C.S. Marks's Blog, page 5

If I can’t have fun…

Why Do It If You Can’t Have Fun?

A “Conventional” reflection by C.S. Marks

So, I’ve just returned from two very, very large and well known conventions. Apart from questioning my sanity (I am really tired from smiling at all those people and lugging stuff around), I am now immersed in the “post-convention-what-could-I-have-done-more-effectively” analysis. At such times, I become reflective. No, really! You can throw me over the car’s windshield to keep the sun out while you shop.

Amidst thoughts of displays and table organization and pricing strategies, one particular point keeps rising to the surface: did I have fun? Of course I did. I always do! But that’s not what prompted this post.

I’ve known authors who are so wound up in “sell, sell, sell,” that they cannot relax around the other authors, who are viewed as being in direct competition with them for sales. They are never happy with their place in the avenue (how am I supposed to sell books if I’m stuck way over HERE?), and they don’t socialize with the other authors. I catch them shooting furtive glances at my display and my table, hoping to…what? Convince themselves their display is superior? Discover my secret weapon? I don’t know.

I try to be open-minded and give folks as many chances as they require–it doesn’t take much to win me over. I have come to learn that other people are here to teach me things, and that it is my job to be open to the lessons they teach. In this case, I learn something from these “hard-sell” authors: why do it if I can’t have fun?

I recall one such “hard-sell” author infiltrating my space when I was away from the table for a few minutes. He struck up a rather awkward conversation with my friend, who was taking care of things in my absence. In this conversation, he intimated that the other authors didn’t like him because he was so focused on business, on sales, on marketing to new readers, that he didn’t have time to be sociable. “This is a business, not a social hour. If you’d take the time to get to know me, you’d realize that I’m actually a nice guy.” This was followed by “Unlike these other writers, I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to move product! That’s why I’m a best-seller and they aren’t.” The whole exchange struck me as kind of sad.

Actually, we’re all at the convention to “move product”. Otherwise, why would we subject ourselves to eight hours a day in the exhibitors’ hall? Why would we chain ourselves to a table and hope our bladders hold out until the next time we can catch a break? Why on earth would we subject ourselves to the “middle-aged-lonely-man-who-knows-we-can’t-escape-and-talks-our-hair-off”? We’re all there to sell books, but how sad that some of us can’t seem to have fun while doing it.

I really, really enjoy conventions. I like conversing with my fellow authors, picking up tips from them, looking at their displays, and being supportive of their work. I also appreciate a good joke–such as hiding the pirate hat of one of my favorite fellow authors every time he “abandons” it–and yet I manage to sell plenty. If an author needs something (tape, scissors, t-pins, candy for the table), I try to provide. In return, they are more than willing to help me. There’s a sense of community on the avenue that doesn’t negatively affect sales in any way, from what I’ve observed. We recommend each others’ books (ah–a classic D&D style fantasy, you say? You might try ______ down the way. I also really enjoyed so-and-so’s work–he’s on the other side).

Now, don’t get me wrong–in my own space, I reign supreme. But my selling style is very different from those who roam the aisle doing the “hard sell” whenever people appear, extolling themselves as “best-selling, award-winning authors”. (Unfortunately, those terms are regarded with some suspicion nowadays due to such tactics as inventing an award and giving it to yourself, or being the top seller in “Bulgarian Antediluvian Archaeological Mysticism” on Amazon.)

I’ve won a couple of minor awards and could easily call myself a best-seller, but the readers will find that out for themselves should they ask or investigate. For example, “tell me about your books” might lead me to inform them that Elfhunter ranked in the top 5 in epic fantasy e-books in the UK for months. That’s a solid piece of data–they can decide whether it makes me a best-selling author or not.

My “sales strategy” is relatively passive. I sit at the table, make eye contact, and smile at passers-by. I let the display attract them, and invite them to approach by being open and friendly. If they seem wary, I don’t mention the books–not at first. I ask them how they are enjoying the con, whether they have purchased anything exciting, or whether they have met any cool celebrities or attended any interesting panels. If they are wearing a costume, I might ask permission to take a picture. You know–the opposite of the hard sell.

If they pick up the books or appear interested, I ask them whether they enjoy reading and what they like to read. The young readers in particular find this an easy conversation-opener. They might chat about Percy Jackson or Harry Potter or The Hobbit, and then they ask “what’s your book about?” Mwahahahaaaa! I’ve got you now, my pretty!

