Although this isn’t as funny as the late, great comedian, Henny Youngman’s, “Take my wife … please,” there’s still a good bit of humor attached to it, as well as a certain amount of irony.
All writers who publish hope for some return on the investment of time, energy and brainpower they expended in creating their great American novels or collections of poetic masterpieces (this being said, of course, with tongue securely planted in cheek, as evidenced by my own self-publishing experience).
First of all, you need to know my secret. I have an ongoing love affair with Smashwords.com. It is a professional eBook publisher that makes the uploading process fairly simple. There are, of course, guidelines to follow since the various eReader formats don’t process each document in the same way. On my first attempt (or was it second, third or fourth?), several pages seemed to have Chinese characters running amok across the pages. Chinese? Curious, especially when you consider there are those who read my book who might question whether or not I can write English, much less Chinese.
When I first uploaded my novel to Smashwords, I came to the page where I needed to enter a price for the book. I skimmed through the catalog to see what other, first-time writers were charging for similar submissions. I decided to follow their lead, which ultimately had the similar effect as a lamb being led to the slaughterhouse. I priced it at $4.99, thinking that sounded pretty reasonable and was in line with the cost of others. After all, it was cheaper than a paperback. WHAT I LEARNED #1: Nobody wants to spend money on an unknown. No money. No way. Period. The book had a fair amount of sample downloads, but paid downloads were restricted to the two people whose books I reviewed. WHAT I LEARNED #2: Don’t expect quid pro quo; two book reviews don’t guarantee two reviews of your own book. Out of two, I got one. In fact, I reviewed three additional books and (1) was told, “I don’t have time to read other people’s books,” (2) received no direct reply, but my review was acknowledged on a Facebook page, and (3) got no response whatsoever. I don’t take that personally, however. WHAT I LEARNED #3: You're not the center of the universe and you're not being ignored. People are just busy. Get over it.
Smashwords offers their writers (and readers) free marketing ideas in Mark Coker’s Smashwords Book Marketing Guide (another shameless display of my Smashwords love affair. Say it with me: Smashwords, Smashwords, Smashwords). I followed many of the excellent suggestions to promote my book. After lingering at the same number of sample downloads for what seemed like an eternity, I decided to take advantage of one of the ideas I had yet to utilize. I began submitting the novel to websites and blogs that promote free eBooks. You need to know there are many of these sites out there. But be also forewarned that some don’t want their readers to have to sign in for anything, so even if you offer a free coupon code at Smashwords, they may still turn your book down because registration is required before checkout. WHAT I LEARNED #4: “I said no registration required” translates into “I said no registration required.” There are ways around this. I created a separate page on my personal website that linked directly to a PDF document file of my book. The downside is that the format is limited to PDF which, quite frankly, doesn’t transfer well onto eReaders. The other alternative, which shouldn’t have taken me so long to figure out, was to drop the cost of my book to zero. The number of downloads has nearly doubled in the short time since making the book free.
Another marketing suggestion is to, quite simply, write and upload another book. Sounds easy enough, but if it takes me as long to write the next one as it did to write the first one, I’ll be older and grayer than I already am. In my own defense, I am in the process of writing two new novels, a second one in the Silver Screen Murder Mystery series, and a new one for a series I’m calling, “A Speakeasy Murder Mystery.” But they are far from completion and are just barely out of the outline phase. What I did have was a collection of poetry I published in print at Wordclay. So, over to Smashwords I went and, after a few hours of conforming the manuscript to the style requirements, I uploaded it there and, again, listed it for free. Even though my two books are in completely different genres, the links from one book to another have had a positive impact on visitor numbers. WHAT I LEARNED #5: Experienced professionals occasionally know what they’re talking about.
What do you get from all this? Why would you offer something for nothing? Exposure. Plain and simple, for an unknown writer, exposure is everything. I babble on quite frequently about how writing solely for profit is an unrealistic goal. John (or Jane) Everyman (or Everywoman) isn’t going to rake in the dough on their first attempt. Nor the second, nor quite possibly the tenth. If you have a story to tell, tell it. If you want it to be read, make it available. Readers need to know who you are and what you can do. And they won’t know if you don’t make it easy for them to learn.
Offering your book for free doesn’t mean you’ll get thousands of downloads. Perhaps an equally appropriate post title would have been, “I Can’t Give It Away.” But by following this road, you’ll begin to establish yourself and, possibly, create a loyal following. It’s fun to shoot for the moon, but this business of writing is like any other business. WHAT I LEARNED #6: You need to start at the bottom and work your way up.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
A Tribute
I have been struggling all week with what I should write about next in this blog. In my document folder, I have a file named “Topics” for posts I’d like to write. I may be partial, but there are some good ones there. No. I won’t share them with you now because if they don’t turn out well, I don’t want to be accused of unwarranted hype.
