Merry Farmer's Blog, page 14

G is for Goodreads

Not gonna lie. As an author, Goodreads scares me. Sure, it’s a fantastic site for readers, and I love it as a way to keep track of the books I’ve read and what I think of them. I adore their yearly book challenge, where you set a goal for yourself about how many books you’re hoping to read during the year, and then it keeps track of that for you. But when it comes to reviews and the freedom that readers and reviewers have to talk about books and authors, I quiver in my boots.

Now, let me quickly stress that that doesn’t mean I disagree with the freedoms that readers and reviewers have there or that I think they’re horrible or mean or anything. Not at all. Quite the contrary, actually. I think Goodreads is a great place for people to get out there and say what they really think. There’s a place for that. At the same time, I shudder to think what people might be saying about me. That’s why I don’t read my reviews anymore.

Goodreads is the ultimate book cocktail party where someone put just a little too much of the good stuff in the punch. Because it doesn’t get policed and reviews aren’t taken down if they cross the line. So it’s like a raging party. Some people can handle their alcohol superbly, and it makes them incredibly fun to be around. Some people do not mix well with that kind of freedom, and it goes to their heads, starting painful downward spirals.

And I’m not just talking about reviewers here.

Take the sad tale of the sci-fi/fantasy writer about two or three weeks ago who went off the deep end over a 1-star review that was left on his book. The reviewer was just a reviewer. She didn’t like the book. She reviewed it with her one star and stated the reasons she didn’t like it. So far, so good. I have some 1-star reviews that are far less kind than the one she left. We all do. It’s part of the job of writing.

Unfortunately, this author broke the cardinal rule of reviews from an author’s point of view. He responded.

Cardinal Rule of Getting Reviewed: NEVER RESPOND

*sigh* Someone failed to tell this poor guy the rule. Not only did he respond, he launched an all-out battle with this reviewer. I’ll spare you the gory details, but this author had a meltdown of epic proportions.

Not just a little meltdown, mind you. In going to war over one tiny review, one person’s opinion expressed on Goodreads, he ended up going viral, getting splashed across the internet, his story swapped by a lot of the writers and readers I know as a cautionary tale of why you never respond to reviews, and, lo and behold, getting hundreds of new 1-star reviews because of his bad behavior. And I seriously wonder if his career will be able to survive the onslaught.

The saddest note of all is that one of my author friends pointed out that over on Amazon, the exact same book has quite a few good reviews, and it might actually be a good book. But the world will never know, because this reactionary author engaged a Goodreads reviewer when he should have just taken a walk around the block and shaken it off.

Yep. Goodreads is a scary place for authors. Because it has power. It’s an important venue for readers to voice their opinions the same way they would if they were hanging out with friends. It’s absolutely vital for that open exchange of ideas to have a home…just as it’s vital for authors to respect what goes on there.

I actually really like Goodreads. I do giveaways there (here’s a link to one if you want to throw your hat in the ring!) and I keep track of my reading habits there. Heck, I think this blog post even feeds over to my Goodreads author page. But at the end of the day, Goodreads is for READERS, not for we humble authors. So thanks for taking care of the place for us!

Excerpt Wednesday – Trail of Redemption – First Kiss

It’s time for another juicy excerpt today, since it’s Wednesday. And you know, I’m in the mood for a yummy first kiss. So here’s how it all happened for Graham and Estelle in my next release, Trail of Redemption….

“It’s all right,” Estelle reassured Tim as she lifted him into the back of Graham’s wagon. “There you go.”

She was already soaked to the bone. The rain pounded from the sky with a fury that they hadn’t yet seen on the prairie. Her dress clung to her, and rivulets ran down her face. She thanked them for cooling her otherwise blush-hot cheeks. Between Isaiah’s commands and Graham’s rescue, so many conflicting emotions filled her that she felt as helpless as the prairie grass in the storm.

“Can you get up on your own?” Graham asked, having to shout to be heard above the din of the rain. He leaned his back against the open tailgate of the wagon, ready to hoist himself up. Frustration darkened his expression. He wanted to help her, but he couldn’t.

“I can,” she replied. He would have helped her if he could, that was all that mattered.

She turned to mimic his position, hefting her backside onto the tailgate. The supply wagon was directly behind them, and just before she pivoted to retreat into Graham’s wagon, Estelle caught sight of Isaiah climbing inside. His face was a mask of anger, and the look he sent her right before pulling the edge of the canvas closed to block out the rain made Estelle’s blood run cold.

She turned away, scrambling deeper into Graham’s wagon to escape that look, that demand. It terrified her more than the storm.

“Help me,” Graham began, scooting closer to her. He had flipped up the wagon’s tailgate and pulled the canvas closed, but now that he was seated, he wasn’t going to be able to get up easily.

Estelle tossed her fear aside and scrambled to the back of the wagon. The wind was merciless as it pulled at the canvas. She had to fight to muscle the back flap into place, blocking out both wind and rain. Graham managed to balance against a trunk, lifting to his knees enough to assist her. As soon as Estelle was certain he had the back flap in hand, she climbed through the crowded wagon to secure the front of the canvas. She passed Tim—huddled between two crates, hugging himself into a ball—as she did.

The storm continued to rage once the canvas was secure, and as soon as they had closed up all the gaps, Estelle’s body relaxed. She flopped to sit in the center of the wagon bed, catching her breath. Graham scooted his way over to her. They sat side-by-side, panting and wiping rain off of their faces. With the wind still howling and rain drumming against the canvas above them, soaking it through, Estelle was well aware that the sense of safety was an illusion, but she clung to it anyhow.