Once I start telling them about Elfhunter, they usually can’t resist. I haven’t annoyed them, I haven’t forced it on them. I had some fun with them! And when they leave with my books (often the entire series), I know I have picked up a new reader. I never try to talk a potential reader into my books if they try to walk away–though I might recommend other books to them.

I want to be known as a “class act”. I want to have fun and make friends while engaging in effective selling practices. I want to set a good example for the young, up-and-coming authors who might be attending their first convention.

I guess some people revel in the notion that they sell more “units” than their competition. This is what drives them–to demolish their so-called competitors. But that’s not me and never will be. Selling out of books might give me something to crow about, but it also means that some readers will be disappointed because I don’t have books for them. In that event, I’ll resolve to bring more “units” next time–It’s far more fun to please the readers than to boast about sales. And I’ll make an effort next time to get to know those hard-selling authors better, so that I can appreciate what nice guys they really are. The day I stop enjoying conventions will be the day I stop attending them. I mean, why do it if I can’t have fun?

When Food Fantasies Invade…

Imagine for a moment that you’ve been riding a snorty horse for about twelve hours over tricky terrain. The weather has been less than cooperative–alternating between extreme heat/humidity and pelting rain. The rain has made all the tree-limbs heavy, so they droop down across the trail, slapping you in the face as you ride (they’re too low to duck under). You’ve gotten lost at least once already. There’s a tiny wrinkle in the fold of your left knee that you know is going to erode the skin down to the dermis, and it probably won’t heal for a month or more. The horse is going well (so far), but you’ve still got over thirty miles to ride before you’re done…and the wind is starting to pick up. Oh, good. It’s raining again.

Your riding partner hasn’t been feeling well, and you suspect electrolyte depletion/dehydration is at the bottom of it. You knew you should have packed those packets of “runner’s fuel”, but as it is you’ll have to wait until you get to the next checkpoint to help her. Meanwhile, she’s losing focus and beginning to ride like a wet sack. You’ve got to bring her back and engage her. What do you do?

Well, if you’re me, you start talking about food. You fantasize about what you’re going to eat when this is all over. “Hey, Becky…remember that stuffed spinach-and-mushroom pizza they used to serve at Flying Tomato Brothers?”

“Ohhhhh, YEAH! They were soooo good. Do you think we could ever find pizza that good again?”

“I don’t know. Sounds like a road trip to me. There’s gotta be a FTB around somewhere. Or maybe we should go for the buffet at Thai-Wan-On?”

“They had the BEST dumplings in the world! Oh, man…what I wouldn’t give for an order of crispy spring rolls right now…”

You get the idea.

The promise of bounty, sensual pleasure that does not involve any form of effort or strife, and total indulgence is very comforting. It focuses the imagination as one recalls the smell, look, and taste of one’s favorite foods. Why, just imagining what should be on the menu is an enjoyable mental exercise.

Becky and I seem to always turn to food fantasies when times get tough. One night in Ontario, as the skies opened up and water literally poured through the not-formerly-known-to-be-leaky roof of our Biology Dept. tent, we set an imaginary table with a ten-course banquet, drifting away happily (once we had found two rare areas where water would not dump directly on our heads).

Another time, we had just set over a thousand small mammal traps in Nevada only to learn that our van was doomed to spend several days in the local repair shop. We faced the prospect of spending those days in the middle of nowhere, sleeping on hard ground with nothing but a cooler filled with bologna, yellow mustard, and horrid, generic cookies called “Duplex Cremes”. Never trust anything that uses the word “creme”. The food fantasies were flyin’, I can tell you!

So, what’s the connection with C.S. Marks, author? Not much, except that I am amused to find that I do the same thing when I write, sometimes. You can probably tell when I’m having a bad “comfort day” when a scene pops in that describes a cozy place with a nice fire and a good meal. The characters have no doubt been journeying (they do that a lot), and both they and I are in need of a good, homey descriptive paragraph or two. I love writing this stuff. Let’s see…we’re in Dûn Bennas, and winter’s coming on. It’s been raining and we’re all soaked to the skin, having just ridden all the way from the Greatwood. What would be good? Simple, but good? Ohhh…roast pork! And sweet potatoes with apples and cinnamon. And…again, you get the idea.

