Annette Drake's Blog, page 13

Exploring fiverr.com

Ah, the glamorous life of an independent author.

Unlike traditional authors – who have publishers and publicists and proofreaders, oh my! – indie authors do all of it themselves. Or they find someone who can.

Last summer, I attended a Romance Writers of America meeting and having just moved my website from wordpress.com to wordpress.org, I was hungry, some might say desperate, for IT advice from these experienced authors. One of them crinkled her little button nose up at me, narrowed her eyes and said, “I have no idea if my website is on wordpress.org or wordpress.com. I wouldn’t know the difference.” Oh, to be so naive.

Because as an indie author, I do know the difference. Oh, yes. Earlier this year, I chose to join the ranks of writers who publish their work themselves. I’ll never write another query letter again. The days of going to conferences in hopes of meeting an agent or an editor who sees a glimmer of value in my work are over. Done. Kaput.

Oh, sure. Some days I fantasize about getting “the call.” The phone rings. It’s an editor from HighBrow Publishing. She’s calling to offer me oodles of cash if only I’ll sign a contract and allow them the divine privilege of publishing my novel. Thousands of dollars can be mine with the swipe of a pen. I can kiss the lean days goodbye. Quit my day job. Buy a box of bon-bons. I’ve moving into a house on Easy Street.

And with that phone call, I no longer need worry about typos in my books or cover art that doesn’t look quite right. Nope. All of those mundane tasks will be done for me by people way smarter than me who live in New York City.

You can tell I’ve spent time thinking about this, can’t you?

But the problem is, I don’t write books that HighBrow editors want to publish. When I queried my debut novel, Celebration House, to Kensington Publishing, the editor wrote back and said the idea had promise but I needed to get rid of the ghosts. Okay. I queried a publisher with my picture-book, The Carwash Dragon. Again, I was told the idea had merit if only I would rinse out the carwash element.

And I’m okay with my slightly off-kilter storylines. For example, I want to write a Civil War romance with a hero who is an amputee. Think HighBrow Publishing would touch that one? Yeah. Me neither.

Okay. So if my choice to be an indie author requires me to learn how to navigate social-media sites like Pinterest and MailChimp and use software I can’t even pronounce, I’m going to need help. Enter fiverr.com.

This website, as the name implies, lists artists and folks of all backgrounds from all over the world who complete tasks for $5. When I needed a logo for my small press, Baskethound Books, I hired an artist from this website.

Recently, I wanted to add a Christmas touch to my logo, so I went back to fiverr.com and asked the artist for a Christmas version. While I was there, I perused the different skills offered. I saw an artist, Jolie from Hawaii, who would illustrate children’s books. I reached out to her and asked if she would work with me on bringing The Carwash Dragon to fruition. She said yes. Here are two of her first sketches:

When I mentioned that I was using fiverr.com, I received a warning from a fellow writer. He said some authors use fiverr.com to pay for book reviews or to add fake Facebook followers. I’ll steer clear of that. But if I need help with WordPress.org again, I have my fiverr connection – Jacob from the UK. Likewise, when I launch my first MailChimp newsletter on Monday, Nov. 24th, you’ll see the work of Paul from Canada. All hired via fiverr.com.

Hands and arms inside the cart. Next: why I love Thanksgiving Day.

Have I gone too commerical?

Last summer, overcome with more ambition than is healthy, I set up a page on my website where readers could buy books directly from me. My current platform, wordpress.com, didn’t allow this feature. So, because I am hard-wired with an abundance of optimism and scarcity of caution, I leaped onto wordpress.org. That’s a whole different and ugly blog post.

After moving my website, I spent at least three minutes researching what different e-commerce companies offered and chose Ecwid. They allowed me to build a store of sorts where I can sell my books. But after perusing other independent authors’ websites, I decided to offer more. To that end, I had a logo designed for Baskethound Books, the small press I founded. It looks something like this:

Taking the next step on the path to my own destruction, I decided to offer small items – I call it swag – with my logo or the cover for my books. For instance, I think the cover for Bone Girl is a piece of artwork unto itself, so I offer a journal with the cover replicated on it. I also sell mugs and simple things like phone covers and tote bags with the Baskethound Books logo emblazoned on them, with help from Vistaprint. You are invited to peruse the shelves of Baskethound Boutique for yourself.