“We made it,” Graham panted, breaking into a hesitant smile. “Now all we have to do is wait it—”

A crash of lightning and thunder sounded so close to their wagon that Estelle felt an electric jolt. She jumped toward Graham, reaching for him.

Graham closed his arms around her without hesitation, pulling her close. They were soaked to the bone, chilled, and frightened, but the sudden clasp of body to body felt so right that all tension drained from Estelle. She breathed in the rich, damp scent of Graham, pressed her fingertips into the wet fabric of his shirt to feel the firmness of his muscle. Her face was mere inches from his, and when she lifted her chin to check on him, their mouths brushed close. So close that she could almost taste him.

So close. So warm. So safe. She couldn’t help herself. With a surge that started in the pit of her stomach and lifted her up, she pressed into him, bringing her mouth over his. The tender touch of lips and the whisper of her tongue against him sent deep cords of wanting through her. She tightened her grip on him, closing her eyes and pouring her soul into that kiss.

Moments later, his arms circled further around her, hands spreading across her back. Graham lifted her across his lap, turning her so that he could kiss her more thoroughly. A deep groan rose from his lungs as he held her closer. One sudden kiss had opened the floodgates, and like the storm that raged around them, they couldn’t stop. His kiss was powerful, demanding, drawing passion up from the depths of her soul. She opened to him, moaning in delight at the thrust of his tongue, aching with the need to draw him inside of her in so many ways. His hand slipped to cup her breast, which only increased the fervor of her kiss. She wanted this man in her arms, she wanted Graham, more than anything she’d ever known.

Another flash of lightning and thunder burst so close to them that Estelle’s cries of pleasure turned into a frightened gasp. Hers wasn’t the only shout of fear. She and Graham both stiffened in shock as they remembered Tim was huddled there in the wagon with them. Estelle shifted from her position clasped tightly in Graham’s arms to reach for him.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” she told Tim, breathless with passion still. “Come to me.”

Tim launched out of his hiding place and pressed himself into Estelle’s arms. Just like that, the rage of passion that had carried Estelle and Graham away without warning had become something more. Tim shook with terror as Estelle and Graham both closed their arms around him and each other. He buried his face against Estelle’s chest.

Estelle met Graham’s eyes over Tim’s trembling form. The desire was still there, burning strong, calling to her, but with it was regret and sharp frustration.

 

Oh yeah, you can pre-order Trail of Redemption at iBooks and Barnes & Noble right now! Click on over to reserve your copy today!

Changes Afoot at Amazon

I’m not sure that I would usually write about this here, but since a lot of my writer friends are experiencing varying degrees of panic or euphoria about the email Amazon sent out regarding the new way they’re going to do payouts for their KDP Select program, specifically for Kindle Unlimited (KU), I thought I’d take a second to share my thoughts. And my thoughts are good, happy, positive thoughts.

Because it’s clear as day to me that these changes are intended to curb the tide of “dino porn” shorts, which routinely suck up far, far more of the KU funds than they have any right to. Although, yes, this does have consquences for people who write serials (which I’m about to do later this summer) and for authors when the reader doesn’t finish the entire book.

Here’s what Amazon said:

We’re always looking at ways to make our programs even better, and we’ve received lots of great feedback on how to improve the way we pay KDP authors for books in Kindle Unlimited. One particular piece of feedback we’ve heard consistently from authors is that paying the same for all books regardless of length may not provide a strong enough alignment between the interests of authors and readers. We agree. With this in mind, we’re pleased to announce that beginning on July 1, the KDP Select Global Fund will be paid out based on the number of pages KU and KOLL customers read.

As with our current approach, we’ll continue to offer a global fund for each month. Under this new model, the amount an author earns will be determined by their share of total pages read rather than their share of total qualified borrows. …

(And then they give some examples)

We think this is a solid step forward and better aligns the interests of readers and authors. Our goal, as always, is to build a service that rewards authors for their valuable work, attracts more readers and encourages them to read more and more often. ….

Okay. Some of the authors I know responded to this initiative with panic. The way they see it, Amazon is punishing authors of shorter works—serials, novellas, short stories. There is also some question about whether this could spell doom and gloom for authors of longer works if a reader doesn’t actually finish the book.

On the one hand, yes, this could cut into the profit of serial writers. I’m going to be publishing a serial later this summer myself, and this kind of makes me go “Oh, guess that’s not going to look like I thought it would look.” But I’m cool with that, because the serial was mostly a way I was going to entertain myself anyhow. And the whole earning a royalty that is higher than the retail price of the book thing was not going to last forever anyhow.

This also might seem scary if you suspect people are borrowing your books but not finishing them. But then, if they aren’t finishing them, that says something right there. I predict the rate of on-finished book payouts will be equivalent to the rate of returns that we see on our books. Because those returned books happen.

Not gonna lie. I downloaded it, read it, giggle-snorted a lot over it… I don’t want to be lumped in the same category or compete with it

Now, the reason I personally think this is GREAT is because it will stop all those people who are churning out unedited, 15 page, “dino porn” shorts from taking over the market and pulling away funds from serious writers who are attempting to write “for real.” I hope that this will deter hacks from throwing those things up all the time because it’s no longer free money. That would mean that the amount more serious writers take home each month would increase.

But here’s the other thing, my final thought, if you would. Everybody likes to hate on Amazon like they’re the Evil Empire. Like they sit around in board rooms thinking of ways to screw up the lives of indie authors who are trying to make a living like this. Nah. That doesn’t float with me. Amazon is a company. They are a distributor. They have their producers (that’s us) and their consumers (that’s readers), and it’s in their best interest to keep everyone happy.