I also love to indulge in the ritual Becky and I have termed “dressing the characters”. This is another comfort-exercise (though it can sometimes be wish-fulfillment when dressing hunky male characters). In the aforementioned Dûn Bennas winter’s-coming-and-we’re cold-and-wet scene, the characters are given wonderful, soft woolens and velvets to wear. Ever snuggle up in a velvet tunic and new wool socks? Ohhh, yeah! And, of course, lovely moleskin breeches and a lofty, warm cloak to wrap up in. There’s a nice, gentle fire burning in the grate and you can just start to smell the pork-and-sweet-potatoes as they are carrying them into the room. All is now right with the world.

I realize that readers want a lot of angst-and-action these days. They want a fast-moving story with constant forward motion and very few delays or side trips. But some of those delays and side trips can be quite memorable. They break up the action so that the reader can take a breather–maybe even a comfort stop. And, in my opinion, they help bring the reader into the scene. These descriptions, while they can be overdone, are invaluable assets if executed well.

There’s probably one more phenomenon creeping in here–the “mother hen” factor. I want to take care of my characters, to give them a break from angst-and-action, too. They have to look to me for comfort, because I put them through the wringer most of the time. They deserve the opportunity to enjoy a good meal, a warm bath, or a dry tunic, or at least to fantasize about it. There’s one scene–I forget which book it’s in–where one of the characters launches into a full-blown “food fantasy” during a time of hardship. While at least one of the other characters gets grumpy about it, the others encourage it. They know how comforting a good food fantasy can be.

How to Hold on to Some of your Self-esteem when living with Elves

They’re tall. They’re gorgeous. They’re immortal–unless you kill them–and they don’t get sick or deteriorate with age. They’re Elves, and they’re annoying. 

Now, don’t get me wrong–I love them and appreciate them for what they are, but they are definitely difficult for the human “I-suffer-from-crow’s-feet-and occasional-distress-in-the-lower-tract” psyche to accommodate. No unsightly dandruff for them, brother! No festering boils, no runaway acne…they don’t even suffer the indignity of not being able to reach objects on tall shelves!

So, why does an author–who is 5’3” tall and definitely human in every respect–write about Elves? Hey. I’ll admit it–I find them interesting and fun to “play” with. I really, really enjoy looking at some of them (males in particular), and, well, it’s kinda fun to imagine being nearly perfect.  But it’s definitely taxing to the self-esteem.

I decided that, for the benefit of my non-Elven characters and readers, I would compile a list of techniques I have developed over the years, methods to guard against (or at least delay the onset of) Mortal Inferiority Complex. Consider it well the next time you find yourself trapped in Tal-sithian. It might save you from snatching yourself bald.

 Dealing with height issues:

If you are vertically challenged, this can be a real problem. Having Elves look down their perfect noses at you just seems to drive the point home, doesn’t it? They have the most infuriating habit of patting your head while reaching over you to grasp that just-out-of-reach object, which they then hand over with a patronizing, pitying smile. Now, you six-foot-plus guys can deal with your Elven friends by merely placing lifts in your seven-league boots (I always wondered where that expression came from…I mean, they should last a lot longer than THAT, surely?). But others, such as myself, are at a bigger disadvantage. Here’s one solution: never approach an Elf on your own feet.

If you train your horse to go anywhere your Elven friends do, you can always be taller than they are. You can also annoy them by leaving little (ahem!) “horse d’oeuvres” behind in their great halls and elegant audience-chambers. One problem: horses can’t usually climb trees very well, but you can always claim a fear of heights (be sure to think of a good story to explain it–something involving enormous courage against overwhelming odds).  One of my favorite techniques for giving the pointy-eared ones new perspective is to make sure that one of them leads the group on mounted forays down woodland trails. He will catch every spider web in his white teeth and perfectly-coiffed hair. Trust me–it does a lot for your dignity.

Stairs are another convenient meeting-place, but do get there first to ensure that YOU occupy the top level. One of those handy velvet cords used in museums will keep the Elves at bay, since they are conveniently law-abiding. Might be tough to use this trick while mounted, though.