Speaking of, how are sales? …Uh, you know, a little slow. Okay. I’ve sold a total of two books and those to my biggest fan in Alaska. Thank you, Dianne. On the Saturday she bought the books, I was working an extra shift in the urgent care clinic. Ecwid sent me an email informing me I had sold two books, and I was so overcome with joy and entrepreneurial glee that I forgot to give a patient his tetanus shot before he left. Oops. Also, I spent all of my profits on business cards and labels for Baskethound Books that very night. No sense in letting that money grow cold in my Paypal account. Who knows? It might spoil or something.

Okay, so if I’m not making tens of dollars, what does this little side business give me? A sense of accomplishment? Yep. And such hope. I look at the two books I have for sale now – Bone Girl and A Year with Geno – and I wonder, hmm…how many books will I publish in 2015? How about in two years? Will all three books in the Celebration House trilogy be on this shelf and ready for me to endorse and ship directly to readers?

I kind of think they will. This is hope. Its value? Priceless.

Hands and arms inside the cart: Next, exploring the possibilities on Fiverr.com

Remembering why I write

A few months after my debut novel, Celebration House, was published in August of 2013, I received an email from my older brother, Kevin. He and I had lost touch over the years and hadn’t seen one another since the late 1990s. Kevin said that he and his wife, Kathy, had purchased my ebook and would like to have a print version. Where could they buy one?

My response to my brother was something along the lines of, “So, you’re the one who bought my book,” and that there was not currently a print version available. For my brother and I, my small success in writing was the catalyst, I think, for us to reconnect. A few months later, as 2013 came to a close, my brother wrote to me again to tell me that he had been diagnosed with esophageal cancer and was fighting for his life. He died July 30th.

And so began my journey into grief. It’s a private trip into one of the darkest places I’ve ever known. Unlike other struggles, like my divorces or child-custody battles, there’s no villain for me to attack. No one person against whom I can wage war. My mother died 12 years ago, but losing a sibling is a different genre of grief. Please forgive me if this sounds cold, but most of us expect to lose a parent. We don’t expect to lose a 51-year-old brother.

In August, I began working on the sequel to Celebration House. If you know my novel, you know how it ends. You also know that the heroine of the second book, Beth, walks a similar path to mine. Like me, or perhaps because of me, Beth feels overshadowed by sadness, remorse and perhaps guilt. She has little patience with the bridezillas who rent out Carrie’s house – she still thinks of it as Carrie’s – and doesn’t always know what to do with the tidal waves of emotions that pummel her daily. One of my favorite scenes is when Beth relates to a friend that her sadness has sat outside in the hot summer sun and rotted, turning into anger she can barely contain.

I stopped writing Beth’s story. Who would want to read it? Instead, I began working on a cozy mystery called Death Comes to the Ogallala Fair. My reasons for doing this are, I’ll be honest, a little financial. Cozy mysteries sell. They’re fun. They’re lighthearted. They’re not, well, sad.

I wasn’t sure I could do this. I mean, the death of my brother moved the foundation of my mental health a good three feet. So how could I kill people?

It was easier than I thought! Because to quote Arnold Schwarzenegger in the movie, True Lies, I only kill bad people.

Something happened as I struggled to write my 1,000 words each day and piece together characters and a setting for the mystery. I began to have fun. Real fun! I would laugh out loud at the outrageous things happening in the small town of Ogallala, Missouri. (Yes. I know there is no such place, but I just love saying it: Ogallala. Ogallala. Say it with me. Ogallala.

The town itself is based on Pleasant Hill, Missouri, where I had the privilege of being a newspaper reporter for a year before taking a job with The Sedalia Democrat. Oh, did I mention I set it in 1988? Yep. No cellphones. No internet. Somebody break out the George Michael cassette tapes.