Furthermore, Amazon wants to lure as many writers as possible into their KDP Select program. But you don’t do that by making it a miserable deal for writers. They have to maintain some sort of very attractive incentive for authors to want to join their program. Apple keeps making leaps and bounds to draw authors out of Select, so it’s not like there’s no other alternative. So my theory is that this will actually look better for our bottom lines once we see these changes in action.

And that’s what I think.

Excerpt Wednesday – Trail of Redemption

Welcome to Excerpt Wednesday! I may be slacking on writing blog posts these days, but I always love sharing a little bit of what’s coming up next with you. I’m hard at work on the sixth book in the Hot on the Trail series, Trail of Redemption. Here’s a little of what it’s shaping up to be….

“If you’ve fixed your plate, you can come over here and sit next to me, Miss Estelle,” Lyle offered as Estelle piled a plate with food for herself. All of the women of the wagon train had truly outdone themselves for this lunch, not just her.

“Thank you, Lyle,” she said, but hesitated. Graham had found a spot for himself in the same circle where Lyle sat, but at the other end, next to Ruth and her husband. There was a free seat on his other side, but given the temptation that swirled around them….

“Or you could take this chair,” one of the single farmers, Estelle thought his name was Rich, offered. He stood, revealing a modest chair with a cushioned seat.

Graham sat a little straighter as he ate the fried chicken leg that Ruth had put on his plate. If Estelle wasn’t mistaken, a spark of jealousy flashed in his eyes. She smiled at the look, the protective way Graham frowned at Rich. She had never been one to play the coy debutante, but it was nice to know he cared.

“All you boys had better simmer down.” Josephine stepped up to Estelle’s side, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Ripley here is a woman, not another treat from the table. Save your salivating for your supper.”

Estelle burst into embarrassed giggles. “It’s fine, Miss Josephine, really.”

Josephine turned to her, an eyebrow raised. “I said I’d find you a husband before we reached the end or the trail, and I mean it,” the older woman whispered, cheeks rosy with mirth. “Now, you want to sit next to Lt. Tremaine, don’t you? I’ll square it all away.”

Estelle ignored her meddling and turned the tables on her. “Where has Mr. Evans gone anyhow? I bet he could use a companion for lunch.”

Josephine laughed at the teasing, but Estelle was sure she blushed deeper. “All right, then. We’ll save the match-making for another day. Why don’t you and I sit together instead.”

“Sounds just fine.”

The two of them made for a bench that someone had loaned for the supper and sat. It just so happened that the bench was next to Graham, however, and Josephine switched places with Estelle at the last minute so that she ended up only a few feet away from him. There were plenty of other pioneers to keep them company, however.

“Miss Estelle, I just wanted to come over here to compliment you on the fine savory pies you baked,” Isaiah said, strolling boldly up to Estelle and Josephine’s bench. “They reminded me of my childhood.”

Estelle smiled in thanks, but her throat squeezed too tightly for words. His childhood? Was he being honest or was his compliment a thinly-veiled threat?

A few of the other pioneers eating near them fixed Isaiah with disapproving looks, as if having a former slave in their midst upset their digestion. Those looks, the implication of what it would mean if they turned on her, banished Estelle’s appetite.

“Come have a seat next to me, Mr. Jones?” Josephine invited Isaiah. She scooted closer to Estelle and patted the bench next to her. It was a bold move, and one that Estelle would have appreciated under any other circumstances. “Mr. Jones and I met the other day,” Josephine went on. “I’ve been active in the Philadelphia Abolitionist Society for years. Tell me again about your plans out West, Mr. Jones.”

“Well, ma’am, I’ve heard that Oregon is a sure bet for anyone intending to go into the lumber business,” Isaiah began.

He went on to tell Estelle and Josephine—and everyone else who couldn’t help but listen, startled that a former slave could even think to own his own business—all there was to know about the burgeoning lumber industry in Oregon. Estelle hung on his every word not out of any interest in trees, but for any stray hints Isaiah might let slip that he knew who and what she was.

“Is the infrastructure in place for the lumber to be shipped out by rail?” Graham asked at length.

His entry into the conversation added a new layer of worry to Estelle’s mind. If Graham and Isaiah were to start talking, as friends or rivals….

“Whatever rails aren’t there already are in the process of being built,” Isaiah said with a nod. “Mark my words, there won’t be many more trail journeys like this one. Any year now, the railroad will reach from East to West, connecting this great land. Once it does, those of us who were smart enough to dash out West and set ourselves up will be sitting pretty.”

“All of us?” Ruth asked, a doubtful eyebrow raised. The sneer she gave Isaiah turned Estelle off, but the knowing look Isaiah shot to Estelle kept her from rushing to his defense.

“All of us,” Isaiah answered with a confident nod.

“I hope so,” Graham added. His shoulders slumped, and he looked past his plate to the space where his leg should have been, then across to Mr. Nelson.

“Well, most of us,” Isaiah said, quieter this time, and with a sideways smirk at Graham’s missing leg.

“Watch me prove you wrong,” Graham murmured in return. He met Mr. Nelson’s curious glance with a confident nod.

 

Oh yeah, you can pre-order Trail of Redemption at iBooks and Barnes & Noble right now! Click on over to reserve your copy today!

F is for Fair Use

I took this picture of my angelic cat, Butterfly, so I can use it without worrying I’ll get in trouble!

So. I wanted to take this F opportunity to talk to you today about Fair Use. That’s the legal term used to squeeze a whole lot of image sharing that we do on social media into a justification of why we’re allowed to use it even though we don’t own those images. Yeah. We all share those memes and pictures and stuff. We know we do.