 The “I’m a thousand years old and have forgotten more than you will ever know” problem:

Here’s a good method for really getting under their skin: Learn Icelandic (or some other human tongue they are unlikely to know). Teach it to your mortal friends, and use it often when the Elves are around. It will drive them crazy that you know something they don’t, all the more because they will be too humiliated to ask you what you’re talking about. If one of them commits the all-too-familiar transgression of pretending to know what you’re talking about, say something to your friend in Icelandic and then smile a knowing smile…even chuckle a little. Chances are, the Elf will smile and chuckle, too. You and your friend look at him with an expression of consternation, as though he has just done something incredibly gauche. Pretend to be offended. The Elf will back off, believe me, and he’ll spend the rest of the day wondering if he has just insulted your mother, or something. For such ancient, enlightened beings, they can be incredibly gullible.

Oh, come on, people! They deserve it. How many times have you walked in on a group of them speaking High-elven, and they just go right on as if you’re not there. Worse, they cast little glances in your direction (ot-nay in front of the yooman-hay). 

 The “I-don’t-have-to-stop-and-eat/drink/rest/sleep/pee/rub my bunions-because-I’m-so-perfect” problem:

This is a tough one, and may require that you a) include a traveling companion who is even more ‘needy’ than you are, and b) develop specialized gear. The former will ensure that the party is always stopping on someone else’s account. It would be best if you choose a non-human for the job, such as a kobold with a particularly weak bladder. Then you can shake your head right along with the Elves…poor, weak-bladdered kobold. If it weren’t for him, we’d make better time, but one must be charitable, mustn’t one?

As for the specialized gear, you might try a “camel-back” water pack under your jerkin, with the drinking tube cleverly hidden by your mustache. If one lacks a mustache, one can wear a cool bandana or something. Hey…what’s a few anachronisms between races? As for food, try “runner’s fuel”–they’ll never notice. Sleeping requires a ping-pong ball cut in half with eyes painted convincingly on the two hemispheres, which you then affix over your closed eyes. You will need a seat belt for your saddle and a well-trained horse, but it can be done. I know–I’ve done it! If you’re sitting around the campfire during the evening tale-telling and some Elf decides to bore you to death, catch a little shut-eye by employing your trusty ping-pong eyeballs. Then have your buddy tug the hair on the back of your head once in a while, so you appear to nod thoughtfully. The weak-bladdered kobold should take care of the other problem. As far as rubbing your bunions, you’re on your own.

 The diarrhea-vomiting-body odor-horrible itchy rash-raving delirium from fever-problem:

Okay, so they have no idea what it takes to be human. Yeah, yeah, they might lose a leg or an arm in battle or have their eyes gouged out by some Dark Lord, but they will never understand the guts it takes to face a full-blown case of Montezuma’s revenge. So, here’s what you do: tell stories of the greatest heroes of your race: those who have faced the most terrible trials and yet prevailed. Speak of the Battle of Kao-pectate–the Siege of Serutan–the Trials of Tinactin the Tingly. Make them envious of your accomplishments. You can do it! Give them that “You just cannot understand real fortitude, you poor, sheltered being, you!” look. They hate that.

As far as smelling bad, that’s a problem. They don’t. We do. Perhaps you can convince them that humans really smell good–the Tale of Sir Fragnol the Fragrant, perhaps? And wall-paper-peeling aroma can be a powerful weapon! Sir Fragnol sacrificed greatly by forgoing bathing so that his deadly perfume, which made his enemies’ eyes water, helped to win the day? Perhaps if we quit bathing we’ll convince them that we’re proud of our…unique and piquant bouquet? Just don’t let them ever see you grimace at your fellow humans when the wind changes. Poker face, man. Poker face!

If that doesn’t work, find some way to…ummm…help them appreciate what you’re going through. You could always lure them into a patch of stinging nettles and offer to comfort them when their legs itch like mad. No Elf of my acquaintance is immune to scorpion stings, y’know what I mean? Scorpions just love dark places…like boots. Get it? Gooooood. Then my work here is done. You’re well on your way to maintaining your self esteem.

 

 

 

In Praise of Editors

In Praise of Editors

First, a little bit of background. I self-published my first book in late 2005. Since then I have published three titles (the Elfhunter trilogy), written a fourth, and begun work on a fifth, all in epic fantasy. The trilogy, with the benefit of several proofreaders and one professional line editor, has enjoyed modest success, with nearly 40,000 sales and over 200 reviews. But it wasn’t until it was picked up by the small-but-mighty traditional press, Sea Lion Books, that it received what is possibly the greatest benefit of all: a full developmental edit by a real expert.