At the moment, though, none of the topics appeal to me. I may be going through the black hole known as “writer’s block.” But I think the malady might better be described as a “blue funk.”
Friday is the third anniversary of my father’s death. In 2007, he passed away on August 20th from a massive stroke. His funeral was the following Saturday. Two weeks after he died, on September 3rd, my mom passed away. She had been struggling for over a decade with the devastating effects of dementia and on the following Saturday, we buried her.
To call those three weeks the worst extended period of my adult life is the biggest understatement I could ever make. In that short period of time, my life changed dramatically and yet, somehow, stood still, all at the same time. And so, I’ve found my topic for the week. I’ve learned that the art of writing can aid in the healing process and, in an attempt to do so, I offer this short tribute.
My mother and father were decent, hardworking people. Both were born in 1920. They lived through The Great Depression. They were both twelve years old when Franklin Delano Roosevelt became President for the first time and twenty-four years old when he died. He brought the country through the depression and guided the country through World War II. My mother remembered feeling like she’d lost a member of her family when he passed away.
They were exceptional examples of the true meaning of the Catholic faith and all it embraced. Their religion meant a great deal to both of them. They truly practiced what they preached. They were married in 1941, just fifteen days after the attack on Pearl Harbor. When my dad died, they had been married for sixty-six years. They believed in the power of their commitment and they honored it every day.
My father was more conservative than I remembered. In my liberal youth, I was appalled that my own father voted for Nixon over Kennedy in 1960. When I voted in my first election, I chose to support McGovern in 1972. My dad tried to tell me what a mistake I was making. In 1974, when the Nixon presidency collapsed under the weight of Watergate, I smugly told my father, “You see. I was right!” Our ideologies never ran in the same direction, but I think he was proud that I at least had one.
They didn’t grow up with television, much less cable, the internet or iTunes. My dad was content with the handful of stations that came through his television set with rabbit ears configured in a myriad of positions. He listened to his vinyl albums. He contacted family and friends through the lost art of letter writing or by telephone. My dad wasn’t interested in computers. My mother, on the other hand, worked at IBM when this technological marvel was in its infancy. The computer revolution was just beginning to hit its stride when her health began its slow, steady and painful decline. I believe she would have been fascinated with all the computer age had to offer.
I wrote a piece about my mother for her high school’s alumni magazine, but it never got printed. But my dad, like most fathers would, thought the piece was wonderful. He said to me, “I wonder what you could have done if we’d been able to send you to college.” He seemed sad when he said it, as though he had let me down. When I tried to tell him that I could have gone to college if I’d really wanted to, it didn’t seem to ease his mind.
His comment started me wondering if I’d let him down. At the time I was a secretary (just a secretary, as some of us in the field referred to it). I didn’t own a house or a car. I hadn’t given him a boatload of Catholic grandchildren. I wasn’t even married.
One day, we took a day trip to Gettysburg. As we walked around that hallowed place, my emotions got the better of me and tears began welling up. I remember apologizing to him. He said, “You don’t need to apologize. You’re crying because you feel things. Because you’re moved by the events that took place here. It makes me feel good, because I had some little part in making you that way.”
And that’s why I miss him so much today. This good man, with simple needs, took great pleasure in everything God had given him. My dad wasn’t impressed by material things. The gifts he had were on a much higher level. His faith, his family and his dog were the things he cherished most.
He was my mother’s primary caregiver until the last two years of his life when his own health was on shaky ground. Although he was visibly frustrated in the early days of her illness, over the years, I was amazed at the patience that seemed to grow ever stronger. He never looked at it as a trial or a burden. He was just doing his job; what he’d promised to do when they got married. He took care of her.
He was a treasured cousin, a faithful friend, and a good neighbor. His faith sustained him. His humor defined him. And the three years since that horrible day have not diminished his importance to my life or the emptiness he left behind. But maybe the pain of his loss should never fade. Pain follows when recalling a memory of him. And those memories are what keep him alive in my heart.
I realize the focus of this post is mainly on my father. This isn’t intended to minimize the loss of my mother or the significant role she played in my life. As she became more deeply entrenched into the prison of dementia, it became harder for me to deal with her past and her present. I still find myself more obsessed with what could have been than with what actually was. That part of the healing process is ongoing and is something I will address here later. Right now, that place is still too painful for me to visit. Yet she, too, was greatly loved and is greatly missed.
I would give anything to have my mom and dad here with me today. But I am eternally grateful for being blessed to have them as my parents. And I can only hope they felt blessed to have me as their child.
At the moment, though, none of the topics appeal to me. I may be going through the black hole known as “writer’s block.” But I think the malady might better be described as a “blue funk.”