I wanted to write a blog post about Fair Use, but the more I researched it, the more I realized I was in way, way over my not-so-technically-inclined head. Because using and sharing images is a great, big, giant can of worms.

Here are the facts. Usage of images found online boils down to these four points, as stated in the U.S. Copyright Law of 1976, §107:

Notwithstanding the provisions of section 106, the fair use of a copyrighted work, including such use by reproduction in copies or phonorecords or by any other means specified by that section, for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching (including multiple copies for classroom use), scholarship, or research, is not an infringement of copyright. In determining whether the use made of a work in any particular case is a fair use the factors to be considered shall include-

(1) the purpose and character of the use, including whether such use is of a commercial nature or is for nonprofit educational purposes;

(2) the nature of the copyrighted work;

(3) the amount and substantiality of the portion used in relation to the copyrighted work as a whole; and

(4) the effect of the use upon the potential market for or value of the copyrighted work.

Confused? Yeah, so am I. Because it seems to me that there’s some weird areas of wiggle-room in here when it comes to justifying using someone else’s image in your own stuff.

I did, however, find this awesome article on Dear Author about the Principle of Fair Use and Image Use for Bloggers. They break it down far better than I could, so I’m going to hand this one off to them and he articles they link to.

But what does this all mean right here and right now?

First, you’re never going to find me using any images that I didn’t buy or take from a source that allows sharing, and I’m going to attribute them. Second, since I get a lot of the images that I post on my Facebook page from Pinterest, I’m going to be checking to make sure they have share links embedded on the Pinterest image page. Why? Because as the argument stands right now, those share links signify intent to have the image shared on Facebook, so if I share it, I’m using the image as intended. And third, I am never, ever, EVER going to use an image for a cover or promotional materials without double and triple checking my ability to use it.

So what do you think of this insanely complicated and slightly scary issue? How do you use images you find online?

Excerpt Wednesday – Trail of Redemption, A First Look

It’s Wednesday! And that means it’s time to take a look into what’s next on my publishing plate. Here’s a great snippet from the sixth Hot on the Trail book that will give you a good idea of what awaits on the trail for the folks going West with Pete Evans as trail boss on the Oregon Trail. Especially Estelle and Graham in Trail of Redemption….

Once she was settled, Estelle checked over her shoulder on Graham. Pete was helping him guide his oxen into place behind Estelle’s supply wagon. In fact, Pete was doing most of the work from atop his horse while Graham limped and struggled to keep up with the slow pace. Estelle bit her lip, wondering if there was anything she could do to make the journey easier for Graham. Of all people, he should be riding in his wagon. But instead, he was doing his best to walk just like everyone else. It was a huge effort, and she found herself smiling with pride in him.

Graham looked up at just that moment and caught her smile. He stumbled slightly, but focused and kept on going, returning her smile with one that lasted for only a heartbeat before flickering back to concentration.

“Why is he trying to walk on his own?”

Estelle blinked and turned to find the black man walking on the other side of the oxen. He was tall enough to be seen over the oxen’s backs.

He must have noticed Estelle’s wary expression. He smiled and said, “The name’s Isaiah Jones. Pete didn’t have a chance to introduce us, since I was held up and only just got here.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones,” Estelle greeted him cautiously.

“A wounded soldier has no business walking like that,” Isaiah went on. “He should drive. Or better still, have someone else drive him. The train would be much more suitable.”

“He’s taking a wagon of his sister’s thing to her in Denver.” Estelle felt the need to explain, to defend Graham. “He didn’t want to take the train because it doesn’t go all the way.”

Isaiah shook his head. “Seems a might foolish to me. Could be an inconvenience for us in the crew if he needs help.” He spoke loud enough for Graham to hear, if he was paying attention.

“I don’t mind helping,” Estelle said, also loud enough to be heard.

“Oh! Oh, look out!”

A half-naked child who couldn’t have been more than three zipped toward Estelle, Olivia and the woman she’d heard introduce herself as Lucy Haskell chasing after him. Lucy reached for him, but it was Olivia who caught him and snatched him up. The boy giggled and squirmed, but Olivia held him fast. The brief chase left Olivia and Lucy walking beside Estelle and the supply wagon. Isaiah sped up to keep Lucy’s wagon in like. She hardly seemed to notice.

“That was a good catch,” Lucy said, laughing. “You’re an angel for helping to take care of those children, Olivia. I’ve had my eye on them since we arrived here yesterday, and they’re a great big handful.”

The squirming boy threw his arms around Olivia’s neck and squeezed.

“They’re not so bad,” Olivia said. She looked past Lucy to Estelle. “I’m Olivia Walters.”

“Oh, and I’m Lucy Haskell,” Lucy added. She extended a hand. “My father is Howard Haskell, of Wyoming.”

Estelle was so startled that she was slow to react. “I’m Estelle Ripley,” she managed at last,  with a smile for Lucy and a nod for Olivia. “I’m part of the wagon train’s crew.”

“How lovely,” Olivia smiled, kissing the naked boy’s head.

“You ladies might want to move out of the way,” a harried voice called from behind them.

Estelle and the others turned in time to see Josephine Lewis drawing closer to them, her wagon out of line and her oxen wide-eyed. They were as close as oxen came to running. Lucy squealed. The boy in Olivia’s arms managed to wriggle free, jump down, and run ahead. Olivia would have followed him, but Josephine’s wagon came rushing up, blocking her.

“Where are the brakes on these things?” Josephine shouted.