Raised as I was by a Professor of Literature, I have always held proofreaders and line editors in high regard. I loathe grammatical/typographical errors and appreciate all the help I can get in exterminating them. Yet I suffered from an odd disorder known as “contenteditophobia”–an unreasonable fear of content editors. This fear sprang, as many unreasonable fears do, from ignorance and misinformation. With the things I had heard from other writers, one could not blame me–horrific tales of huge sections of manuscripts being hacked away, entire plot-lines decimated, characters made unrecognizable, the author’s “voice” forced into the pattern of “everybodyelseness”–no wonder I was reluctant.

I became acquainted with my first ever developmental editor when Sea Lion submitted the first volume, Elfhunter, for what I have come to call the “Leslie Wainger make-over”. Now, Leslie isn’t your run-of-the-mill content editor–she has over thirty years in the business, is a smart lady who knows and understands what makes a good story, and also has the tact and diplomacy to work effectively with authors. This, my friends, is a very important gift.

Authors might not always want to hear what the developmental editor tells them. Her job is to find inconsistencies, plot holes, places where the story does not flow well, elements that don’t make sense, bits that are dull or overly wordy, problems with point of view, and…and…and.

Guess what? Leslie found all those things in Elfhunter. She found them, and I fixed them. And I didn’t even argue…much. Eventually. After I’d had time to think about it. (Okay, I fixed most of them.) But I must confess that I spent about two weeks in the fetal position when I received the first round of “editorial comments”.

At first, I was…well, a little hostile. My contenteditophobia was acting up, and Leslie wanted to remove one of my favorite chapters! A whole chapter! One of my favorites! And just that morning I had been thinking, “She’d just better not mess with chapter seventeen”. Oh, no, she wasn’t messing with it, she was killing it! And what’s with this suggestion here? Hey…we NEED that backstory! What’s wrong with a little narrative? I mean the whole book is narrative, kinda. Well, she doesn’t get it, obviously. She doesn’t understand me. She’s trying to change my “voice”. (Picture the scene from Kung Fu Panda II where Po is running around in circles raving after unsuccessfully trying to achieve “inner peace”, and you have a fair idea of my response.)

Then I got real.

The first step in opening your soul to content editing is to seek and consume quantities of ice cream. The second is to vent your angst to a real friend, one who isn’t afraid to tell you to get over yourself. My hubby, Jeff, is a master at gently advising me to stop being self-centered and stubborn, to keep my sense of humor, and to see the opportunity to learn and grow that real editing provides. And, well, I guess I’ve become a master at listening to him. Sometimes.

It took a couple of actual conversations with Leslie to make her concerns and suggestions clear in my mind. When that happened, I knew she was right. And yes, chapter seventeen had to go. As much as I love it, it had to go! (The ever-resourceful Leslie has suggested that I hang on to it and include it as bonus content in the mass-market edition, which totally placated me.) She had found inconsistencies that I had missed, and clarifications that needed to be made (we writers often assume readers know what we’re thinking, which they don’t). She pointed out places where things bogged down, areas that needed simplifying, and (rarely) those that needed expansion. I streamlined, simplified, and expanded…learning a great deal in the process.

Having Leslie edit the book was better than taking a creative writing course–it was all “hands-on” learning. For example–POV. I’m the biggest “head hopper” since Kermit the Frog, but now I understand how to use point-of-view shifts without confusing the reader. Her suggestions helped me to become a better writer, to tighten and refine my prose effectively while keeping my own brand of “classic” style. Like all good editors, Leslie did not want to interfere with my voice, she just wanted to make it more appealing to the readers.

She also encouraged me, pointing out those rare moments of brilliance. When one receives praise from someone like Leslie, one is prepared to endure any and all criticism without complaint. The fact that the praise is meaningful makes it precious, and fills this writer with hope for the book’s success. A confident editor makes for a confident author. Confident authors make the best marketers/advocates a book can have.

There’s a reason a full developmental edit is expensive–it requires a skill set far above that of a proofreader or line editor. Fixing mechanical errors is important, but getting into the meat of the book–the soul of the story–and bringing it into its best possible form is really more art than science. It requires experience as well as talent, and commands a higher pay grade. Don’t forget–developmental editors have to deal with egotistical and often difficult writers diplomatically and gracefully. That alone increases both the value and the cost of their services. Hence very few self-published books have the benefit of such an editor. Many self-pubbers won’t even hire a proofreader, which is an entry-level expense if one wants to be taken seriously (in my opinion).