The novel is complete fiction, but like my other books, the people who live on the pages are based on people I know, including my former bosses and co-workers at The Pleasant Hill Times. I’ve elaborated on the sheriff because, well, I wanted to. And the ultimate villain? It’s…wait. I intend to finish this book and hawk it for $2.99. I better keep that to myself.

I am reading the Amazon bestselling books in this genre, and I purchased two e-books about how to write a cozy mystery. Right now, I’m crafting the characters. I want to create a protagonist who the reader cares enough about to stay up until 2 a.m. to see what happens to her. I want to intricately plot this book. I want to whittle my storytelling with my sharpest-edged knife. And I want to laugh, or rather, keep laughing at the things these new people in my life say and do.

The few pages I’ve shared with my critique group have been well received. They like the idea of this small town where a killer is loose and the sole reporter for The Ogallala (See! Isn’t it fun to say?) Gazette stays just one step ahead of the murderer. Or perhaps, murderess?!? Oh, this is going to be fun. One of my critique partners compared it to the Mark Twain’s The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County. I would never go that far, but I will say this: it helps.

Writing dilutes and on a really good day, dispels my sadness. And sitting on the desk next to my computer is my favorite picture of my brother, Kevin. He is with me still.

Hands and arms inside the cart: Next, have I gone too commercial?

Sprechen sie Deutsch? No. I’m afraid I don’t.

Last month, feeling far bolder than I perhaps should have, I reached out to a German editor and we talked about the possibility of Bone Girl being translated into German or perhaps made into a German audiobook. I was beside myself with excitement! I couldn’t believe it. My humble book would be available to readers in Germany. My mother, Louise OBERMEIER Drake, would have probably been just as excited as I was, God rest her soul.

So, I sent the manuscript to the would-be translator, and I waited. And waited.

Meanwhile, riding the excitement of this possible translation, I put together a Kickstarter campaign to reclaim the rights to my debut novel, Celebration House, and bring to fruition what many readers have been clamoring for: a print version of my debut novel. With the $2,500 I hoped to raise, I would pay off the Irish publisher, hire a professional proofreader and cover designer, and before the end of the year, Celebration House would be rebuilt.

But the writing journey is a long one, and this time, I encountered a few obstacles I could not go around.

My Kickstarter campaign ended last week, and I’m sorry to report that I did not meet my goal of $2,500. I didn’t even come close. I raised $135.

And today, I learned that to have Bone Girl translated into German would cost far more than I can afford. It’s not likely to happen soon.

Okay. So these are ideas that did not bear fruit. Got it.

But there’s always a silver lining, right? Always a lesson to be learned? I kind of think so.

Let’s start with the Kickstarter campaign. It’s the first time I put together a public project like this. I borrowed a video camera from my local library and turned a spare bedroom into a studio. Because my basset hound is my mascot, Eeyore was in the video with me. Note: hounds love hot dogs and rabbits. Both were used to entice him to focus on the camera. It was fun! Also, because we made a video, actually several, I put together a YouTube channel, where I posted a few of our out takes. Dare I say mistakes?



Part of the project was to offer prizes for those who backed my project. I dreamt up the idea of a cell phone ringtone of my hound’s magnificent bay. In fact, I found a local studio which will record it and convert it into a downloadable file. That may yet happen.

I also put together what I am calling Baskethound Boutique. It’s an online store on my website where I sell my books and merchandise, like T-shirts and coffee mugs, for those who might choose to support my small business. Yesterday, a girlfriend in Alaska reached out to me and said she wanted to buy three copies of Bone Girl. Which distributor would pay me the most? I sent her to Baskethound Boutique.

As for my German translation, I’m not giving up. I’m convinced that when Bone Girl finds an advocate in Hollywood and takes to the big screen, the German translation will happen. That’s called hope. For now, it’s enough.

Hands and arms inside the cart: Next, remembering why I write.