“Whoa. Whoa there.” Estelle broke away from her own, sedate oxen to reach out for Josephine’s. She managed to come up beside the pair, holding the goad in front of them and slowing them with soft words and an easy touch, as Pete’s assistants had showed her. “It’s all right.”

The oxen responded to her by huffing and slowing to their usual plod, only now, Josephine’s wagon rolled on to the side of Estelle’s and Lucy’s.

Josephine laughed. “Not ten minutes out of Independence, and already I’m having an adventure. My family would say that’s typical, I’m sure.”

“You have adventures?” Lucy piped up, skipping across from the front of Estelle’s wagon to walk beside Josephine’s. “You’ll have to tell me all about them. I’m Lucy Haskell, by the way. My father is Howard Haskell, of Wyoming. I’m going home. I hope we have a whole bushel of adventures on this journey.”

Estelle’s lips twitched into a grin as Lucy found a new target for her enthusiasm.

“I’m going home,” Lucy went on. “I was born out West, if you can believe it, but I haven’t been home for years. I can’t wait. I haven’t asked yet where Estelle and Olivia are going, but I’d like to know. Where is the trail taking you, Miss Josephine? Why are you here?”

“Gracious, child,” Josephine exclaimed, shaking her head. “You’ve got enough words in there for three young women, don’t you?”

Lucy laughed. “Papa always said I talk too much, but I can’t help it. I’ve got things to say, and besides that, there are so many questions to ask.”

“Well.” Josephine arched a brow. “If you must know, I’m heading out to live with my niece in Denver. She came through this year and married some fellow on the trail after my nephew, her brother, and his family died.”

“Oh dear,” Lucy gasped. “What happened? Did they get sick? Was it Indians? I certainly hope we don’t die.”

Estelle chuckled, but her patience was beginning to rub a little thin. “Mr. Tremaine back there is heading to Denver too,” she said, turning back and waiting for the other wagons to catch up.

“Oh?” Josephine twisted in her driver’s seat to get a glimpse of Graham behind them. “The soldier?”

Graham looked up at that minute. His glance flickered between the ladies—all of whom were now staring at him—before settling on Estelle with a smile. At least he was smiling. She shouldn’t have brought all the attention on him.

 

Oh yeah, you can pre-order Trail of Redemption at iBooks and Barnes & Noble right now! Click on over to reserve your copy today!

E is for Everybody

(Writing is) Berry Hard Work, by JD Hancock, courtesy of Flickr

I love self-publishing. Obviously. Sometimes I think we all need to take a moment to step back and truly appreciate what this amazing revolution in the publishing process and therefore the publishing industry has done for writers. I’ve been writing since I was ten, and part of me always knew that I wanted to make a living as a writer (I’m gonna be a writer when I grow up!), but when I stuck a toe into the interesting world of submitting my books traditionally, I did not think the water was fine.

From that very first, half-hearted effort, I did not like the way the submissions process for traditional publishing worked. It just rubbed me the wrong way. The hierarchy involved and the number of hoops a poor writer had to jump through to get a book published left me cold. So when I heard about this new and amazing self-publishing thing back in 2010, I knew it was for me.

And the rest is history, as they say. I’ve worked hard—VERY hard—written a lot of books, reinvested my money in better and better cover designers, editors, and now a publicist. I put a lot of heart into improving my craft and networking with fellow authors. And I definitely put my money back into my career, both in terms of marketing and traveling to book and industry events. I work. And then I work some more. As I recently said to someone who asked me to do something for them which would have taken up lots of time, I have to work in order to keep working.

Yes, E is for Everybody. Everybody can self-publish these days. And that’s wonderful and amazing! Everybody can be the author that they’ve always wanted to be. Everybody has access to the tools and the means of production. Everybody who has ever wanted to reach for that dream of being an author can do it now, whether they want to stick with the tried and true traditional publishing process or whether they, like me, feel so much more comfortable with the DIY approach. It is a blessed and wonderful thing that everybody can do this.

Except that not everybody can do this.

I started publishing almost four years ago. Like I said, I’ve worked very hard at it. I’ve spent a lot of money in the process. ($12,000 reinvested in my writing career last year alone—no joke) I’ve published 21 books, finished the first draft of #22 yesterday, and am working on various stages of outlining #23 through #27. I do this as a full-time job now, and I treat it as such.

Yeah, some of these reader/writer conventions I go to are really hard work! I mean, you run into cover models all over the place!

I mention that, because E is also for Entitlement.

I have a good friend who was involved in a bitter argument earlier this week. Fortunately, I’ve avoided being a part of this argument so far. As I understand it, there are self-published writers out there who believe they are entitled to sales, entitled to be a success, because they have written a book and put it out there. Evidently, these misguided souls believe that they are entitled to have readers disregard poor (or non-existent) editing and slap-dash covers. They lament that they can’t afford to market their book, and therefore it is the duty of their friends and family to purchase their book in order to give it a boost in the rankings. Also to give it glowing, 5-star reviews. If I’m relaying the argument my friend found herself in correctly, this segment of authors believes they are entitled to crowd support and a degree of success because they were brave enough to publish.

Well, I agree that these folks deserve a sincere round of applause for writing an entire book and then having the courage and boldness to publish that work for the world to see. Huzzah, guys! That’s a major milestone! But to assume that phase one of hard work should be supported, by right, without putting in phases 2 through 500 of the rest of the hard work of being an author? No, I can’t get behind that.

