Rain Trueax's Blog, page 36

CreateSpace

For writers who have not yet opted to create a paperback, I thought my experience with the process might be helpful-- as it benefited me to hear from others what they had learned. I am a huge believer in writers encouraging each other. The pie is not a small one; and if one piece is taken, somebody gets left out. It's a big world; and the more people read, the more they may choose to read-- hence encouraging each other is not diminishing our chances in the writing world-- it is increasing them.

CreateSpace is where we opted to create Arizona Sunset as it's an easy adjunct to Amazon who will then list the book (in our case) along with its Kindle twin. CreateSpace makes it easy to submit a book; and if the writer is not handy with tech issues, they will do the work for a range of prices from $247 for a basic book on up for more complex books. They also offer free templates to create covers if someone isn't into that (That's my department and I am into doing those).

When they get your book, they even look for mistakes. How much better can that get? On the technical end, it's not that difficult to maneuver through their instructions-- or so the more techie savvy Farm Boss assures me... Even though it took him hours and three proofs to get it all figured out (they promptly mail you finished (so you think) proofs for which you pay a reasonable price for the book and shipping).

The beauty of this approach to self-publishing is you aren't stuck, as some of my self-publishing friends have been, with a garage or attic full of books that you cannot sell. CreateSpace doesn't require any outlay or purchase of your own work. Books are only created as they are sold. You set a price for the book that you agree they will be in stores or through Amazon to avoid unfair competition. Your price has to cover CreateSpace charges, Amazon's percentage or the store's if you opt to sell books on consignment-- as well as leaving the writer something.

You have the choice of letting them purchase (and own) your ISBN or doing it yourself and they will use it. For someone like me with a lot of books, the logical approach was buying my own and getting the package of ten because we do plan to bring many of the other books out as paperbacks now that we have figured out the process.

As you look through the options, one will be the size of the book. The length of your book is one factor in that cost. Since my historical is a fairly long book at 128,587 words, we opted for the 5.5"x8.5" which is standard in bookstores but not the smaller and thicker size of many romance covers. Some of these choices will impact the cost of printing your book.  We were aiming for something that looked reasonable for books in bookstores.

For those wishing to do a photo book or maybe art, with a lot of interior images and maybe wanting them to be in color, the cost would go up and accordingly make your book have to cost more to the buyers.  But even then, your original cost would only be proofs and any copies you wished to purchase for gifts or to sell on consignment. Some writers take to shows or stores where they can do book signings and potentially get more sales. I haven't decided yet on consignment sales but definitely do not plan signings or going to shows. I think that works better for a different sort of book than mine.

The beauty if it is, and I know I am repeating it, these books are published on demand; so there is no cost to the creator other than their proofs-- unless they need help putting together that proof.

To me, seeing the proof is essential. Yes, you can see it online without a purchase but it shows up better when it's in paper and you can more easily evaluate how it worked out. If it doesn't look professional, only family or close friends will be buying it and even they won't be happy.

My plan now is that in late November Tucson Moon will come out in Kindle and paperback. It stands alone as a romance but, set three years later, carries forth some of the characters from Arizona Sunset (and yes, whenever I finish the fourth Oregon historical, it's possible there will yet be a further historical about the O'Brian family as there were a couple of possible characters I could see carrying forward.

With nine more ISBN numbers, we plan to bring out some of my contemporaries in paperback. The first of those will be Desert Inferno because its heroine is an O'Brian and the ranch on which she lives gets its start in Tucson Moon. O'Brians are also in the contemporaries Evening Star and Bannister's Way. They were an interesting family with an Oregon branch (all from my imagination, of course).

Finally, I want to add on a personal note that I have so appreciated the help and encouragement from friends in all that has happened since I began bringing out my eBooks but nobody has contributed as much as my publisher, editor and partner in the whole operation. It takes that kind of support, I think, in any creative endeavor; and I sure appreciate his particularly in dealing with the techie end of all this. :)

pitfalls in editing

I suppose if this was just a blog to sell my books, I'd never admit the following. Writers must pretend it is all wonderful, and the books all perfect, right? Not so much.


Of all the things I  have learned in writing my books-- editing is the hard part. And I don't mean it takes more talent to do it or anything like that. Just it's where so much can go wrong. No matter how many times you, the writer, reread what you wrote, things get by you.


The solution some claim is to find a good editor, pay them what they are worth and hence avoid this. It isn't that easy. First of all, a really good professional editor (which doesn't mean you don't have a great friend who can do a great job) will want over a thousand dollars to edit your book.

Seem like too much? It's just what it is as they have to read the work with an eye to detail, and they have to know as much about the craft of writing as you do-- or even more. There are many editors out there who will do it for less, and they are quite capable of totally screwing up your whole work because they don't understand why your dialogue is as it is. They don't know the market any better than you do. They will use Word (which you should have already used) and it not only isn't always right but can put in the wrong words; and correct grammar sometimes can make a sentence unwieldy and unnatural to read. Perfect grammar isn't always what sounds right.

A writer wrote a book recently which I got for free for my Kindle but it is currently $.99. I won't say it had a lot of new info in it but it's about the pitfalls in self-publishing-- [The self-publishing industry in denial ].  Kind of negative but let's face it, there are millions of books out there and how do you get yours seen? What goes wrong when you put it out?

If you pay that pro $1500 to edit your book, for which they will catch all the logical goofs and the mistakes in unwieldy sentences. The pro might also tell you about redundancies (which you could have already gotten if you had done a search for key words). They could tell you when something sounded cliched. If they're really good, they could tell you the plot made no sense at a point where you then have to justify why it did or change it. If you did too much retelling of the same thing, they'd catch it. That's a little of what you get from a top-notch editor.

The bad editor, well you paid them a few hundred dollars or less; they use Word (like you should have done) and maybe catch the use of coffee in one sentence and tea in the next-- or maybe not. But still you have money in it and how much money can you get out of that book once you are selling it? Where does any of that get your book seen by enough readers to get its ratings higher? How does that get great reviews because reviews are as much emotion as perfect grammar?

