Catherine Astolfo's Blog, page 21

To Market, To Market, Will I Be a Fat Pig?

I've discovered that sitting at my computer tweeting, scribing,linking, facebooking, googling, skyping, and chatting has done absolutelynothing for my butt. In fact, I am expanding as I sit here. I may be stuck here for good. Soon my cheeks willspill out over my desk chair onto the floor.


I did have a plan. Under my desk is my step. It's made ofsolid foam and it's just high enough to require some work to step up and down.Currently it serves as my footstool. Two lovely blue weights gather dust to myleft. They would be excellent for exercising the arms while I facebook. Thestairs loom over to my right. Running up and down them for more water would begood for me. Both for the cardio and the fluid. Instead I seem to think abottle of red wine more conducive to marketing.
Has all of this been working? Have I sold a rash of books? Ihave absolutely no idea. I'm too busy to check. 
I am engrossed in cyberworld,anchored to my chair by my enormous derriere, scrambling to find those weightsunder the dust and piles of paper. My eyes are glued to the screen. My fingersare the only part of my anatomy getting thin. Even my fingernails havedisappeared. My pinky is especially slender because of her habit of stickingstraight up in the air every time I take a sip of wine. She gets a real work-out.
How can you possibly help me?
Go buy one of my books, for godssake, so I can rise to myfeet before it's too late.
Check out the new chapter book from Imajin Books calledImajin This! You get to preview all the authors before you buy – all for freefrom Smashwords. Including The Bridgeman and Victim.http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/114590

What's Your Name Little Girl?

When I was a kid, I went to CampRobogey every summer. I didn't even make up the name of that camp, though I mayhave invented the spelling.They taught us lots and lots ofcamp songs, which we'd holler at the top of our lungs out in the field and onthe bus. One of them was called, "What's your name?" The boy was "LemmeKissya". The girl gave a variety of answers, depending on her mood. Such as"Ida Wanna" or "Wanna More". To me, having a variety of monikerswas not unusual. In our household, we all had nicknames. Admittedly, I was theone who gave out the names, so I guess it's more honestly to say that everyonewas called something different depending on my mood. Beanaball, Dursky, Wild Cherry, Facey…they all meantsomething at the time. One of my sisters still suffers under the name I calledher nearly fifty years ago: Leedalo. (It's a long story.)For me, Catherine meant my parents were not very pleased with me.Which occurred fairly often, since I was the eldest and a spoiled brat. CatherineLynne was even worse because my mom or dadwas taking the time to say the first and second, usually in a rather loudvoice. I was therefore Cathy. To myfriends, my family, and to my parents when I was behaving. At school. In theyearbooks. In the newspaper, when I wrote for the Press Club, or got my picturetaken with the high school field hockey team.When I got married, the womanalways took her husband's name. So I did and now I had a different last name.Then I got married again. Repeat. Then I got married again. Kept both thattime. (No comments, please, on my former serial marriages. That's for anotherblog—maybe.)Cathy This, Cathy That, CathyThatNow, Cathy Now. Mr. Now called me Katy, so I added that to the list. Still not Catherine.Until my books came along.Catherine, after all, is my legal name. Catherine Astolfo to be specific(having dropped That in common usage). So that's how my books got published:The Bridgeman, by Catherine Astolfo; Victim, by Catherine Astolfo (www.imajinbooks.com).BUT, my different names habitcontinued and I unknowingly made it very difficult for people to find my books.My blog, I call Katy's Words (www.katywords.blogspot.com).My website, I call www.catherineastolfo.com.My email uses both: cathy@catherineastolfo.com.People who are my readers (and sometimesmy friends) call me Catherine. It still makes me shiver. But it's better thanhaving them ask, "What's your name, old girl?"