In life, not just in publishing, nobody is entitled to anything. Entitlement is one of the biggest problems in our culture right now. Sure, Everyone can publish a book, but Everyone is not *entitled* to be a success. Success is and always has been a result of painstakingly hard work (or astounding luck). Jumping the first hurdle of a long, long race is not winning the race. Even our Declaration of Independence says it—that we’re entitled to the *pursuit* of life, liberty, and happiness, not that we’re entitled to get it automatically.

And that’s fine. I actually feel like the greater part of the joy of this career is not in the successes I’ve had, but in the journey to reach for them. I love writing. I’d be writing books even if no one else ever read them. It’s just what I was meant to do. And I enjoy the chase of marketing and looking for more and better ways to make sales and gain life-long readers and fans. I don’t feel like I’m entitled to any of it, but I sincerely hope that it will come as the result of constant, consistent hard work.

And that’s how I feel about that.

D is for Dreams

Clouds in the evening by Marlis Börger via Flickr

Every time I hear someone talk about how they don’t remember their dreams, it baffles me. I dream and remember my dreams all the time. And believe me, I have some wild ones! As a writer, some of the best ideas for stories I’ve had and some of the most effective fixes for trouble spots in other stories have been inspired by dreams.

I’m a firm believer in the idea that our subconscious is full of brilliant (and not so brilliant) ideas. There are things up there in the untapped realm of our minds that are essential to helping us live. I am reasonably certain that one of the reasons I’m not more insane than I am is because I’ve dealt with a lot of the crap that’s happened in my life through dreams. I’ve had some incredibly insightful dreams full of imagery that has helped me to make sense of my state of mind at any given point.

Ah, dream imagery! You can find a thousand different interpretations about what certain things in dreams mean: a fear of falling, losing your teeth, being caught naked in public. There are experts out there who will rush to tell you the meaning of it all based on the things you dream about.

For me, trains are always good
Steam Train at Weybourne in Motion by Roger Blackwell via Flickr

Don’t listen to them. I am reasonably certain that dream imagery is personal. What means something to you probably doesn’t mean the same thing to someone else. Like me and trains. I know that when I dream about trains, my life is about to change in a positive direction. I used to dream about plane crashes all the time in my childhood and adolescent years, but those dreams were always about not being in control of my life, especially my messed up family situation. I stopped having plane crash dreams suddenly one night after a dream in which my mom told me I didn’t have to get on the plane. Hmm. Strangely enough, I’ve had train dreams ever since then. Funny how the difference between a life that is out of control and heading for a disaster and one that is going someplace positive is simply choosing not to “get on board” with those forces that hurt you.

That’s all very deep and esoteric, but I have dreamed ideas for stories too. In fact, some of my best ideas started out as those peaceful, visual whispers in the predawn hours. I dream more vividly right before waking up in the morning than I do deeper into the night. I don’t know if everyone is that way or just me, but it sure does make it that much easier to remember the important details later.

Remembering the details of dreams is one of the hardest parts of using those dreams as creative fuel or personal therapy. At the same time, I confess that I don’t keep a notebook by my bed to write those things down or anything like that. It might be effective, I’m not sure. Mostly, I wake up thinking about them, and if those dreams are something that can inform or be of use in my writing, I connect those dots right away and run with it.

If you’re a writer and want to see if your dreams can provide the kind of inspiration you’re looking for, I do recommend writing those dream ideas down when it’s most convenient for you. I’m pretty sure that dreams come from the same place as the imagination that makes us writers in the first place. Listening to those whispers is just the beginning of a world of stories.

 

One Night with a Star – Release Day!

Ah ha! So you noticed that I didn’t put anything up for Excerpt Wednesday. That’s because I was saving it all up for today. Yes, today is Release Day for One Night with a Star! Come and join me with Simon and Jenny as they rediscover their passion and decide if love can recover after one beautiful, fateful night….

Chapter One

Jenny Young was not the sort of woman to be held down by a challenge. And few things were more challenging than pulling off a celebrity wedding.

Not that she was actually in charge of the wedding, even though the bride was her best friend, Tasha Pike. The fact that the groom was superstar Spencer Ellis put this wedding way out of Jenny’s organizational league. Sand Dollar Point—the stately Victorian house built on a cliff that overlooked Summerbury Beach in Maine—was crawling with catering staff and assistants to the wedding planners. Plural. The planning staff scrambled to set up the ceremony on the beach below the house, while the caterers handled the reception, which would be on the lawn around the house. Jenny’s job, as she saw it, was to make sure the whole lot of them talked to each other and got things done.

Not an easy task when balancing a six-month old baby on your hip.

“Okay, Daniel, what do we do next?” she cooed to her son, bouncing him to make him laugh. “Do we check on the flowers? Do we? All right, let’s check on the flowers.”

Daniel burbled and waved his arm with the same sort of energy that kept her going, even when she didn’t think she could. She swung him around to her other hip to keep her right arm free, and marched across the lawn and up the stairs to Sand Dollar Point’s south porch to see how the flower arrangements were coming along. As large as it was, there was barely enough space in the house for everyone who needed a workspace to be accommodated, but at least Nancy, the florist, had been happy to work on the wicker table outside.

“How are things going here?” Jenny asked as she and Daniel approached. For Daniel, she added, “Look at all the pretty flowers. Pink and purple and white.”

Nancy paused in her work to smile at Daniel, reaching out to let him grasp her finger with his little pudgy ones.

“He’s such a sweetheart,” Nancy said. “And he looks just like you. Same blond hair, same blue eyes.”

“Say thank you,” Jenny cooed to Daniel, doing her best to keep her smile intact.