One way many authors get great reviews is they ask friends, they review friends' books and the symbiotic relationship benefits both for reviews-- which might be truthful depending on the friend. Mostly though people don't like to find fault with their friend's work, and they sure don't want a negative review of theirs; so they overlook the glitches with what they write. The reader comes along, buys the book based on that glowing report, starts to read and recognizes it's not legitimate praise-- hence their own review is sarcastic, negative, and the writer is back where they started with a mix of reviews and the next potential reader unsure what the heck this book is like.

What brought this on for me is my own recent re-edit for the first book I turned into an eBook. I had originally written it maybe more than 20 years back, edited, edited again and thought it was out in fine form. I thought I had corrected any inconsistencies. Here I was, doing it again for its paperback version and........... grrrrrrr

Yes, when I got into it again, I found so many errors of the stupid kind that at first I felt like throwing in the towel on ever writing for publication. The book is still solid. The story is still one in which I believe. I love the characters and the situation into which they are thrown-- but those stupid errors. How could they still be there? If I go into this book again in six months, will I find others? Or do I finally have it in its right form? I honestly cannot say because I do keep improving as a writer but as an editor-- I can only hope.

When I bring out a book, I use grammar and spell check to catch things Word sees as wrong or awkward. When it underlines it and I disagree, I think about it long and hard.  I read the book for logic, to keep the times consistent, characters not doing something right after I said they were doing something else. Word doesn't catch errors of the stupid sort-- only an aware reader can do that.

The most recent read through and editing has made me mad at myself, but it doesn't make me believe a professional editor would have done better for me-- unless I had paid them that $1500 as I actually did some years back on another of my books. I learned a LOT from that professional and felt it was the equivalent of taking a class as I'd get my manuscript back with red-lines and notes. It was worth it for the learning, but if I did this for all my books today, I'd be in hock and never have the profits capable of paying it back.

The truth is if a new author makes say $7000 in a year, they are doing really good. Those like the lady who wrote the million dollar books are rare indeed out in the indie or corporate world. $7000 or so is not a living wage, but it keeps that book out there to be seen, keeps sales coming, and to me it's very successful. It keeps the potential readers coming to them. It's A+ in my book. That isn't what most indie writers probably make. Some make nothing. Others, like me, might make $700 counting all of their sales. Where do you pay for editing any book let alone all of them?

The truth is even the books going out from big publishing houses often have errors because editing is a big expense in an iffy market. They expect the writer to hand them a finished work. The writer thinks they did. I thought I did with this book. Its plot, characters, dialogue, are all good (in my opinion) but the glitches... Argh (a word not in spell check but should be). After doing it so many times I cannot believe I missed these mistakes but clearly I did; and this time I hope I am not missing others. I am reading it for both the beauty of the sentences but also the flow of logic.

What it at first made me feel is-- write don't publish. Writing is rewarding. Realizing I made these kinds of amateurish mistakes, that I thought I was past, that's not so rewarding. But I can't afford to think negatively about this. I do believe in my stories. I have never put out one I didn't like myself and that wasn't a book I'd be happy to buy from someone else.

And for this book. I believe in it still. I fixed the mistakes.  I can make it the best book I can write today. I can make sure there are no inconsistencies or places where it's coffee one moment and tea the next. What I can't do is be sure that in six months, if I look at it critically again, I won't find places I can improve it.

If my creative work is what matters the most to me. If I want to put out the best product I am capable of doing, then I just have to keep at this and not become depressed at the fact that in six months I'll be a better writer.

However, I can see why some writers never publish... I want to publish and so am at least glad that if someone bought one of my books and I have improved it (I have had this happen with the books of others that I have bought), they can download the new version for free. It's the best I can do.

Incidentally if you bought Desert Inferno, go back to your Kindle in say three days (give Amazon a bit of time-- make it four) and ask for the newest edition. It'll be out there and fixed! The story stays the same but those glitches-- they're gone... er uh, in case you find one that isn't-- email me............................


This book will also be out in paperback probably in a month given the time to look over proofs. The heroine of Desert Inferno is a direct descendent of the marshal in Arizona Sunset. He has his own story coming in Tucson Moon-- out in late November.

Arizona Sunset

It seems no matter how often we have put out kindle books, glitches can still happen and that seems to be the case with the current entry into the ePub world. Maybe because of doing a paperback and a Kindle, the Kindle version got screwed-- a bit :(.

Normally when someone goes to the buy page for any of my books, it should offer a free sample to read. It didn't. Weirdly it has always automatically done it but it did not. That's always bad news.

It also indicated it had accepted the map that is in the paperback but it did not-- which may be how it screwed up the free sample. As much as we do this, it seems it's never a slam dunk.

Here's the map that should have been there which was only intended to give readers an idea of the region of that time.


Southern Arizona 1880s
If anyone here has  purchased the eBook and finds it isn't reading right, one good thing about Amazon, they allow you to re-load the corrected version-- which should be up later today.

Meanwhile, this is the sample that should have been offered and will be later today-- we hope:

Tucson, Arizona Territory-- June 1883    She leaned against the wood frame door, arms crossed over her chest, watching dust devils whirling up the street. The faint breeze that had kicked up the spinning spirals did nothing to cool her skin. The sun blazed down with an intensity that seemed to suck the life from all living things. She shifted her gaze to the distant mountains, a hazy purple, their outlines jagged against the intense blue of the sky. Somewhere up there, they said it was cool. She’d have to take their word for it as her world allowed for no such escapes.    In the office behind her, the uneven clicking of Martin Matthew’s typewriter told her he was struggling with the report for her father. Loud voices carried up the street from one of the string of saloons that began at the corner of Congress and Meyer Streets. Apparently, she decided, with a cross between amusement and disapproval, there were a few activities that weren't affected by heat.     A woman’s voice rang out with joy—most likely coming from one of the bawdy establishments north of Congress, the Tenderloin, which no gentle woman was supposed to know existed. As to why it was called by such an odd name she could only speculate because she could never ask anyone apt to know.     Farther away she heard the steady beat of a blacksmith's hammer, a horse's nicker. A heavily loaded wagon lumbered past, accompanied by the clip clop of hooves, muffled curses of the driver, and squeak of the springs. The heat put man and beast in a foul mood… well, except for those in the Tenderloin.    "Abigail, I could use help on this," came Martin's whine. She moved farther onto the boardwalk. Holding her dress away from her skin, she wished for the hundredth time since April that she could wear the loose cotton blouses and skirts of the Mexican women. At this time of day, they would be down along the Santa Cruz, their colorful laundry stretched across bushes to dry while they chattered and enjoyed the shade of big, overhanging cottonwoods.     Changing one’s station in life, however, was not an option. She sighed. A woman was born where she was; and from that time on, important decisions were taken from her control. She either washed clothing along a river bank or she wore clothing ill suited to the climate. Little of it mattered what the woman wanted.     Martin’s complaints penetrated her musings. Why on god’s green earth, not that there was much of that in this land, was it a threat to his manhood for her to dare to go outside for a few moments?     She heard his chair squeak as he rose from it. She waited. “What are you doing out here?” he protested as he squinted at her against the glare of the sun.     "Nothing, Martin. Absolutely nothing."    "You should come inside."    “It’s not cooler inside.”   “Abigail, ladies do not stand on boardwalks.”   “How do you know that?”    When he had no answer for her, his irritation grew and turned his face pinker. It wasn’t as though she should blame him for what he was. He was doing what was written out for him also. She wondered if he thought he was going to be able to grow a full beard and mustache. The scanty effort on his face seemed rather sad. Was he fond of those starched shirts, tidy ties. Perhaps he was as trapped as she. Did he even think of such things?     Despite what she knew had to be a mutual lack of attraction between them, she had begun to believe he was the man her father hoped she would marry whenever he, instead of hinting, got around to doing something about it. Of course, she would be expected to approve the convenient arrangement.    She knew she was not a pretty woman. Beyond marriageable age, she had no prospects to change that. The fact that she wanted no prospects was beside the point. She had spent her twenty-five years obeying her father’s dictates; and with such a opportune marriage, she could continue to take care of him, merely adding a husband and any children that might be immaculately conceived.    She was determined that there would be no marriage-- not to Martin Matthews, nor any demanding, unappreciative male creature. She didn't know how she would escape the trap that had sprung closed on her long deceased mother and, so far as she could tell, the spirits of all women; but she would find a way.    Martin’s eyes reflected nervousness as he glanced down the street and back at her. "I must insist you come into the office.”   "No."   "No?"   She smiled, raising her eyebrows. "No."   He glared. "I cannot accept that, Abigail."   "I don’t see what you can do… other than tell on me."    He opened his mouth like a fish; then shut it. She expected more arguments, but he swung on his heels and headed into the office, the footsteps not stopping at the front desk, but heading for her father's inner sanctum. She almost laughed. He was going to do it. He was going to tell on her.    She turned her gaze to the street where she noticed for the first time men coming out of the Pedrales Bar. They were roughly garbed, laughing, their boisterous voices and crude words carrying on the heavy air.    If she hadn't known that to go into the office now would make Martin believe he had won, she might have ducked inside when she saw several of the men mount their horses and wheel them up the street, a route that would take them past her.    A tall man, garbed in black, strode from the cantina, cast a last laughing comment behind him, and gave a quick running leap to vault into his saddle. The whole movement had been like that of a big cat. She found her attention held by the grace of the man's seat on a large black horse that showed its spirit by rearing up, then settling down under a sure hand on the reins.     In seconds the man had wheeled his horse and was heading up the street at a fast canter. Abigail pressed herself against the wall. She could not explain the mix of emotions-- repulsion and fascination-- in equal parts. She didn’t turn her gaze away even when she saw his head turn toward her. He wouldn't see her, wouldn't notice a mousy woman like her even if he had, but she felt a sudden fear.    A heavy gun belt hung on his hip, slung low. That gun identified him as clearly as her own plain, gray cotton dress and tightly bound hair would identify her. He was a gunman; she was a spinster.    Startled, she saw him wheel his horse to a sudden halt in the street in front of her.  Good Lord. His black shirt was open almost to his waist and she saw through the opening a bare chest. Good god. She should look away but she couldn’t tear her eyes from him. He took his hat from his head, ran a muscular forearm across his forehead as he turned and looked straight at her. No gentleman would have done such a thing; he would’ve pretended not to see her. Not that she had any reason to suspect such a man to be a gentleman.    Their gazes met and then to her shock, he looked her up and down, giving her a clear view of an angular face. Beneath his bold stroke of a mustache and heavy beard, she could not tell if he was smiling. She sensed for one wild moment that he was considering coming toward her, saying something, but he settled his hat onto his head and kicked his horse into a gallop, leaving a cloud of dust and hundreds of tiny dust devils in his wake.    In moments he was at the head of the other men. Like the pack of wolves they resembled, they raced, yelping for the outskirts of town, woe unto the human or beast in their way. She watched until the desert haze swallowed every sign that they had passed. Only then did she go into the office.    "It's about time," Martin snapped, his expression disapproving. "Don't you consider the consequences of your actions? Didn't it occur to you men like those could kidnap a woman, carry her off into the desert, and she'd never be seen or heard from again?"    Abigail laughed with genuine amusement.  "I think they could do better than me if that was their intent.”    He ignored her logic. “Who would have to save you if you were kidnapped?”     She realized then that he must have seen the men coming from the bar before she, and it explained his own quick retreat inside.    She sighed. “Martin, are you reading dime novels again?"    "Tucson is a dangerous place. There was another killing last night, and I don't read dime novels.”     She smiled and walked to his desk, pulled out a side drawer, and revealed his hidden stash. "Let's see what do we have here? Bat Masterson in Dodge, Sam Bass Races Destiny." Martin, his face flushed, slammed the drawer before she could read more.     "You are no lady," he snapped.     "Oh, I definitely am a lady, Martin," she retorted still smoldering over the limitations that placed on her life. When she saw his hurt expression, she regretted having ridiculed him. The poor little man was caught in his own limited world as much as she was. His books were probably his escape. "I'm sorry, Martin. I shouldn't have made fun of your choice of reading material."    "You're sorry?"    "It was unfair of me."    "I shouldn't have demanded you come inside either. I was officious." His tone told her he had decided to be magnanimous. She wasn’t at all sure that she didn’t prefer him overbearing. For a moment Abigail considered finding something else for which to apologize. It was too hot for such games. Better to leave it that he'd bested her as she turned to her ledgers.    As she struggled with the numbers she was supposed to be organizing and tallying, she found her thoughts going to the gunman who'd stopped and for a single moment had become part of her boring life. She remembered her feeling of fear, something she didn’t experience often. Despite her denial to Martin, she had felt something dangerous swirled around that man. She just was not sure what.    Foolishly she wondered what he had seen when he watched her for those few seconds. Had he seen her as it had seemed? Had he really considered coming toward her as she had momentarily sensed?   Ridiculous thinking. She knew what she was-- a plain woman, one who would be old before her time, would never have lived. She knew her own lack of beauty all too well. Her face was a pleasing enough oval if it had been softer of line, but instead she had prominent cheekbones, a stubborn chin, none of the roundness that was so favored in the great beauties of the time.    Her eyes were brown, not a clear blue or unusual violet, and worst of all was her nose. She sighed. Her nose was not that delicate button that graced her friend Priscilla’s face. Nor did she possess her friend’s delicate, finely tinted porcelain skin. At least for her own darker skin, she could only blame herself. Despite wearing a hat when out horseback riding, it seemed nothing protected her enough to avoid darkened skin.     If she had one characteristic that might be considered beautiful, something a reckless gunfighter might even notice, it would be long, brown hair. She was proud of its thickness, the auburn highlights in the brown, but its very virtues were also its untidy sins. The thick unruliness forced her to wear it pulled into a bun where only intense efforts kept it in a semblance of order.    Abigail had never cared that she had no physical beauty. After all, what difference did it make to be comely when a woman didn’t desire a husband? She had never cared until that gunman had looked at her and she'd wanted, for that one moment, to know that a man had seen her as beautiful.     She drummed her fingers on the desk. What was wrong with her? She had always taken pride in her strength. Although tall for a woman, another mark on the debit side of the ledger, she could work longer and harder than the Priscillas of the world. The hours with her mare had given her a strong body, long lean legs, well-muscled arms. She had a good mind, capable of doing the accounting for her father's Wells Fargo office, leave at five to go home, manage his household, and still help in the evening with a church bazaar. She had all the skills desired in a woman of her station. What did any of them mean?    Interrupting her personal inventory, she realized Martin was talking to her. "What is disturbing you so much?" he asked, obviously not for the first time. He left his desk to hover over hers.    "It's hot."    "Always wickedly hot in June."    Martin sat in the chair in front of her desk. "Why don't you go home early?"    She looked up at him-- surprise, mingled with suspicion. "I have work to finish."    "Which will wait for tomorrow morning, Abigail."    She managed a faint smile. "You're right."    Now it was his turn to show surprise. He recovered and gave her a grin. "Would you consider going with me to Carrillo's Gardens tonight? I think the coolness of the lake might be refreshing. Perhaps the amusements would take your mind from the heat."    What was this about? Martin had never asked her to go anywhere. Although she had guessed her father's intentions regarding him, she'd never been certain as to Martin's own. One invitation didn't give her that answer, but it did mean she had best tread carefully.    "Thank you for the thought," she said with a smile, "but I feel you are right. The heat is bothering me. I don’t feel up to going anywhere tonight."    "Did your father mention I will be there tonight for the repast?"    She remembered. Not difficult to do since Martin dined with them most evenings. She gathered the files she’d been working on and placed them in a stack to deal with in the morning. "I'll see what Serafina has planned."    "Something special, I hope?"    "I wouldn't count on that. You know Serafina."     "Perhaps you might suggest--"   Abigail shook her head. She would never consider finding fault with whatever Serafina prepared even if it was frijoles every night. She herself could boil water for tea and had little interest in doing more. If she offended Serafina, she didn't know where she'd find such a congenial cook. Besides they were finally overcoming the language barrier.  Between her smattering of Spanish and Serafina’s slowly growing English vocabulary, they might someday manage a real conversation.    Martin shrugged as he gave a grimace. "She does fix tasty enchiladas."