I go kickstarting…

A few weeks ago, my husband and I were listening to the radio and heard a story about two young men who had checked into a for-rent-by-owner condominium and after 30 days, refused to move out. The owner had to navigate the legal process of evicting them. And, the story went on, they had also been given funds from Kickstarter to develop a new computer game, which they had not delivered.

Kickstarter, huh? I first learned of this group in 2013 when I was trying to promote my debut novel, Celebration House. I had the crazy idea of traveling from library to library to give lectures about the wonders of e-readers. I hoped to apply for Kickstarter funds to cover my travel expenses and offer attendees a chance to win a free device. When I reached out to the staff at Kickstarter, I was told this project wasn’t quite what they were looking for. Okay. Fair enough.

Now, as I listened to the story, a thought occurred to me: maybe I should rethink my Kickstarter campaign. What if I could raise, say, a couple thousand dollars? I could buy back my rights to Celebration House, have the manuscript professionally edited and proofread, and then publish it via my small press, Baskethound Books.

I wondered, how much money would I need? I made a spreadsheet, then I queried Wendy Janes, the editor who works with Joanna Penn, one of my indie-author heroines. I also asked the cover artist who designed A Year with Geno if she would make a new cover for Celebration House. Both women said yes. They would be part of the team to relaunch my debut novel. Publishing it myself, I could produce an e-book, an audiobook, and what most people have asked for time and time again, a print book.

My next step was to peruse different projects on Kickstarter, taking a look at those which had successfully raised the funds they asked for and those that did not. One thing I noticed: the importance of a video, explaining to backers why they should support the project.

Harvey the rabbit was used to keep Eeyore’s attention on the camera. No creatures were harmed in the making of this video.

So, using the video camera I borrowed from the local library, my four-legged business partner, Eeyore, and I made a short trailer. I completed the application, editing it probably one too many times, and submitted it. The campaign launched today!

Here’s the link: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/....

Please take a look and consider supporting Baskethound Books. Every bit as important, share the link with your friends and family. Get the word out! That helps me every bit as much as your financial support. Now, if I can just figure out how to record a ring tone…

Hands and arms inside the cart, please. Next: Sprechen sie Deutsch?

Defining success one reader at a time

Every author must define success for himself. For some, it’s the ability to write full-time and support themselves with their storytelling. For others, a coveted spot on the New York Times bestseller list. Or perhaps it’s sitting in a darkened movie theater and watching as the beautiful people in Hollywood say and do things that first happened in the writer’s mind. That’s my favorite fantasy.

And we have to feel some measure of success. We have to feel that someone out there is reading our story and gets it. Gets us. It’s a way to silence the voice that whispers in our ear, what dribble you write. How can you call yourself a writer?

I’m new to the publishing world. My first novel debuted just a little more than a year ago; the money I receive from my book sales does not support me. So for now, I have other definitions of success to quell my insecurities.

Simple things, like this email I received from Darry Hughes Kurylo, the actor who narrated Bone Girl:

“We got a nice book. A nice performance. Let’s hope some folks find this and download.

I miss it already!

To all girls everywhere: “Play it….play it as loud as you can!”

Or praise from Kat Brooks, the administrator of Indies Unlimited and the author of 22 books:

“I’ve been judging novel-writing contests for a very long time – and I have to say – your first chapter is killer. Congratulations.”

Or maybe it’s an email from our readers. In May, I received a message from Rowan, a young girl who wanted to know more about the setting of Bone Girl. We began corresponding, and I told her if she would mail me a copy of the book report she wrote about Bone Girl, I would send her a T-shirt, which I had made especially for her.

A few days ago, I received the book report. She received a B+ on. Rowan also told me that she would wear her Bone Girl T-shirt to school on the first day. I can’t think of a higher honor. Now if I could just get her to send me a picture! (Hint, hint, Rowan).

Please enjoy Rowan’s book report: (Spoiler alert: if you haven’t read the book, please stop reading here)

“Bone Girl

By Annette Drake

Oral Presentation/Report by Rowan

Title: Bone Girl

Author: Annette Drake

Setting: Bennett Springs, Missouri

Main Characters: The main antagonist is Rebecca Miller, And Josey Miller, her daughter.

