see us and the look on my face. But I saw no one I knew. I fought to keep from vomiting as I realized that no one was going to save me. No one was going to stop him from taking me.
If I'd just stayed home today like I had originally planned, this wouldn't have happened. But I hadn't. Damn me and my quest for discounted jeans.
The best thing that could happen to me now is he'd rape me and throw me out of the car somewhere. Knowing that was the best thing that could happen, I tried not to imagine the worst. But I knew. I knew from the moment I felt the barrel of his gun press against my ribs.
Even if I could somehow manage to escape him at some point, everything was going to be different. Assuming he didn't kill me first, life as I knew it was over and gone forever. If he stopped the car right now, told me he'd been joking and was sorry, then left and I never saw him again, everything would still be different. I'd never again park near large vehicles. I'd never let my guard down anywhere. I would constantly be aware of everything that was happening around me at all times. In essence, I'd drive myself mad trying to stay safe.
But I didn't have to worry about any of that because he wasn't stopping, and I was sure he wasn't joking.
In the side mirror, I watched as the parking lot slipped away behind me, taking me farther and farther from my life and from any hope I had of ever seeing my husband and son.
March 13, 2012
Inspiration
People often ask what inspires a story. That's a difficult question to answer.
Sometimes, I'm watching television and I see or hear something that triggers a switch in my brain. To give you a visual, it could be like the light bulb over my head suddenly clicking on, but I like to think of it more as turning on the TV just in time to see the most exciting part of a movie. Explosions, shooting, all kinds of action. Because that's how it feels to me. Immediate and intense, it's suddenly there.
The same thing often happens in the midst of a conversation. The other person says something that flicks that switch in my head, turning on my imagination, and BOOM! I'm not listening to the conversation any more because I'm watching this story unfold in my mind, already working out kinks and adding twists and turns. Sure, I miss some of the conversation and a lot of the movie I'm watching, but the rush of a great story idea is beyond any feeling ever. I assume it's akin to a junkie getting their fix. Since I'm not a junkie, I can't say that with certainty, but I imagine it's close.
And then there are times like last night, when all I wanna do is sleep but my mind won't stop. It goes on, creating idea after idea, not stopping no matter how loud I scream for it to. And I love it. I wish that would happen during the day though instead of while I'm trying to sleep, but I'll take it where I can get it. I'm aware that for a lot of writers, it's a struggle just to get an idea. I've never had that problem (knock on wood). The ideas are just there, everywhere, waiting to be discovered, triggered by words or actions. They're everywhere, man. Everywhere.
February 29, 2012
Guest Post: Mark Allan Gunnells – Places You Know
One of the greatest things about being a writer is being able to meet and befriend other writers, to bask in the presence of greatness. This is one of those times. I'm honored and privileged to share with you this guest post by the amazing Mark Allan Gunnells. Bask, reader. Bask in his greatness.
PLACES YOU KNOW
By Mark Allan Gunnells
We writers get to travel to all sorts of places in our imagination. Different cities, countries, even worlds. We can make up places that never existed, visit locals that are exotic to us. It's part of the fun of the gig.
But personally, while I enjoy all that very much, nothing quite pleases me as much as setting a story in a place I'm intimately familiar with. There is something I really love about taking a location that is real and create my fiction there.
When I recently wrote a novella entitled "The Summer of Winters", I set it in my hometown in 1983. The place and time I grew up. There was something sort of thrilling about taking the backdrop of my childhood and inserting my fictional tale there. Many of the places I use in the story no longer exist, and I felt almost like I was getting to preserve them in my fiction.
And when I sat down to write my new novel THE QUARRY, I knew I wanted to set it at Limestone College, my alma mater. I spent four really wonderful years of my life on my campus, and in a way writing the book was like getting to go home again. The campus, the buildings, the surrounding neighborhood, I know it so well that it was effortless to set the action of the story in the area.
While I think a story can be just as vibrant and authentic when set in a fictional place, I think when a writer uses a familiar location, a location that means something to him or her, the story has a little something extra special.
I will admit, I do sometimes have the concern that people who live in the areas I write about will take offense to the stories. For instance, I have great love for Limestone College, but I do keep setting stories there where horrible things happen. I would hate to think faculty and administrators look at that and think I'm trying to make some negative statement about the school. So far though everything I've heard is that those who are even aware of my fiction are taking it in the spirit that it was intended.
When you sit down to read THE QUARRY—and I really hope you will—it is my hope that you will feel you are there at Limestone College, walking across the quad, and that the setting feels as familiar to you as it does to me.
THE QUARRY can be purchased in trade paperback or digital format here:
http://www.amazon.com/Quarry-Mark-Allan-Gunnells/dp/0615598439/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_4
February 27, 2012
TwitterHead Writers Unite by Andy Holloman
TwitterHead Writers Unite – Hi5 and a HUG. (by Andy Holloman)
I easily could've written this myself. It's very true, and I used to feel the same way about twitter. It's only been in the last 8 months that I've been a faithful tweeter. And it does work. 
February 21, 2012
My Review Quest
So here's something I've noticed. People love to leave reviews for books they've read. That is, if the author is already famous. Don't worry. It doesn't make a bit of sense to me either. Getting people to review your books is like trying to get someone to volunteer for a root canal. It ain't gonna happen. So here's what I thought. I thought I'd try this cute little experiment for a while and see if it works. Settle down. I'm getting ready to tell you what it is.
If you read and review one of my books or short stories, I'll GIVE you another one. Go ahead. Read that again. I'll wait. Yes, if you review a short story, I'll give you another short story. If you review a novel, I'll give you another novel. Am I crazy? A lot of people seem to think so. Will this work? I don't know. But it's worth a shot.
Authors live and die by reviews and word of mouth. Sure, telling me you loved my story is great – especially for my pride and ego – but it doesn't tell others, 'Hey, you should read this.'
It doesn't take much to leave a review. Just write what you would say to a friend about the book. Read some reviews on Amazon to get the feel for it if you've never done it.
After you leave your review, send an email to kbettes[AT]mcmo[DOT]net with a link to your review (or at least tell me where you left it), which other story you want, and in which format you would like it.
I have no idea how long I'll run this experiment. Probably until my meds wear off, so you might want to hurry.