Team Daught.mom

 
Kristen calls me and asks if I'dlike to try out for a TV game show. No idea what the game is or what'sexpected, but my daughter and I figure there is no bad publicity. Why not go ontelevision if we can? Then, of course, there's the possibility of a $10,000prize…We wear a sign saying "Team Daught.mom". It's Kristen's idea and it's brilliant. Vince adds the "dot" because it reminds him of a url. The assistants love the sign. No one else has one.We arrive a tad late and I ampressured to fill out the form. They ask what I fear and I say spiders, hopingit's not a "face your worse fear" game. The form also wants me to list what"party tricks" I can do, what my strengths are, and my weaknesses. I can onlythink of writing and singing for the party tricks, do okay with the strengths,and fall apart on the weaknesses. I don't want to tell the truth – like "I suckat trivia" – just in case it's a jeopardy game. So I say my weaknesses are red wineand Brad Pitt. This starts the conversation aboutthe time I ran after Brad at The Toronto International Film Festival. The girlsbeside us want to know, but we're called to attention.They hand out a one-pager ofmultiple-choice questions, trivia they call it. Reads more like generalknowledge to me. I guess at most of the answers, only really know one or twofor certain. I hope this won't be a make-or-break toward that ten thousanddollar prize.Next we're called into the auditionroom. They tell us we're going to participate in a couple of fun games. We lineup across from our partners in two lines, then face the front. The younggood-looking assistant gives each team a tennis ball. The instructions are topass it to one another without the use of our hands. He reminds us that this iswhere they want to see us shine. "Show us your big personalities," he says. Sowe do.The ball starts off being passedchin to chin. Lucky for me I am beside a tall good-looking young guy, whosebeard tickles my neck. I take a little longer than necessary to pass the ball.We laugh and encourage each other with shouts and high-fives. The next game iscalled suck and blow. I kid you not.This elicits a lot of guffaws. Butwe listen politely to the instructions on how do it. You suck on the paper tohold it in your mouth, then blow out to attach it to the next mouth. What ifyou'd admitted your worst fear was germs?The last thing we have to do iswalk a carpet as though it's a catwalk. We call out and clap for the others asthey dance, wiggle, or even cartwheel down the room. When it's Kristen's turn,she gives them the D-Cup shimmy and I figure it's pretty much sewn up for us.So I seal the deal with a song and dance and a show of ass as I sing, "I likebig butts". They seem to like them, too.We're sent to the waiting room tosee who will be picked. Kristen and I are among the six selected to go to thenext stage: an interview with the…I dunno, directors, producers, writers?Anyhow, they ask us questions about our backgrounds and what we do for aliving. I'm a bit nervous but manage to tell them some coherent things. Thensadly, we are asked to demonstrate our "party tricks". Kristen does really well– she sells one of the interview team his own pen. I could write something, Isay, I mean I'm a writer, but I guess that's no good for television…after that,I have no choice but to sing. "Blue moon, you saw me standingalone…"Don't call us, we'll call you, theysay as we leave. http://www.amazon.com/Bridgeman-Emily-Taylor-Mystery-ebook/dp/B005Z5IM28http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/98348http://www.youtube.com/user/imajinbooks

On Being Indie

Donna Carrick, an extraordinary person, writer, and now publisher, invited me to do a guest blog in her series "On Being Indie" and I was thrilled to do so. Having been Indie (self-published) and now published (with Cheryl Tradif, who never discourages her authors from switching back and forth between modalities), I had lots to write about.

Check out the blog at www.carrickpublishing.com and please leave a comment!

Thanks - I honestly always appreciate my readers, even though I don't always say it.

Cathy
www.imajinbooks.com

The Writer Must Write

My friend Ann-Marie drops by unexpectedly to give me a book on writing by Stephen King. But she doesn't just have this wonderful gift in her hand - she also has a carved box with a quote from Ernest Hemingway on the side.
"A writer must write what he (or she) has to say, not speak it." (OK, I added that part.)
Ann-Marie tells me she was in Buffalo, saw it, and thought of me, her friend, the writer. She says she felt guilty when she bought The Bridgeman for only $3.99. I look into her beautiful eyes, her skin that shines so youthful, and I am close to tears. Little does she know that her support and friendship are worth far more than money could ever be. I am the luckiest person alive, with friends like her, a loving family, a job that I believe I was born to do.
And now a beautiful little box, carved with pens strewn across the lid, reminding me that a writer must write.
Each time I look at it, I will be inspired to clack away at the keys of my lovely little laptop, my head in a fictional world, my heart in the real one. I will think of how fortunate I am and smile.
Now go enter the Emily Taylor contest, so I can give a little back!
Cathy