Plot: In the beginning of this book, Josey’s mom was taken to jail for DUI. Later, she comes back on leave to see Josey’s concert, trying to get Carl, (Josey’s dad) to let her move back in so that she could be released from prison. Then, in the middle of the book, Josey and her dad were going low on money and food supply, so they sent Chief, a wild and untamed stallion from a well-paying horse boarder, to a 50-mile endurance race. During the end of the race, Carl and Chief never reach the end line. Multiple search parties wander the forest and trail in the dark to find them, without success. Josey starts playing her trombone to call for Chief. Then, the search party finds the horse by following the sound of his whinnying.

Conflict & Resolution: There were two major complications in Bone Girl. The first one was the fact that her mom left her, and Josey desperately wanted her mom to be her mom again. To solve this, Josey joined the school band to give her mom a reason to visit her. In the end, Josey realizes that her mom doesn’t care about her, so she stops wanting to be around her. And the other complication comes near the end of the book, when Josey’s father and Chief go missing during a 50-mile endurance hike. To fix this problem, Josey remembers that one time when she was practicing her trombone in the stables, Chief would whinny and act excited. So she plays the instrument while search parties follow the sound of the horse’s whinnying.

Opinion: I loved this book because I feel a deep admiration at Josey’s resilient nature. I also love horses. and the fact that even though her family was poor, her mother left her, and she felt like she didn’t belong anywhere, she still bounced back and solved problem after problem. I would recommend this book to anyone who likes horses, or heart-warming stories.”

Ah, success. You taste wonderful.

Hands and arms inside the cart: Next, I go kickstarting.

Happy Father’s Day!

A month or so ago, I wrote a blog post that I meant to publish on Father’s Day. The post detailed the difficulties I’ve experienced with my father, Carl Nelson Drake. It was a sad and angry piece, and I guess I needed to write it. But I don’t need to post it.

I’m not a child anymore, and the peculiarities of my father are miles away and years ago. Instead, I choose to celebrate the amazing father who lives in my current world: Christopher Poole.  (Warning: there is nudity)

Let’s talk about sex

Please sit down. This heart-to-heart is long overdue. We need to talk about sex.

In fiction, and especially romance, there’s a smorgasbord available for you, the reader. Like at a Chinese buffet, some of the selections are hotter than others, which is to say, they contain more explicit sex content.

Just to review, here’s the rating system that’s widely used:

Level 1 – Sweet (kissing and petting)

Level 2 – Sensual (kissing and at least one sexual encounter)

Level 3- Spicy (one or more ramped-up sexual encounters)

Level 4 – Hot (lots of sex, language)

Level 5 – Scorching (kink, raunch, language)

So, the question is, what level of heat do I write? I can’t predict what my future self will publish, but for now, I write books that stay at level 1.

I do this for a couple of reasons. As a reader, I flip past the pages with the sex scenes. I’m sorry, but what intrigues me most, what keeps me reading until 2 in the morning, is the connection between the characters: the banter, the conflict, the silliness. Sex? Not so much. Also, and perhaps more importantly, my family members read my books, and frankly, I don’t want to publish a novel I would feel embarrassed for my Aunt Mary Rose of Rogers, Arkansas, to read.

Now, does this mean I look down on authors who write romance novels with a heat factor of 5? Absolutely not. Do I snub erotica authors? Nope. It’s just not what I write.

Folks who follow my blog know that every Sunday, I offer my website to other authors to talk about their writing journey and showcase one of their books. I don’t limit that website to any specific genre. I recently featured Sabrina York, who writes erotic romance and sells a lot of books. I congratulate her and wish her every success! It’s just not what I write.

So why has all of this come up, you ask? A few weeks ago in one of my blog posts, I mentioned that I used the word “vibrator” in a scene. I also confessed that I had to look it up because I didn’t know how to spell it. This comment has come back to haunt me. So, I offer to you the scene I was referring to.