I no longer have contenteditophobia, because I have realized the value of the experience, not just to the book, but to me as a writer. I hope to have a long and productive relationship with my new publisher, but I am saving my pennies just in case I ever find myself self-publishing again. A developmental editor will take my books to a level I cannot attain on my own, and having been there once, I cannot go back. I know my books are the best they can be, and that’s what every writer wants. While it was occasionally painful in the beginning, the gain I have received from allowing myself to be open to such expert criticism is beyond price.

—CSM

You Never Know

It’s an interesting time to be a writer.

In the days B.K. (Before Kindles), there were basically two paths to publication for fiction writers: the traditional way and the self-publishing-via-subsidy-press way. In the first case, a writer could send out lots of query letters to try to attract an agent, possibly acquire one, and then hope that the agent was successful in convincing a publisher to pick up the book. This resulted in (usually) countless rejections from agents, followed by rejection by publishers. The odds of getting published weren’t good, and they still aren’t.

In the second case, the writer assumed all the duties of the publisher–producing his/her own [image error](hopefully) quality book and paying a subsidy press to print and distribute it. There were virtually no e-books, so print was the way to go. The writer would then try (often in vain) to promote the book to bookstores, sell it out of the trunk of the car, go to conventions and other places where readers gather, and so on.

The traditionally published authors were (generally) well thought-of, and the self- published authors weren’t. In fact, writers were told that self-publishing would wreck their careers. They would be permanently stained with the shameful taint of the vanity press. No one would ever, EVER take them seriously.

Now, I know there are still those who believe that, but they are fast losing ground. The data don’t support this contention any more. And the rules of the game have changed- -in fact, the very nature of the game has changed. There are now countless paths to success as a writer, only some of which involve traditional methods. These days there are a lot more players–more ways for publishers to find quality authors/books, many of which have already proven themselves with big sales in the marketplace.

Life Is Good

Gone are the days of the self-pubbed author investing huge amounts of money in trunk-loads of $20 paperbacks. Of course, even with e-books one should have invested in editing, formatting, cover art, and so on, but there’s virtually no production cost. And distribution? Wherever there’s a computer with internet access to Amazon.com. Before e-books, there were a lot fewer channels through which one could build a marketing platform. Now we have bloggers, who love to review and discuss books, as well as discussion boards like Goodreads and Kindleboards. These venues reach thousands of potential readers. Life, as they say, is good. And for those who want to produce print books, there’s every option–from complete DIY to Createspace to subsidy publishers like iUniverse and everything in between.

There’s even the option of creating one’s own publishing company. With the increase in marketing opportunities, many writers are choosing this method. But what about those who still want the advantages of traditional publishing? There certainly are advantages to be had. Having a publisher invest in your work is worth more than personal validation–it’s nice to have access to their marketing, editing, and production advantages. But is there still only one way to seek that goal? Not anymore. The truth is that, for the first time in a very long while, publishers might come looking for US.

It seems that every time I turn around, some “indie” has announced a book deal with a traditional publisher. Might be “Big Six” or a smaller press, but it’s not the rarity it once was (twenty years ago, I reckon this would have been about as common as a total solar eclipse during an earthquake set off by volcanic eruptions during an ice age). So, what’s changed?

Well…a lot of things have changed. Self-published books are selling–some very, very well. This gives the books greater exposure than a million query letters could. They’ve got writing samples, reviews, and reader recommendations. If they make a big enough splash, the publishers are likely to notice–they will know a good risk when they see one, and they now have their early marketing trials already done for them. Even modest sellers can be offered unprecedented opportunity, and the point is that one never knows where that opportunity is going to come from. Sometimes circumstances just fall into place–the right person sees your work in the right way. Let me give you an example.

An author of epic fantasy books decides to self-publish, and puts out three volumes in about four years. At first print-only, the author sells a fair number of $20 paperbacks (considering the costs involved in promoting them), and actually builds a modest fan- base. But no publisher would touch the books, because the author is living in the world B.K., when it’s assumed that no one who self publishes will be taken seriously. In fact, the author has suffered scorn at the hands of some book-buyers, agents, and so on.

Undaunted, the author then steps into the Kindle-zone, uploading all three titles over several months (allowing each book to gain a following before introducing a new one, thus providing a ready stream of purchasers). Sales are brisk, but nothing fantasmagorical. However, the readers are sharing their reviews and recommendations, and there is a “buzz” going on that not even the author is aware of.