Sister Spirit Comes to Visit

It's the worst possible time of the year for this to happen. My mother is being yanked from one place to another. First a very nice, caring, but clinical-institutional setting in a long term care facility with residents who are clearly ready to leave this world. No longer communicative, they sit in wheelchairs and moan or stare or talk to themselves.My mother is not at that point – yet. But it's November, which makes her situation even worse. Eight years ago, almost, my younger sister died suddenly, in her bed, during the night, alone and sad. My mother has never recovered. No parent recovers from that horrible trauma. Soon afterward, transient ischemic attacks removed my mother's short-term memory and ability to care for herself.The mother instinct lives, though. She doesn't really know what month it is. Yet in the marrow of her body, written in the pulses of her heart, she knows that this is the time of year when her baby died. "Is Candace dead?" she asks.The shock of her move to the institution of old age has almost undone her. But our spirit sister isn't ready to give up. Within the week, we receive a call that our first choice, a facility more home-like with residents who can still have fun and conversation, has come available. The CCAC tells me that this kind of luck "never happens". To be offered another room within a few days is unheard of. This is the first time I wonder, spirit sister at work? There are four sisters remaining and we are united. Together in our love for one another, our mother, our children – we are family. We make decisions as a unit, discussing pros and cons, helping and supporting in whatever ways we can. Thus the resolution to move our mother again is made after much soul-searching, but with an instinct that this is the right thing to do. Despite the shock of a third environment within a week, we say yes.When we bring my mother to her new place and her new room, she is immediately smitten by the ambience, the family-community-like atmosphere. She is exhausted, however, from what she believes was a stint in a "hospital". Her heart and oxygen rates plunge and the nurse tends to her with concern. My mother sleeps in her chair while my husband and I place pictures, books, familiar objects making the place her own. Suddenly, my mom begins to chuckle, a soft, endearing sound so infused with love that tears spring to my eyes. She is asleep, but she is smiling. A look on her face so beatific, so Madonna, that we both stop in our tracks and watch her. She mumbles something unintelligible, then her hands fold together as though she is cupping a tiny face. She brings her hands to her lips and kisses that unseen face tenderly and joyfully. Relief, happiness, contentedness, all are etched across my sleeping mother's brow.A short while later, the nurse returns and we rouse our mother to go and have some lunch. When I check on her, she is sitting at a table with three other ladies, happily conversing and eating her soup. She's smiling, energetic, at home so quickly that no one can believe it. The nurse tells me that Mom's oxygen and heart levels are back to normal.Though I am not particularly religious, I cannot deny the possibility of a spirit existence. I will never forget the look on my mother's face as she kissed her baby. Spirit Sister came to visit, to reassure, to comfort.

Guest Blogging

I have been having such fun writing guest blogs! Check out my latest one at Me and Reading: http://www.ingasilbergbooks.com. Inga is holding a book giveaway all month, too, so make sure you enter.

The Bridgeman

www.imajinbooks.com See the trailer!http://www.youtube.com/user/imajinboo... the author! Win prizes!Saturday, November 26, 2011, at The Rose Theatre, Brampton ON. Brampton Arts Fair from 9 a.m.Read blog "Unabashed Hussy" for how to enter the virtual contest.