Friday is the third anniversary of my father’s death. In 2007, he passed away on August 20th from a massive stroke. His funeral was the following Saturday. Two weeks after he died, on September 3rd, my mom passed away. She had been struggling for over a decade with the devastating effects of dementia and on the following Saturday, we buried her.
To call those three weeks the worst extended period of my adult life is the biggest understatement I could ever make. In that short period of time, my life changed dramatically and yet, somehow, stood still, all at the same time. And so, I’ve found my topic for the week. I’ve learned that the art of writing can aid in the healing process and, in an attempt to do so, I offer this short tribute.
My mother and father were decent, hardworking people. Both were born in 1920. They lived through The Great Depression. They were both twelve years old when Franklin Delano Roosevelt became President for the first time and twenty-four years old when he died. He brought the country through the depression and guided the country through World War II. My mother remembered feeling like she’d lost a member of her family when he passed away.
They were exceptional examples of the true meaning of the Catholic faith and all it embraced. Their religion meant a great deal to both of them. They truly practiced what they preached. They were married in 1941, just fifteen days after the attack on Pearl Harbor. When my dad died, they had been married for sixty-six years. They believed in the power of their commitment and they honored it every day.
My father was more conservative than I remembered. In my liberal youth, I was appalled that my own father voted for Nixon over Kennedy in 1960. When I voted in my first election, I chose to support McGovern in 1972. My dad tried to tell me what a mistake I was making. In 1974, when the Nixon presidency collapsed under the weight of Watergate, I smugly told my father, “You see. I was right!” Our ideologies never ran in the same direction, but I think he was proud that I at least had one.
They didn’t grow up with television, much less cable, the internet or iTunes. My dad was content with the handful of stations that came through his television set with rabbit ears configured in a myriad of positions. He listened to his vinyl albums. He contacted family and friends through the lost art of letter writing or by telephone. My dad wasn’t interested in computers. My mother, on the other hand, worked at IBM when this technological marvel was in its infancy. The computer revolution was just beginning to hit its stride when her health began its slow, steady and painful decline. I believe she would have been fascinated with all the computer age had to offer.
I wrote a piece about my mother for her high school’s alumni magazine, but it never got printed. But my dad, like most fathers would, thought the piece was wonderful. He said to me, “I wonder what you could have done if we’d been able to send you to college.” He seemed sad when he said it, as though he had let me down. When I tried to tell him that I could have gone to college if I’d really wanted to, it didn’t seem to ease his mind.
His comment started me wondering if I’d let him down. At the time I was a secretary (just a secretary, as some of us in the field referred to it). I didn’t own a house or a car. I hadn’t given him a boatload of Catholic grandchildren. I wasn’t even married.
One day, we took a day trip to Gettysburg. As we walked around that hallowed place, my emotions got the better of me and tears began welling up. I remember apologizing to him. He said, “You don’t need to apologize. You’re crying because you feel things. Because you’re moved by the events that took place here. It makes me feel good, because I had some little part in making you that way.”
And that’s why I miss him so much today. This good man, with simple needs, took great pleasure in everything God had given him. My dad wasn’t impressed by material things. The gifts he had were on a much higher level. His faith, his family and his dog were the things he cherished most.
He was my mother’s primary caregiver until the last two years of his life when his own health was on shaky ground. Although he was visibly frustrated in the early days of her illness, over the years, I was amazed at the patience that seemed to grow ever stronger. He never looked at it as a trial or a burden. He was just doing his job; what he’d promised to do when they got married. He took care of her.
He was a treasured cousin, a faithful friend, and a good neighbor. His faith sustained him. His humor defined him. And the three years since that horrible day have not diminished his importance to my life or the emptiness he left behind. But maybe the pain of his loss should never fade. Pain follows when recalling a memory of him. And those memories are what keep him alive in my heart.
I realize the focus of this post is mainly on my father. This isn’t intended to minimize the loss of my mother or the significant role she played in my life. As she became more deeply entrenched into the prison of dementia, it became harder for me to deal with her past and her present. I still find myself more obsessed with what could have been than with what actually was. That part of the healing process is ongoing and is something I will address here later. Right now, that place is still too painful for me to visit. Yet she, too, was greatly loved and is greatly missed.
I would give anything to have my mom and dad here with me today. But I am eternally grateful for being blessed to have them as my parents. And I can only hope they felt blessed to have me as their child.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
"Oh, So You're SELF-Published"
If you’re the one speaking this phrase, make sure you tilt your head forward ever so slightly, shaking it gently back and forth, and infuse your tone with the right mixture of scorn and pity. If you’re the one the phrase is spoken to, resist the urge to scream, spit or cry. You’re not playing football here, so there’s no need to go on the offensive or defensive.