After a really serendipitous moment where the first volume appears on the front page at Amazon, sales go through the roof. The books are ranked among the top ten in fantasy titles. Of course, this surge doesn’t last, and the author settles back into more normal expectations as the year progresses.

Then, one day, an e-mail arrives in the inbox. It’s from a publisher. The publisher wants copies of the books, because it is considering picking them up. Not NEW books, mind you–previously published ones! Unheard of B.K. and still really rare–most publishers won’t touch a book that’s been in print already.

The author, without too much hesitation, sends the books on to the publisher. The result is positive–the author signs a deal for re-publication of the trilogy, with an eye toward future titles. The deal includes comic book and graphic novels to be produced as well. The author has broken into the traditional world…and never saw it coming.

Getting the Deal

This is a real story, and I know it because it’s MY story. I shared it with you because it’s interesting how it came about. One of the questions I asked the publisher was: “Why my books? However did you find them?” I mean…let’s face it: there’s a sea of fantasy books floating around out there looking for homes. Many of them are excellent! How did Elfhunter get the nod? It seems one of the execs in the publishing house is a fan of epic fantasy, and (as all good marketers should) he keeps current with the book world via the internet. Seems one of his regular book bloggers was reviewing Elfhunter (favorably, thank heavens) and he was intrigued. Then, when he saw another of his favorite bloggers discussing Elfhunter on the very same day, he knew he had to check it out. There’s a large writing sample of each book available on Amazon, along with over 100 reviews, book description, and so on. When the exec read the sample, he was hooked. He pitched the books enthusiastically to the rest of the folks involved in acquisitions, and they agreed to negotiate the deal.

This is not the way things used to happen. This came from nowhere as far as I was concerned, but it would not have happened had I not attracted a large enough readership to bring the book to the attention of the bloggers in the first place.

I also have an agent–a very good one who is highly respected in the publishing establishment. She came to me via recommendation and word of mouth–she doesn’t even accept query letters. Again, this is not the way things used to happen for self-published authors.

When your methods don’t appear to be working, sales are flagging, or you don’t think you’re gaining the recognition you hoped for, stay positive and keep at it. You never know what will set the dominoes in motion.

Publishing now is a swirling mass of possibilities, not two roads diverging in a yellow wood. Call it serendipity, call it karma, call it luck…I have managed now to travel both, and that has made all the difference.

Visit Me at uPublishU at BEA

I will be at BookExpo America (New York City) speaking on a panel about self publishing success. Here are the details if you are able to stop by:

Penned & Published – Self-Published Authors & Stories of Success!

Sunday, June 3, 2012

10:00 am – 10:50 am

Rooms 1E14/1E15/1E16

Moderator: PJ Campbell, Director of Events for a major global trade publisher

Speakers: Darcie Chan, Self-Published Author of The Mill River Recluse; Brittany Geragotelis, Self-Published Author of Life’s a Witch; C.S. Marks, Self-Published Author of the Elfhunter trilogy; Theresa Ragan, Self-Published Author of Return of the Rose

Combine your talent and business sense and take your writing dreams to the next level by penning and publishing your own work of literary art! Join celebrated authors and publishing professionals for this inspirational and engaging session where they describe what it takes to become a best-selling author.

Long-time Publishing Veteran and author, PJ Campbell, will share her experiences of publishing and talk with authors who have made the leap to publish. Meet this dynamic group of writing professionals and learn exactly what tips and techniques are needed and applied to create a successful book campaign. This exciting session includes an expert panel of successful authors who will share their thrilling self-publishing stories! These courageous writers will share their experiences and insights on their own best practices and how they turned their trials into triumphs! From pen to published author, this session will prove that You can Publish You!

The Death Pepper

So, I was reading a news blurb this morning about a new species of death-pepper recently discovered. It’s called a ‘Scorpion’ pepper, supposedly has enough capsaicin to eat through a rubber glove, and can cause a blistering ‘high’ that has been compared by some spicy-food aficionados to crack cocaine.

I’ve never understood spicy-food addicts. I love good food–everyone who knows me will soon realize that–but I want to taste what I’m eating, not overwhelm my palate with the same substance we use as a counter-irritant on a damaged leg muscle. At least I won’t go out of my way to seek out hyperinflammatory chili.