Mothering My Mother And My "Baby", Simultaneously

I am straddling two apparently different worlds. One, the world of long-term care homes for the elderly; two, marketing ebooks. One visceral, one cerebral. But I am struck by the thought that they do have one stark similarity: they are both misfits. On Tuesday, my first ebook is released. I have my head in the cyber world. People I've never met are suddenly friends. I am browsing their blogs, watching their websites, sharing life stories. Many of them are extremely interesting and admirable; a few are just selling, which in reality is what I am doing too.My books have always been misfits. They aren't classical anything. Although mysteries, they break rules, switch points-of-view, and present some social justice issues close to my heart and head. Until Cheryl Tardif and Imajin Books, my books were proverbial square pegs in round holes. Along comes Cheryl, who not only understands the underlying themes and appreciates the differences, but also steers me toward a more marketable approach. So I get up every morning, as John Locke advises in How I Sold A Million Ebooks, and think about how to sell. In cyber world.My mother is also a misfit. She always has been, really. In the 1940's, she (a white woman) married a black Canadian man. Pretty bold for those times. He died in the war, so she married my Dad and tried to fit into the 1950's Leave-it-to-Beaver's June Cleaver housewife image. She didn't wear it comfortably. Eventually, she got a job in real estate. In her sixties, she started her own business. In her seventies, she learned to play the piano. She has always been loud, funny, opinionated, and bossy. Then came the Transient Ischemic Attacks.As my brother-in-law Dave says, her record button no longer works. It's been that way for nearly eight years now. Hasn't gotten worse. Still has the long term, especially her mathematical side. It's not Alzheimer's. It's cerebral vascular dementia. But when we say dementia, suddenly she becomes a definition, fits into the round hole, and off she goes. However, when we cart her off to long-term care this week, she looks up at us with those azure blue eyes and she knows. She ruminates on why we can't just die on a certain date and not go through this slow decline. She knows she is in an institution and that she really doesn't fit. She's still lively, funny, and social. In this same week, we are suddenly offered our top choice in LTC residences, one less hospital-like. Will this be my mom's Imajin? We're going to bet on it. Just as I am betting readers will like my books, despite their difficult subjects and misfitted-ness. (See, I even make up words.) I must say, though, that the euphoria of the release has been juxtaposed by the stress of my poor mom's shuffle through the system, as kind and caring as those systems have been. (And they have been wonderful, truly.)My husband says things can only get better. Imajin that. www.imajinbooks.com Cathy

Unabashed Hussy Blog

Unabashed Hussy MeI looked up hussy and one of the definitions was a "shameless ho". That seems to fit. I am throwing all my dignity away and selling my children. OK, well, the ones that I wrote, not birthed. Still. All because I want to be John Locke. Not the guy from Lost, the other guy. The one who sold a million ebooks. I haven't finished reading his book about how he sold a million, because I don't have time.So I brazenly sent out the following marketing plea to all the people I know. And even some I don't know. I'll let you know how it goes, but only if you become one of my customers. I'll even tell John. Maybe he can add unabashed hussy to the index in his book.Could WE Sell a Million?Well, maybe not, but another writer did it, so why not try? Here's how you can help make me a best seller and maybe sell…well, lots of books. You'll also be eligible for prizes – a Kindle ereader or a gift certificate to your favourite restaurant are among the ideas that I've come up with. Of course, the higher the sales, the more numerous and better the prizes will be. Go through the steps below and you'll see how it works. 1. On or after October 25, 2011, go to Amazon, Smashwords, or Kobo, or www.imajinbooks.com and order my book. The first one will be The Bridgeman, second Victim...maybe Legacy before Christmas. If you don't have an ereader, you can choose a pdf file from Smashwords and read it on your computer until you win the Kindle. If you've already read them, pretend it's a ticket for the prize. Don't worry about registering for any of these Internet sites. They're safe and they won't bug you - if they ever do, tell me! Then let me know that you have bought it and I will put your name into the draw for a prize. If this is as far as you want to go, thank you thank you, and I hope we both win.If you can do a little more, see #2.2. Get your friends, family, colleagues, people whose secrets you know, and people who owe you to do the same as #1. Ask them to tell you when they buy it. Then let me know, too. Your friends' names will go into the draw and so will yours – if 10 friends bought, you get ten more chances and they get one each. If they tell their friends, etc – well, you get the idea. If this is as far as you want to go, a million thanks and again, may we both win.If you can do even more, see #3.3. Give my book some stars and/or a review on Amazon or any of the other websites (such as Smashwords). Put it up on twitter or Facebook or any linkage to which you are connected - your company newsletter, whatever. Let me know that you did this, and you get (an)other chance(s) at the prize(s).If you can do even more, you must be my best friend or family ha ha - see #4.4. Sign up for my blog at www.katywords.blogspot.com. Again, they're safe and they won't bug you and if they ever do, tell me! My blogs will appear in your email on a regular basis, letting you know where I am so you can come see me and who knows? Win ANOTHER prize.Thank you for considering doing any or all of the above. You are the BEST.Cathy