Yes, Daniel looked like her. He was her son, surprising though it was. Everyone noted the resemblance when they held or played with Daniel. None of them saw what she saw—that Daniel was actually a carbon copy of his father. He had the same nose, the same shape to his eyes, the same irresistible charm that could draw you in and leave you helpless. Damn Simon Mercer and his empty promises. One night of fun, one night of letting herself be bad, and her life had been changed forever. She’d been a fool to think a movie star like Simon could actually care about her.

If she could, she would push him right back out of her thoughts, like she had for the past year. The problem was, Simon would be there any minute. He was Spencer’s best man, and she was the maid of honor.

“It looks like you have things under control here,” she told Nancy. “Just let me know if you need help carrying those to the tables.”

“You’ve got enough to carry on your own,” Nancy said, making a face at Daniel then patting his head. “Besides, shouldn’t you be changing for the photos?”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of time for that.” She brushed the suggestion off with a wave of her hand. “I want to make sure everything is perfect down here first.”

She turned to head around the porch to the north side, ponytail swinging, kissing Daniel’s head. There had to be something else that needed her attention. The food? No, Blue Elephant was the best caterer in southern Maine, and they had everything under control. Music? Taken care of. Guests? Not there yet. Security? Ha! The place was crawling with gigantic men in black suits.

Jenny sighed. “Looks like you’re mommy’s not going to be able to avoid this for much longer, is she?” she told Daniel in a sing-song voice. “Aunt Tasha is getting married and everything is going to be beautiful and perfect, and Mommy will suck it up and face your daddy with a smile. It’s all going to be okay, isn’t it?”

“Are you expecting him to give you an answer?”

Jenny gasped and twisted to see Tasha poking her head out of the screen door. Her short hair was already done in a dazzling style with jeweled accents that looked like she was crowned with dewdrops, but she wore a robe instead of her dress.

“What are you doing downstairs?” Jenny did her best to distract Tasha from what she’d overheard. “Aren’t the photographers going to be here any minute?”

“That’s why I came down to find you.” Tasha stepped fully out onto the porch. Like everyone else, she was drawn straight to Daniel, her smile wide and excited, arms stretched out to him.

Grateful for a quick rest, Jenny handed Daniel over. “I’m just trying to make sure that everything is perfect for you,” she said. “I’ve got to feel useful somehow.”

“Don’t be silly,” Tasha said in the kind of voice that grown women only used around babies. “You’re the most useful person I know.”

“Am I?” Jenny crossed her arms. “These days it seems like every time I start to get something going, this little angel calls me away, and whatever I’m doing falls apart.”

“Maybe.” Tasha held Daniel closer. He was tired and getting fussy, but some days Aunt Tasha was as good as Mommy. Tasha peeked up at Jenny. “Work still getting you down?”

Jenny sighed and leaned against the porch railing. “It’s kinda hard to be the Closer of the Kennebunks when you have to cancel showings and bail on signings.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Not that I’m complaining.” Jenny held up her hands. “Not with Mom pitching in like a pro to help out. I wouldn’t trade Daniel for the world. God, Tasha, I never knew it was possible to love so much.” Her words caught in her throat as a sudden burst of emotion threatened to make her weepy. Better now than after she put mascara on.

Tasha stepped to Jenny’s side and hugged her. Daniel’s face scrunched into pre-cry tension, so Jenny took him back and cradled him against her shoulder so he could, hopefully, go to sleep.

“You’ve done an amazing job of switching into mom-mode,” Tasha told her.

“Yeah,” Jenny admitted. “I just wish that it wasn’t one mode or the other, Mom or real estate maven.”

“I still think you’re in the wrong career,” Tasha said. “There are plenty of jobs out there where you could kick ass and still take care of Daniel.”

“I should be able to do it where I am,” Jenny mumbled. “If not for….”

Tasha reached out and rubbed her arm. “I know. Extenuating circumstances. At least you didn’t date Simon for thirteen years before getting dumped.”

“I didn’t date him at all. I shouldn’t be so broke up about it,” Jenny insisted. “It’s just that for one minute there, for one awesome minute, I thought I was Cinderella meeting the prince.”

Tasha didn’t say anything. She only hugged Jenny as best she could with Daniel in the way, and kissed Daniel’s head. Then she rocked back and fixed Jenny with a worried look.

“Spence texted me to tell me that he just got off the phone with Simon. Simon will be here any minute.”

Jenny gave her a half-hearted grin. “You two texting each other from across the hall?”

“The groom can’t see the bride before the dress reveal,” Tasha said, unable to hold back her giddy joy. And why should she? Tasha was the one living the fairy tale. She was the one about to marry a smoking hot movie star who had bought her Sand Dollar Point as a wedding present. “The old traditions don’t say anything about texting though.”

“No, they wouldn’t.” Although they might say something about the bride and groom getting ready at the same house. It was a precautionary measure to avoid unwanted paparazzi. That and the upwards of a dozen security personnel stationed around the house and the beach.

Tasha’s expression shifted back to concern for her friend. “So you think you’re gonna be okay?”

Was she? She hadn’t heard a word from Simon Mercer, not even a peep, for fifteen months and three days. Not when she discovered she was pregnant with his baby, not when she made the surprisingly difficult decision to keep it, and not when Daniel was born. She’d avoided every pre-wedding event she could just so that she wouldn’t have to see him. If she’d had her way, she would go on not seeing him, but that was all about to end.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be okay,” she lied. “Let’s go upstairs and get ready.”

They headed into the house. Even though Spence and Tasha had closed on Sand Dollar Point nine months ago—the last really significant closing Jenny had had—they hadn’t done much redecorating. The old couple who sold them the house had taken a few items of furniture and some of the artwork that had sentimental value, but they were in the process of downsizing. Spence especially had been eager to keep the house as much like it was as possible. In her heart, Jenny was glad about that, but it did feel a lot like she was reliving the most world-changing few days of her life. Only it was October now and had been July then.