Arizona Sunset

Arizona Sunset
What appealed to me about writing this book, set in Arizona Territory 1883, was the way I could relate to the life of Abigail, my heroine. She was trying to do the right thing but feeling trapped by expectations and the conventions of her time. She felt she had no options. And it's not as though she was altogether wrong. Just think about it, that the year my mother was born, 1912, was the first year women in Oregon could vote. Arizona became a state that year but it took fighting for women's right to vote which was won before the year ended. There were cultural constraints on Abigail's life. How does a woman deal with that kind of situation?

Well, she took a risk, a big one. She started off to solve a problem and then ended up with an option which at first seemed temporary but ended up more complex than she had ever dreamed. Freedom comes with a price.

Setting this story in southern Arizona with a great bulk of it in the San Rafael Valley was another plus in the writing. I knew the area well from going there many times over many years. I've always thought I'd love to live there, but it wasn't ever possible. Through my characters I got my chance.
 
Arizona Sunset is available from Amazon for Kindle. 
For the first month the Kindle version will be $3.99 but with October, it'll go to the price I intend for it to stay-- $4.99. Pricing a book is always a tricky issue because you don't want to ask too much, but you also don't want to undersell its value. It's one of those questions with which writers and likely publishers wrestle. I am compromising by having an introductory price. I won't have future sales, as that seems unfair to  buyers who bought it its full price; so if it looks interesting, buy it in September.

For anyone who doesn't have a Kindle, these books can be read on computers and Amazon has a free Kindle app to enable that.

Its paperback is created and available also-- Arizona Sunset. Getting them to coordinate and be there the same day was trickier than it looked. Up until last night I didn't know if it would work but looks good. I will be writing more about CreateSpace and how that works next week as I think they do a great job for the indie writers.


Arizona Sunset has a trailer which is at YouTube (there is a link to a more extended one at the back of the book-- which readers should only view when the book is finished):




The following are a few photos of the region I love so much to share just a bit of why. It is as rugged and beautiful today as it was when my story was set. It wasn't a land ever held by weak people. It still has risks for those who foolishly underestimate it. Danger is part of its beauty and what I hope I have managed to partially capture with my book-- Arizona Sunset





Kindle 
Paperback

a little history

My history with eBooks goes back to December 2011 when, with some trepidation, I brought out the first contemporary romance. Actually it goes back nine months earlier as that's when I began fine tuning books I had written over a lifetime-- plus creating covers. I had ten contemporary romances, the last of which was out the end of June 2012.