Is it the thrill? The dare? The claim of superior strength and ability to withstand the dreadful assault on one’s delicate senses? (You…can’t…beat…me! I…WILL…prevail!) Or is it the idea that one is so insensitive (aka ‘tough’) that one is unaffected? (‘You call this hot? Ha! I laugh at your feeble attempt to break through my barrier of insensitivity.’) I’m not sure.

I once purchased a bottle of hot sauce named ‘endorphin rush’ on a dare. When I got it home, I opened it (carefully!), inserted a clean (afterwards probably sterile) toothpick about 0.5mm into the surface, and then touched the very tip of the toothpick to my tongue.

An immediate numbing sensation followed. I had no feeling in that area of my tongue for several hours. I gave the bottle to one of my insensitive friends. The Scorpion peppers of the world are quite safe from me.

As I often do (especially when pressured to write weekly blog posts), I became reflective. That pepper represents that (name withheld) book I tried to read last year. I recall the book–it was an assault on my imagination, throwing everything violent and disagreeable at my poor brain, non-stop, from the very first page. The book had been highly touted as a best-seller, but my ‘tongue went numb’ and I couldn’t finish it.

I won’t elaborate on the sort of (ahem!) ‘plot elements’ included in chapter one, but let’s just say I was thankful the book is a fantasy. The reviews described it as ‘gritty’. I suppose the author forgot to wash the dirt off the death-pepper first.

I read the reviews. There was obviously some of the same kind of thinking going on–the same appeal–as with the tongue-numbing hot sauce. Some reviewers called the book a ‘non-stop thrill ride’. Others praised the ‘guts’ of the author (and, by association, their own courage as readers) for not shying away from unpleasant realities. Some addressed the naysayers, referring to those who criticized the work as wimps who would obviously rather read about fluffy bunnies. We should all ‘get over it’.

Okay, I get it. And I’m not saying that I don’t enjoy a little grit (especially in the literary equivalent of an excellent clam chowder). For example, at the moment I’m reading the latest Stephen King novel, __________, which I classify as fantasy. It’s a wonderful mix of flavors and textures–dark and decadent, light and refreshing, saltwater-tangy, sometimes even a little fruity–and, yes, the grit is definitely there. But the Scorpion-pepper? Well, I don’t know yet. I haven’t finished it.

I have decided I really can’t handle death-pepper books. My imagination blanks out, my eyes get stuck in permanent roll as the gritty author tries to shock me with escalating graphic violence and degradation (aka ‘smut’), and I end up doing the reader-equivalent of drinking a big glass of milk: I abandon the ‘gritty’ book and re-read one of my old favorites like James Herriot or Richard Adams (Watership Down was one of the best literary meals I have ever enjoyed). I might even feel compelled to go up to my loft and write, which, for me, is the equivalent of a big ol’ slug of ‘Maalox for the mind’. In Alterra, I get to cook.

I acknowledge the appeal of death-pepper books. I can visualize a bunch of rugged, Carhart-clad guys slouching in the corner booth at their favorite chili parlor re-living past glories. Yeah. That stuff in Fort Worth was pretty bad–had m’gall bladder out next day. Yeah. Those rape scenes involvin’ the explodin’octopus weren’t so bad, though. I’ve read worse. Yeah…the one with the (censored)…now THAT was gritty. I had to watch four hours of Winnie the Pooh afterwards.

They’re just not for me.

One of my aforementioned favorite authors loves to throw chapters of unmitigated grossness in an otherwise gripping story–it’s become almost a game for me to guess what and where–will it be roaches? Maggots? Horrible, mutant rats? I know there’s gonna be slime and other forms of mutant mucous somewhere. Oh, well…nobody’s perfect. And of course there’s the obligatory ‘sex chapter’…well, can’t have realism without it, I suppose. I still love the author. His books are a real festival of flavors.

Some books are like dessert-carts. Delicious at first, but too sweet. Variety of flavors, but nearly all in the same family. Some books are like boxed mac n’ cheese. They are all the same, are predictable, and sell by the millions. I will eat, er, read both, depending on my mood, but what I really want is a unique combination of flavors, textures, and images that will delight my ‘palate’, keep me involved from first course to last, and perhaps even leave me thinking about it for a long time afterward. (And, no, I am not going to draw the analogy of onions ‘repeating’ for hours after one eats them, nor will I remind readers that eating a whole banana just before departing on a hundred-mile horse race is NOT a good idea. That’s not the kind of ‘afterthought’ I was referring to.)