“There’s my grandbaby,” Jenny’s mom greeted them when they were halfway down the hall. “Hello there, tiger.”

“Mom. You’re here early.” Jenny managed a genuine smile for her mom. That was another thing she had to be grateful for where Daniel was concerned. After the initial shock of finding out their daughter was pregnant—and who could blame them for that—her mom and dad had stepped up and taken care of her when she really needed it.

“I came to see if they needed a hand setting up,” she said.

Jenny grinned. For years people had been telling her the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Now that she was getting older, she believed them.

“Would you mind taking Daniel while I go upstairs and get changed?” she asked.

“Sure, sweetheart. Although I need to run down to the beach to give this tape to Tasha’s mom.” She lifted her wrist where she wore a role of duct tape like a bracelet. “Do you mind if I let him sleep in his carrier up here for a second?”

“No problem.” Daniel had fallen hard asleep in a matter of seconds. She felt the wonderful, familiar twang in her heart as she stepped into the dining room and transferred him from her shoulder to his carrier on the table. “There are so many people running around here that someone will call me if he wakes up. Seeing as he just fell asleep, I think it’ll be at least half an hour until he moves.”

“I swear I won’t be but three minutes,” her mom said.

“Cara can keep an eye on him,” Tasha said, turning toward the kitchen. “Cara?”

“I can keep an eye on him,” the helper from Blue Elephant piped in. “Go. Get ready.”

Jenny leaned over to give her son one last kiss on his precious little head. True, Simon had turned her inside out in the worst possible way, but she wouldn’t change a moment of it if it meant losing Daniel. As crazy as her life had become, he was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“Now,” she said, stepping back. “Let’s go upstairs and get gorgeous.”

 

Keep reading by buying One Night with a Star now! Available exclusively at Amazon (click here) … at least for now. *wiggles eyebrows*

C is for Crush

Ready? I’m going to admit something really embarrassing here.

I get crushes on guys SUPER easily.

Petyr Baelish/Aiden Gillen? Yep, serious crush

Yep. I always have, and likely I always will. But in my defense, now that I’m older and wiser, I think that my crushes are a brilliant and satisfying way to roll around ideas about character, attraction, and desirability in my mind. A way to pre-form engaging and likable heroes for my novels, if you will. Really concentrating on the things that attracts me to these guys hones my writer’s sense for what makes a great hero.

At least that’s how things are now. It wasn’t always that way, though.

Yeah, I’ll confess. I’ve been a total goober about the way I approach men in the past. I have had crushes, and they haven’t been pretty at all. I remember way, WAY back in third grade—right about the time I started writing, actually—when I had a mega-crush on a boy in my class, Michael G. I tell you, I had stars in my eyes for this boy. Believe it or not, he was my first kiss—at the ripe old age of eight. And it didn’t matter that he kissed me with closed, puckered lips for about a millisecond on a dare, I was hooked. So hooked, in fact, that I wrote a story for a creative writing assignment about a girl who befriended and fell in love with a wasp named Michael G. Okay, now, let’s just set aside the glaring psychological confusion about falling in love with a WASP, especially when I was and am more afraid of wasps than any other creature that walks the earth. The important thing to note here was that that was, in essence, my first romance novel.

The crushes continued all the way through elementary school and into high school and beyond. Of course they did. But I have had the world’s worst luck with men throughout my life. No, you don’t understand, it’s BAD. Real men either leave me or never give me the time of day in the first place. (Or take gross advantage of me, but let’s not go there) Yeah, it’s back to that wasp again, I’m afraid. But celebrity crushes? Ah! They’re perfect in every way.

Real life crush, Mark Coker, founder of Smashwords, who I admire the heck out of for his vision, drive, and all-around nice guy-ness. And, like Petyr Baelish, he might just be pulling all the strings behind the scenes to take over the world!

Here’s the thing about Hollywood boyfriends. They’re perfect. They’re the ideal men. They’re usually handsome and charismatic, and since the odds of actually meeting them are less than the odds of being struck by lightning while being eaten by a shark, they’re safe. I can’t tell you how many celebrities I’ve had taped to my walls or clipped out of magazines to serve as bookmarks. Actually, I almost can, because several years ago, my friend-now-sister-in-law made “Merry’s Book of Men” for me as a Christmas gift. It’s a complete chronicle of all the men I had adored up until that point.

It’s also the seedbed for where I’ve come up with some of my most delicious and compelling characters. Because I don’t generally fall for the typical A-list Hollywood flavor of the day. Oh no. No Chris Hemsworth or Brad Pitt or Bradley Cooper for me (although I do think they’re all attractive). No, I fall hard for Aiden Gillen and Michael Emerson. I love the nerdy guys, the brilliant but shifty characters, the guys who have been wounded and choose to take that pain and do something about it. Vengeance, usually, but not always.

And yes, these are the guys who form the fabric of the heroes I love to write. I love me some flawed heroes who are capable of great darkness but are brought around by great light. Maybe it’s those wasps transformed into eagles by the power of love. Those are the men I love, the characters I write, and the end result of my crushes.

Sure, I’ve been crushed by crushes as much as the next girl (don’t get me started about Dan or Brent, and I could write a LOT about a certain Bill), but at the end of the day, each crush has produced far more good than harm. That’s what crushes are all about, after all. They’re fantasies, larks, daydreams. They are the stuff that dreams are made of.