Some of those books made it into the top rankings (33, I think was the highest) of western or suspense contemporary romances but that was a lot due to having free days once in awhile. That used to increase Amazon rankings.It took me awhile to get the message that when a book would have say 1500 free takes over two days, then sell maybe 10, it wasn't working out to be a good idea.

Worse, people would tell me that a book looked good-- but they were going to wait for it to be free. I think that worked better for those who had a series of interconnected books where the first book would lead to sales of the others. Mine, although I had some sharing characters, were stand alone books and not series.

Learning as I went, I continually worked to improve covers, extended one book's length when I had to re-title it since the original title (one I liked) led readers to expect erotica-- and it wasn't.  I also wrote a novella to finish out 2012 (Christmas story connected directly to From Here to There), while I continued to debate what to do with my historicals.

One thing I learned from this-- the only free books will go to friends or someone who might review the book. No more thousands at a time. Even if I still thought it was smart, I learned Amazon changed their system of ratings and free books didn't increase rankings-- only sales get your books into the upper echelons where they can be seen by more readers. It might seem writers want sales for the money, but it's important as a way to get rankings where books can be seen in searches.

Free books had another drawback as it began to create a mentality among Kindle readers that all they wanted was free. It's pretty obvious a writer cannot make a living at writing (not that many do) if they don't sell books. Like duh! But worse, you can give away thousands and still find your book disappearing into Amazon's black hole without regular sales. That's just the way the cookie crumbles-- or something like that.

 Original concept to be cover for Sam and Abigail before I found out how disdainfully readers viewed artist painted covers. I still like it a lot-- but reality is a writer has to please the potential reader more than themselves. Readers saw a cover a writer painted as being amateur which meant by that reckoning that the book would be also.
So while I worked on covers that would appeal to readers while staying true to the stories, I debated what to do with the historicals. In January-February 2013, I wrote a second Arizona historical romance which follows Arizona Sunset three years later, some shared characters but a new romance. At that point, I was still undecided on bringing out those or the Oregon historicals due to marketing issues.  Writing is something I will always be doing. I am currently researching the fourth Oregon historical romance. Publishing however, that is a choice-- one I had a hard time making where it came to the historicals.

The dithering is over.  Arizona Sunset comes out August 31 on Kindle and hopefully the same day as a paperback. I added that hopefully because we ran into a small glitch with Amazon-- so much to learn and so little time. Adding to the complications is that work here on the ranch has been incredibly busy not to mention my getting a sinus infection which eventually led to the doctor and a prescription for an antibiotic--generic form of augmentin--which is nearly guaranteed to upset your whole system if it manages to cure the sinus problem.

More about Arizona Sunset tomorrow when it is officially published. The following video is on my motivations behind a book that is dear to my heart for a lot of reasons.

from 'Come Home to Me'