Here’s the set-up: Caroline, our heroine, has just come home after attending a disastrous Valentine’s Day party to find her slutty neighbor, Kelly, aggressively courting Geno.

WARNING: THIS IS A LONG SCENE

“…Once upstairs, she saw Kelly pressed up against Geno against the kitchen cabinets. Kelly giggled, and seemed to be trying to kiss him, pressing her weight against him. He moved his head away from her, as though to avoid her kisses. He held her arms at the wrist, but she squirmed and got loose.

Caroline cleared her throat, and Geno looked up, startled. The expression on his face changed from surprise to pure relief.

“Hello. Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Caroline said.

“You’re not,” he said. His eyes shifted between the two women, and he frowned. “Kelly was just leaving actually.”

“Oh, Geno, you’re no fun,” she said, faking a pout. Her bright red lipstick reminded Caroline of a circus clown’s makeup. She narrowed her eyes and glared at Caroline. Kelly inspected her from head to toe. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Hello to you too, Kelly,” she said, stepping into the kitchen. She grabbed microwave popcorn out of one of the cabinets. “Excuse me,” she said, gesturing at the microwave behind the entwined pair.

“Oh, sure. I’ll just walk you out, Kelly,” he said, pulling himself out of her embrace and bolting to the front door.

“Did Caroline just get home?” Caroline heard Chris ask, and his dad told him she was.

Kelly sauntered over to Caroline and hissed, “You think you’re so smart, but I know men like Geno. You’re a little too vanilla for their taste.”

Caroline said nothing. She put the popcorn bag in the microwave and turned it on. Then she looked at Kelly and asked loudly, “How’s your boyfriend, Kelly? Miss him much?”

The younger woman smirked at Caroline. “Tom is gone, and I’m a firm believer that if you can’t be near the one you love, you love the one you’re near.”

“Oh, that’s so profound. Did you think that up all by yourself or did you read it in Cosmo Magazine? Can I get that embroidered on a pillow?”

“We’ll see what happens here,” Kelly said, sneering at Caroline.

“I know what’s going to happen here. You’re gonna take your size two ass out of this kitchen, and I’m going downstairs to be with my sons. Now good-night. Happy Valentine’s Day,” Caroline said sarcastically, waving good-bye with her fingers.

“Hi, Caroline,” Chris said, coming into the kitchen a few minutes later. The microwave dinged, and Caroline took out the hot buttery popcorn. She poured it into a large bowl, then offered it to Chris. Anthony surfaced as soon as the smell of the popcorn wafted down the hallway.

“Hey, guys. Happy Valentine’s Day. My boys are downstairs watching movies. Want to join us?”

“Sure,” Chris said. She handed the bowl to Chris and both he and Anthony disappeared downstairs.

She heard the front door close. Caroline grabbed an armful of plastic cups from the counter. Geno walked into the kitchen.

“Sorry to interrupt your… whatever,” she said, taking ice cubes out of the freezer.

He leaned up against the counter. “I don’t understand women. Tom has been gone less than two months, and she comes onto me like that.”

“Yeah, looked like you were really struggling. Must have been awful for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Caroline shrugged. “It’s none of my business. Do what you want. I just think you could be a little more discreet when your boys are home. And by the way, wear a condom. That’s the best example of ‘rode hard and put away wet’ I think I’ve ever met.”

He studied Caroline. She practically threw the ice cubes into the red plastic cups now.

“What’s wrong with you tonight? I couldn’t care less about Kelly, and you know that.”

“Really? Then why did I find the two of you in such a compromising position? Part of your anatomy cared about her.”

“No. Not really.”

Caroline set the ice cube tray down on the countertop. She turned to face him. She stepped close to him, half a foot away and placed her hands on either side of him. She looked up at him, her green eyes studying his face. She leaned forward and smelt his aftershave, but did not touch him. She lowered her voice to mimic Kelly’s whisper. “So you’re telling me that despite being entangled in her, you felt nothing. Not the slightest stir of desire? Is that the load of bullshit you’re trying to sell me?”