Opening scene from Peggy Henderson's time travel historical romance--  [Come Home to Me]
 “Didn’t I warn you that girl was trouble? Now look at the mess you’re in. First degree murder, Jake. You’re facing the death penalty.”Jake Owens held the phone to his head, staring through the acrylic shield that separated him from the man glaring at him from the other side. He clutched at the phone until his knuckles turned white, and ground his teeth. He leaned forward, his nose almost touching the acrylic.  The bright orange color of the jumpsuit he wore, marking him as a convict, reflected off the clear material.“I only told Mama you got into a little trouble with the law before I flew out here. I sure as hell can’t tell her the truth.”“I didn’t kill anyone, Tom,” Jake said, his tone clipped and harsh. He glared at his brother, his gaze unwavering. At least he didn’t think he’d killed anyone. He couldn’t be absolutely sure, though. “The evidence says otherwise,” Tom said, his face just as hard. “I was at your arraignment yesterday, Jake. I heard what that lawyer said. You killed a clerk while robbing a liquor store.”“And I’m tellin’ you I didn’t do it. That bitch set me up.” Jake’s voice grew loud and adamant, and he stood up from his seat.  He leaned heavily on his right arm, his hand flat on the table, while the other gripped the phone. He wanted to leap through that barrier and wrap his hands around Tom’s neck, choke and shake some sense into him, and make him see the truth. Dammit! His own brother didn’t believe him. But what else was new. “I don’t know how or if I’m gonna be able to raise that bail money, Jake. I know Mama and Daddy would sell the ranch to get you out of here, but I’m not gonna let them lose everything they’ve worked for their entire lives. Just because you had to go running off to the big city, because we weren’t good enough for you anymore.”Jake cursed under his breath. He was tired of this argument. He’d left the family’s ranch in Montana more than six months ago, sick of slaving from morning til night wrangling horses and steers, just so a bunch of city folk could get their jollies and pretend to live in the old west. He wanted out. He didn’t know what he wanted, but of one thing he was certain: his future didn’t include busting his butt on a Montanadude ranch for the rest of his life, catering to rich vacationers pretending to be cowboys. He was twenty-four years old, and even with his college degree in American History, had nothing to show for his life but calloused hands, several broken bones over the years, and a sore back. Surely there had to be another life out there for him, somewhere. “I warned you not to go off with her,” Tom said, his eyes blazing in anger. Jake’s mind snapped back to the present. “But you refused to listen. That’s always been the trouble with you. Chasing skirts and having a good time. When are you gonna grow up and start using that brain in your head rather than the one between your legs?”When that pretty little blonde filly from California had shown up to spend a week riding trail and playing cowgirl, Jake had seen his chance to get away. She was from Los Angeles, a world vastly different than his simple country upbringing in a small Montanaranching community. Sandra. Jake was in lust with her the minute he set eyes on her. All the other hands ogled her, too. She drove him crazy in her tight jeans, and over the course of her weeklong stay on the ranch, fed his desires with wild abandon, and pleasured him in ways he’d never even imagined possible. When she asked him to come with her to the big city, he hadn’t thought twice about it. Finally, he’d found his ticket out of a dull and uneventful life, and Jake seized his chance. Tom, his older brother by four years, tried to talk him out of it when Jake announced he was leaving the ranch for good. He’d stuffed as many belongings as he could fit into his black duffel bag, and hurried out the front door to Sandra waiting in her red Mustang Convertible. His luck had finally shifted. That 300 horsepower car was the only thing remotely reminiscent of an equine he wanted to be associated with from hereon out.Jake remembered his mother standing on the porch, a look of disbelief on her face, the tears shimmering in her eyes. He’d chosen to ignore it. His father’s face was set in a grim line, his disappointment clearly written on his face. He’d turned away and walked back into the house without a single word. Jake steeled his heart. The only one who had physically tried to stop him was Tom. He’d grabbed him by the shirt collar, and bared his teeth at him, a dark scowl on his face.“What are you doing, boy?” he’d said. “You’re killing Mama and Daddy. After all they’ve done for you, suddenly we’re not good enough for you anymore? You’re just gonna up and run away with that --” he’d pointed his finger in the direction of the Mustang – “that city girl who you don’t even know?” Jake could tell his brother wanted to use some choice unflattering words in his description of Sandra, but kept his thoughts to himself. Tom was always the calm and reasonable one, much more restrained and levelheaded.  Jake clenched his jaw.“Time’s up.” Jake flinched at the sound of the warden’s stiff voice behind him. He relaxed his stance, and stood up straight, pushing the chair he’d sat in further back with the heel of his foot. In a way he was glad the conversation with his brother was over.“Your lawyer’s here to see you,” the warden said. “Say your good-byes to your visitor.”“I’ll see what I can do about that bail, Jake,” Tom said into the receiver on his side of the plexiglass.“Sure,” Jake said listlessly. “Gotta go. Tell Mama and Daddy I’m doing fine.” He didn’t wait for a reply, and hung the phone on the receiver. He turned and held his hands out to the warden, who wordlessly clipped the handcuffs around his wrists.“Why is my public defender here to see me?” Jake turned to the warden, who ushered him out of the visitor room. “Yesterday at the arraignment, he acted as if the case was already lost.”“Don’t know.” The warden shrugged in complete disinterest. He stuck a piece of chewing gum into his mouth, and the way his jaw moved up and down and in circles reminded Jake of a steer chewing on its afternoon cud. He led Jake down several corridors to what looked like another interrogation room, opened the door, and motioned for Jake to step in. Without following him inside, the warden closed the door behind him.Jake looked around the sterile room.  He moved toward the plain table in the center of the windowless cubicle. A man in an expensive-looking business suit stood from where he sat facing Jake. This wasn’t the man who had represented him yesterday at his arraignment. With a bright smile, the lawyer reached over the table, extending his hand. Jake leaned over the nondescript chair he stood next to. “Jake Owens, it’s good to meet you,” he said brightly. Jake stared at the man. He had to lift both hands to shake the lawyer’s because of the handcuffs. The man’s grip was firm when he took Jake’s hand in his, and shook his arm up and down. The chains on the handcuffs rattled in response. Releasing his hand, the lawyer made a motion with a flick of his wrist for Jake to sit.“You ain’t my lawyer.” Jake’s eyes narrowed, and he remained standing. “Your public defender relinquished your case to me,” the man said. His cheerfulness grated on Jake’s nerves. “Have a seat, Jake. We have a lot to talk about.”Jake’s lips curled in a mock smile. “What’s to talk about? I’m being accused of armed robbery and murder. The evidence says I did it.”The lawyer eased back in his chair, looking up at him. He pressed the tips of his fingers together, creating a tent shape with his hands in front of him. His icy blue eyes stared directly into his soul. As if some invisible force compelled him, Jake sat on the chair behind him. “Well, did you do it?” the lawyer asked, raising his bushy gray eyebrows. The top of his head was covered with a thick mop of salt and pepper colored hair that matched the expensive gray suit he wore. His tie was an electric blue that enhanced the color of his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, apparently in no hurry for Jake to reply.“No, I --” The lawyer’s eyebrows rose even higher, cutting Jake’s words off as if he’d been gagged. The man’s stare became more intense.  Jake clenched his jaw, and inhaled a deep breath. “Hell, I don’t know,” he said coldly, and looked past the man to study the whitewashed brick wall behind him, just to avoid looking into the old man’s eyes. “Your blood tests revealed cocaine in your system and a blood alcohol level of 0.20,” the lawyer said casually. “What do you have to say to that?”Jake already knew what his blood tests revealed. He hadn’t been able to convince anyone yet that he hadn’t touched any drugs. Sandra had often coaxed him to try it, and he’d adamantly refused each time. One thing he was not going to do was poison his body with drugs. True, he’d gone with her to her all-night drinking parties, and gotten drunk more than he’d ever gotten drunk in college, in an effort to please Sandra. An occasional beer with supper at home, or a couple of times when he’d been invited to a keg party at school, had been the extent of his alcohol consumption. He preferred to be sober when he was in the company of a girl. Sandra had introduced him to more exotic versions of alcohol than he could possibly remember. Doubt etched his mind. Could she have persuaded him to take drugs while he was drunk? He swore under his breath. Anger consumed him, and his heart rate increased as the rage in him boiled. The blood vessels throbbed at his temples. Anger at his weakness where Sandra was concerned raged in him, but more so because his brother had been right. Sandra had turned out to be nothing but trouble. His life had spiraled downhill the minute he got to Los Angeles.  Through his association with her, he’d gotten involved with the wrong people, and now he was paying the ultimate price. “I don’t know what happened that night,” Jake grumbled, glancing back at the lawyer. “I don’t remember how cocaine got in me. I sure as hell don’t remember sniffing the stuff.”“You were found passed out in the driver’s seat of a Ford Mustang that witnesses saw speeding away from the liquor store. The murder weapon was in your lap, your hand prints all over it.” Jake knew all that. Shit. Why did the lawyer have to rehash everything that he’d already been told over and over again?“Yeah, well, all I can think of is that that bit . . . Sandra set me up.” Jake vowed he was done with women. They were all conniving and manipulative, especially since his latest flame had turned out to be nothing but a whore and a lying bitch. The lawyer sat up straight, and leaned forward. Damn! Those icy blue eyes were downright frightening. Why the hell did the guy have to stare at him like that? It was as if he knew exactly what was going on inside Jake’s head. “You have experience with horses and cattle, don’t you?” the lawyer asked. Jake coughed in surprise. He cocked an eyebrow. Where the hell did that question come from all of a sudden?“Yeah, and if I never have to see another cow or horse in my lifetime, it won’t be soon enough.”“You also have experience with shooting guns? Rifles? A colt?”Now that question made more sense. He was being asked if he had the know-how to fire that murder weapon.“Yeah, I’ve gone big game hunting with my pa and brother since I was a little kid, and later on did some trick shooting to entertain the city slickers who came to my parents’ ranch.” “You’ve led cattle drives through Montana? Showed inexperienced people the ropes? You’re familiar with the history of the westward movement along the Oregon and California Trails?” Jake rolled his eyes. He ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, I done all that stuff.” He rested his arms on the table and leaned forward.  “Look, I don’t see what any of that has to do with my case right now.”The lawyer’s stare became more intense. “How would you like to make your troubles disappear?”

Peggy Henderson author of the Yellowstone Series

 When you start publishing your books, you meet other authors-- sometimes rather distantly-- but you get a feeling for their work and something about them. One writer I found particularly of interest was Peggy Henderson. Yes, she's a good writer. I've read some of her books (will read more whenever I get the time to read for pleasure), but it was also because she was writing about one of my favorite areas-- Yellowstone. I found her knowledge and love of that land inspiring for how she captured its heart and history as she created a series of five books with each standing alone and yet linked. I am happy today to have her on my blog as a guest author where she relates a bit about her work for not only you to discover her books but to learn more about the craft and art of writing from someone who is out there doing it-- and doing it well.


Thank you, Rain, for having me on your blog today. These were great interview questions!
Yellowstone and that part of Wyoming and Montana has clearly inspired your books. How and when did you first discover that country?

The first time I’ve been to Yellowstone was the year my then future husband introduced me to camping. We went on a road trip after our high school graduation. I immediately fell in love with the beauty of the area. Here we have an ecosystem that is, for the most part, intact  much the way it was hundreds of years ago, and who wouldn’t be in awe at the beautiful landscape and thermal features.
Do your family, friends, hobbies or work find their way into your stories?
I think every author writes some aspects of their life into their stories. Yes, I modeled my first heroine, Aimee Donovan, after a close friend of mine (I never told her, and she just recently read the book, so whether she recognized herself or not, I don’t know). One of the most frequent questions I used to get asked was, “Are you a nurse?” because Aimee is a nurse. No, I’m not a nurse, but my background is in biological sciences and veterinary medicine, so I brought a lot of knowledge from that into my first book.
When a reader finishes one of your books, what is the thing you most hope they take away with them?
I hope the reader will have that feel-good feeling after finishing one of my books, after witnessing love blossom and develop between two people who were destined to be together. I also hope that readers will take away a better appreciation for the beauty of nature and have a little deeper respect for it, and maybe learn a little about the history of the places and people I write about.  Something I hadn’t foreseen when I wrote these books was how much readers appreciated all the scenery descriptions and how I used Yellowstone as the backdrop for the books. I’ve received tons of emails from readers, saying I had inspired them to want to go see Yellowstone now, after reading the books. That really surprised me at first, but in a good way, and I hope that all of my readers get to see and experience the beauty of the park for themselves.
Do you see your characters as you write about them, imagine them looking like say a movie star or some specific person? If so, can you share one example?
I’m a very visual person. I write my characters much better when I have a picture of what they look like. I very rarely go to the movies, so I don’t even know most of the movie stars and actors out there these days. For Daniel Osborne and Aimee Donovan, I had a clear image in my mind of who they were. No, I won’t share any examples. It’s been an ongoing personal challenge for my editor to try and figure out “who Daniel is.” She’s been trying to get me to tell her for a year now, and she’s been very persistent, but that’s a closely guarded secret. I think it’s better that readers can picture the characters in their minds, using their own imaginations.   You write adventure, historical stories, which means danger-- How do you make a decision on killing off a character?
Well, if a certain character is in the way of something that the leading character needs, the best, or easiest way to deal with that is to kill them off, right? Because I write historical stories, and due to the setting of these stories, there has to be death and danger. Let’s face it, the lives of mountain men was gory, difficult at best, and brutal. Of course I romanticize that in the books. Who wants to read a romance that has nothing but gore and brutality in it?It’s easy to kill off the bad guys in a story, not so easy when it has to be one of the good guys. There was a character in Yellowstone Redemption who, the more I wrote him, the more I liked him. I kept telling myself, “Oh, this isn’t good.” So, although I felt bad about killing him off, he had to die.
Have you ever written a book, had it do well, but later wished you could change something significant?
I sometimes wish I could have started Yellowstone Heart Song at a different point then where it starts in its published version. In my first draft, there are five chapters before the hero and heroine even meet, and the way it was written would have given away too much later on. As far as changing something significant after publication, no I haven’t wanted to do that for any of my books. I’m pretty happy with the way each of my books plays out.
How do you choose a book title?
Usually, the titles come to me before I even write the story. Each title says a little bit about the main theme or subject matter of the book. Heart Song was the most difficult book to name, maybe because it was my first. I must have had a dozen titles before that “A-HA” moment struck me.
Of all your books to date, do you have a favorite?
Absolutely. My favorite book to date is Yellowstone Redemption. I was sort of at a loss what to write after I finished Heart Song. I never intended for this to become a series. Heart Song was written as a stand-alone. I finally thought, “Eh, a sequel might be nice.” After the initial brainstorming, and when Chase Russell came to life in my head, that book practically wrote itself. I had my first draft finished in six weeks. I wish all my books would write that fast and easily.