Geno looked down at her and grinned, then stepped closer to Caroline, the slightest contact of his jeans against the front of her. She stood up straight and stepped a foot back. He pursued her until she was backed up against the countertop. He leaned in and whispered back, “Men like to do the chasing, Caroline. And we like it even more if we have to work for it.”

From downstairs, Caroline heard a long “Mom, we need more popcorn…”

Geno jumped back. He looked guilty, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He leaned back on the opposing counter.

“Why do you care about Kelly? She doesn’t usually get this much of a reaction from you.”

“I don’t. Do whatever you want,” she said, looking away from him. She pulled another bag of popcorn out of the counter and plopped it in the microwave. She punched the buttons on the keyboard. The microwave turned on. “I went to this single parent potluck tonight. Yuck! The men I met there make Earl look good.”

“Really?”

“Well, not that good. It’s…” her words faltered, and she sighed. “Sometimes I miss being married. Valentine’s Day seems to bring home the fact that in a world of couples, I’m single. Do you ever miss being married?”

“I miss the sex.”

“Spoken like a true man.”

“Okay. Do I miss being married? Sometimes. I miss having someone to come home to talk to, to tell about my day. But towards the end, Cheryl-Anne and I didn’t talk much, just long periods of silence interrupted with screaming matches, followed by more silence.”

He was quiet for a minute, lost in his memories.

“And of course, my guys were always right there to see – the screaming, the door slamming, dishes breaking against the walls.”

“Really? You threw dishes?”

“Not me. Cheryl-Anne. She thought I was having an affair with someone at work.”

“Were you?”

“Are we still being honest? Because I wanted to, but I have to look at myself in the mirror every morning. I don’t think I could if I added adultery to my weekly confession. Plus, she and I worked together. It would have ended my career,” Geno said.

He looked at Caroline. “What about you? What’s your story?” he asked.

Caroline shrugged. “A bad relationship that got worse. I think we packed our problems in the boxes along with our dishes when we moved to Alaska. When he started working out of town, things got worse. Then he met Mindy. That’s all she wrote.”

“Do you hate her?”

“God no. I felt relieved it was finally over. Mindy is what Earl needs – a young, adoring woman. I was too at one time, but just so many disappointments over the years. During the last year of our marriage, we slept in separate bedrooms. I played the ‘nightlight game.’”

“The what?” he asked.

“When Earl was out of town, I’d sleep upstairs in the master bedroom, and I’d plug in a nightlight by that room so the boys could find me in the middle of the night. When he was home, I’d sleep downstairs in the guest room, and I’d plug the nightlight in the outlet at the bottom of the stairs so the boys would know to go downstairs to find me. Kind of pathetic, huh?”

“Maybe we’re both a little pathetic,” he said, smiling at her.

“Mom, are you coming? We’re starving,” Bobby yelled. The microwave dinged.

She tucked a two liter of soda under her arm and started to grab the stacked cups of ice. “Gotta go. I got a hot date downstairs.”

“Can I join you?”

“Sure. But just don’t let my landlord know. He gets nasty when I entertain male guests.”

“Sounds like a real asshole.”

“Oh, God yes. He is,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Here. Give me some of those cups,” he said, before taking them from her.

“By the way, how did you and Kelly wind up in the kitchen tonight?” Caroline asked.

“She came over here and asked me to change the battery in her…”

“Vibrator?”

“Smoke alarm, thank you. Why? Are you jealous?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I think nauseated is a better adjective.”

“Ouch! That’s hurts. During your marriage, did Earl ever call you a shrew?”

“You know, suddenly, I feel the urge to throw something.”

“Good thing these are plastic cups,” he said. He opened the microwave door and grabbed the hot bag of popcorn. In the other hand, he picked up two cups of ice.

Together they headed downstairs where their four boys waited for them.

Hands and arms inside the cart. Next: redefining success one reader at a time.