What interested you most about writing a romance?
Well, I guess the romance, the slow build up of a relationship between two people who might be complete opposites, but are perfect for each other. I’ve read a lot of romance. One of the things that always annoys me is when the hero and heroine get together and jump into bed much too soon. I prefer a slow romantic build-up, let the characters discover their attraction to one another without physically acting on it within the first few chapters. As a reader, I’m completely uninterested in the rest of the story when that happens.
Since you write your stories going back to the days of the Mountain Men, would you have liked to live then? Ever been to a rendezvous such they have in many states where people reenact those times?
I don’t think I have the fortitude to live like the mountain men did. They were a special breed of men, and . . . no, I would not have wanted to live back in those days. I am dying to go to a rendezvous! I’ve missed several of them by days when we go on vacation. There are no reenactments anywhere close to where I live. The closest I’ve come has been the Battle of the Little Bighorn Reenactment in Hardin, Montana. That was awesome.
Are your next books already germinating in your head or do you take a break between starting books?
I’m always thinking up my next book. Usually by the time I’m two-thirds done with one book, I’ve started taking notes and jotting down ideas on the next one.
Do you have any advice for those who might be interested in writing but have not yet given it a try?
Read a lot, then write a lot. It doesn’t matter what you write, just practice. It does make it easier if you “write what you know.” Find someone who is willing to critique your work honestly. Don’t ask friends or relatives to read your work and give their opinion. You want someone unbiased, and I don’t think a friend or family member (unless it’s my mother) will give you an unbiased opinion. Writing is a tough business. Publishing is even tougher. It requires lots of hours, patience, and perseverance. 
Peggy will return on Wednesday with a snippet from one of her books. :) In the meantime, here are links to take you to more about each of her books-- 

Purchase links: Amazon Barnes and Noble iTunes http://peggylhenderson.blogspot.com Amazon author page: 
 https://www.amazon.com/author/peggylhendersonFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Peggy-L-Henderson-author/254755581267700

I am guesting today on Peggy's blog-- Peggy L. Henderson

Inspiration

Comes from just about anywhere...

Historicals and the truth... errrr....

One of the fascinating things involved in the writing of historical romances is sorting  out what exactly was the truth of a time out of the past. You are setting (generally) fictional people into a time but what was that time actually like?

So take the Old West. How much of its reality was tempered by the pop fiction even in its own time. Pulp writers turned out these little books that told a story that didn't actually exist but sold well for the people who weren't living where they had any way to know what happened to be. Pulp fiction played to the emotions of the readers.

This is also true regarding stories of the Native Americans where they can be portrayed as heroes or demons depending on the novel or even history book. That's the fascination but also the pothole awaiting a writer who wishes to cast their story during a time they aren't living, don't actually know the truth of, and have to base their 'facts' on what they read or are told.

Navajo ponies for Comanche Warriors by Frank McCarthy, a gifted artist telling the story of the West through his paintings. Disclaimer: I have one his prints in our Tucson home. I like western art as much as western books
Here's a good example of how history can be turned to suit what we want to believe:

The truth of Comanches
Obviously some of the facts stated in the article are facts but are they the only facts? This link would differ:
 
Comanche Empire 
We've all heard how the Native Americans were the great environmentalists but-- seriously? Do those saying that know of practices like driving a buffalo herd off a bluff and taking what they could use from the carnage below?  Or moving villages regularly for sanitary reasons? On the other hand-- the idea of dirty Indians when the whites who came from Europe rarely bathed while the native peoples regularly did. Or calling the natives savages when they had more elaborate and often fairer systems of government than often the Europeans?

So what do we want to believe? In a lot of ways that's the essence of writing any historical novel. Find out all that was said-- both sides. Sort through it for what rings truest to the writer and reader. Of course, that's the real problem because the truth of even what is happening today is not that easy to come by.

I think it's interesting to write historical romances, or I wouldn't have done it over the years; but I don't kid myself that what I write might be the exact truth. It's one of them.

What I will claim, for the characters I write and for my favorite historical romances, is this. The characters who are set into that time, they will react like humans do and they will ring true even today for their reactions. What is different is their upbringing, environment, and the circumstances into which they are set.

*sigh* a sinus infection and...

Since I have been wrestling with a sinus infection this last week, my enthusiasm for anything has been pretty low. What I have accomplished is bordering on zero unless you count keeping water boiling for steam, checking out various sinus remedies and lying low to get rid of this irritant which I lay to the woodsmoke from fires in Southern Oregon as well as dusty air from all the farm work going on in the main valley. Our air won't be clear until sometime in September probably as that's the soonest we can expect real rains in my part of the Pacific Northwest.


I have done another editing for the book, Tucson Moon, that follows Arizona Sunset and will come out before Christmas also with Kindle and paperback versions. It has its own romance with some of the same characters only three years later.

While waiting to get the proof of the paperback version, I didn't feel like starting any big projects. I have done more work on creating cover, back cover, and spline for the paperbacks we hope to bring out eventually. We also bought 10 ISBNs which will not cover all my books but is a start.

Once the proof arrives, and it looks good (the first one had a flaw that was my own fault in the profile page), then we can set a date for the Kindle and paperback to be released-- hopefully the same time. It was interesting to see my first book in print but not really the thrill that some talk about. For me the thrill came with the first eBook because then for the first time my books were available for people to read. They were what took the effort to get shaped up and ready to be out there. The paperback was more of an accomplishment for my husband who is my publisher and thank goodness as the whole process would have me going crazy.

Writing a book basically is one step in a long, long process. My husband mentioned how many boxes of paper are up in our attic of various stages of my books. The only ones that interest me in looking at would be two short stories I wrote probably before I was twenty. The rest I'd just as soon burn as now the books are on computers, jump drives and memory cards. Which are a lot more permanent to my mind than those sheets of bond, finely typed paper in boxes which aren't very accessible even to me.

For anyone interested in creating their own paperback, I am very high on the process with CreateSpace, how they look it over, what they produce. They even had warned us on that image in the first Proof not being of good enough quality, but we didn't 'get it' until we saw it on the book. We now have a PDF file which would enable us to print these books other places but I don't think any would do a more professional job (from what we saw on the first proof) at such a reasonable price. I don't expect to sell a lot of paperbacks but I see the value as I mentioned in an earlier blog of this as one more part of the whole process-- rather like framing a painting as the last step.

While feeling so rocky, I did one more thing in creating a long trailer that will have a link in the back of both the Kindle and the paperback for readers, after finishing the books, to see images that inspired the words. I had roughly done one before but this is a final version with the correct cover. The trailer on YouTube will be out right ahead of the publication dates.