Making mistakes a long the whey

Now that I’ve sent A Year with Geno to my editor, Les Dunseith, I can turn my attention to a few neglected projects that have been waiting for my attention. Specifically: correcting all of the typos in Bone Girl.

Yes, you faithful readers, I know you overlooked the misspelled words and the clumsy sentences, but I can’t any longer. So, this morning at oh-God-early, I sat down at this desk and began correcting them.

I published Bone Girl directly to three platforms: Smashwords, Kindle and Nook. So, I have to submit a corrected version of the manuscript to all three companies. I can check Smashwords off my to-do list; I finished that today. Tomorrow, I tackle Kindle and then Nook.

Here’s the thing: I know I am going to make mistakes. Big, fat ones that smell like rotten meat. That’s not the problem. The problem is forgiving myself, accurately assessing the damage done and then moving on. You know the saying, “To err is human, to forgive divine.” Well, I amend it a little and conclude with, “To forgive myself is not really my thing.”

But I have to. I have to acknowledge I am going to make mistakes during this journey. I’m going to take wrong turns and follow bad advice. That’s part of this indie author gig. Maybe I learn more from those…

Last month, I decided to leave the warm, safe home I had made at WordPress.com and move my website all the way across town to WordPress.org so that I could sell my books directly to readers. You’re probably thinking, why is that a big deal? Well, it’s a big deal because all of the ease and comfort that the IT gurus built into WordPress.com for beginners like me is now, uh, GONE! Me, with teensy bit of computer wisdom, am now required to do pretty much everything.

This morning, I couldn’t log onto my website. After trying far too many times and sending a nasty email to the support staff, I gave up and stomped off to my day job. Only later in the day, when the support people responded to that email did I realize, oh, Lord. I entered the name of my website incorrectly. No wonder I couldn’t log on. Is it too late to suck back that email? Why, yes. Yes, it is.

But one thing is for sure: I know how to log onto my website now. Yep. Cross that lesson off. And along the way, I also figured out how to download askimet, which blocks spam comments from my site. No more remarks about how great Viagra is.

Take a deep breath, I tell myself. Tomorrow is another day. Just imagine the caliber of mistakes I’ll make then, hopefully, learning from each and every one.

Hands and arms inside the cart: Next: redefining success one book at a time.

To: Kathy. From: Annette

Time for a confession: I’m a procrastinator.

I’ve been this way my entire life. I remember writing a French paper in 1985 the night before it was due. I even taught this bad habit to my children – putting together more than one science fair project the night before the competition.

So, with the long road trip to Missouri to see my son graduate from high school and visit family, I thought, ah, heck, I’ll just postpone publication of A Year with Geno. Why not? Maybe I’ll publish it in July.

That was until I visited my brother, Kevin, and his delightful wife, Kathy. These two have been my biggest (dare I say only?) fans since my first book, Celebration House, debuted last August. They are my cheerleaders.

On Saturday, when I spent time with them, Kathy told me that reading Bone Girl made her cry, so she put it aside. My big brother is facing a serious illness that requires a series of difficult treatments, so when Kathy was reading Bone Girl during one of these sessions, she started crying because of an event in the book. Well, she didn’t want folks around her to see her cry and think she was upset about Kevin, so she stopped reading it.

I’m happy to report that A Year with Geno is a completely different book than Bone Girl. It’s a contemporary romance meant for adults. I even use the word “vibrator” in it. (Author’s note: I had to look it up in the dictionary to be sure I spelled it correctly). Unless you’re a true wimp like me, you won’t cry at all when you read it. But, you will (I hope) laugh out loud and think, “Oh, my God! I can’t believe she just said that.” That’s my goal.

So, for my dear sister-in-law Kathy, who takes such amazing care of my brother, A Year with Geno will be out in, let’s see, 24 days. On Kevin’s birthday no less.

Damn! I better get busy.

Hands and arms inside the cart: Making mistakes a long the whey. (Yeah, I know I posted this teaser last time. But, really, that’s the next blog topic).