Traditional publishing today is facing the same sort of difficulties already faced by the movie and music industries. From the inception of the first video tape recorder and the subsequent morphing into DVDs, to the advent of mp3 players and online music libraries, the entertainment world has found itself at the mercy of the digital age. The production of the first e-reading device and digitalized books has forced book publishers to reevaluate their own place in this computerized world. We’ll discuss the ebook revolution in a future post. Today, it’s all about self-publishing.
Trying to change people’s perceptions about self-publishing is a lot like trying to teach a four-month old black Labrador not to chew on furniture. You expend tremendous energy for very little, if any, reward. (Trust me on this one. I consider myself an expert on labs and chewing. A year and a half later, we are still finding that rawhide chewies are less appealing than the leather loveseat or dining room chairs. My suggestion? IKEA.)
One notion particularly seems to be prevalent in the minds of the hard-core traditionalists. “Independent authors will glut the market with mediocre books.” As the writer of one of those mediocre books, I’m afraid I must object. While I know my novel is not the most exciting mystery ever written, it’s certainly not the worst. In an attempt to support the cause, I’ve read quite a few mysteries by self-published writers and many of them are as good as, if not better than, some books published in the mainstream market. What it boils down to is that it doesn’t matter how it’s published but how it’s written.
Years ago, self-publishers were referred to as the vanity press. This was a pretty accurate description. You paid the vanity publisher several thousand dollars and, in turn, you wound up with cartons of your printed masterpiece taking up space in your basement, garage or living room. Having spent all that money on the printing process, you had nothing left over for promotion. So, the book you poured your heart and soul into became holiday presents for your family, friends and anybody you saw walking down the street.
Today, the smart independent author goes a different route. Print-on-demand (or POD) publishing offers the author a chance to get his book into print, in many instances, for free. You upload your manuscript, create a cover, view the galleys, email back the proof, and the book files are sent to the printer. Many of these POD publishers will offer a distribution plan at a fairly reasonable cost. (By reasonable, I mean under $100). I purchased such a plan for my first book at Wordclay. Within a relatively short period of time, the book was showing up in several U.S. online bookseller sites and then began appearing in many international online stores, as well. I certainly didn't have the resources at my disposal to accomplish that. But is it going to sell? Well, that’s up to me.
The downside to self-publishing is that you, the independent author, bear the sole responsibility for promotion. Organizing book tours, landing a spot on a national television show, and having hundreds show up for a book signing are all lofty goals. For the self-published, though, they may not be realistic goals. But even with limited internet skills, you can find places to review your books, learn how to build your own website, how to write your own press releases, engage in a virtual book tour, and how to blog and Twitter until your fingers bleed. You can even find places to host your book for free while you make a name for yourself. Basically, there are no limits on how to form a marketing plan to get your book “out there.”
All of this technical information is great, but I realize none of it really addresses the “Oh, you’re SELF-published” issue. When someone says this, you need to focus on several things. The most important is that you wrote a book. You devised a story line, created characters, developed the scenes, wrote a beginning, middle and ending -- all from the inner sanctum of your own mind. If this isn’t an accomplishment, I don’t know what is. Often, the person tossing out the comment has never written a book. But even if he or she has, you can’t let the comment minimize what you’ve done.
Second, the implication from this phrase is that your work is subpar and, therefore, not worthy of attention. To dismiss something without knowing anything about it is not unusual and not solely directed at independent authors. We are, unfortunately, a society where it’s easier to denounce something without bothering to look into it. Take the comment for what it is: a limited knowledge of what publishing today is all about. The comment is not about you and it’s certainly not about your book. It’s simply someone’s opinion.
Third, if the comment is a reflection on your lack of financial reward, as I mentioned in my last post, writing cannot be about the money. For most of us, there simply isn’t any. We write because we want to write. If someone reads it, fantastic! If you make a few bucks along the way, that’s a great, big “Woo hoo!” But making or not making money doesn’t change the fact of what you’ve accomplished by writing your book. Don’t confuse success with the almighty dollar.
Nothing written here is intended to lessen the significance of having your book accepted for publication through traditional means. That achievement is one of which you should be extremely proud. The odds are clearly stacked against you, and to have succeeded puts you in a very special place. It is a dream held most sacred by anyone who puts pencil to paper, whether they admit it or not. But knowing the odds and the wealth of talent with whom you compete shouldn’t cause you to drive over your computer or use your pencils for firewood. Don’t let the competition discourage you from finding alternative methods for sharing your work.
Have you written a book? Good for you! That’s the important part. Now, get it out there in any way that works for you. Someone needs to read it. Are you SELF-published? Yup. And darn proud of it!
Traditional publishing today is facing the same sort of difficulties already faced by the movie and music industries. From the inception of the first video tape recorder and the subsequent morphing into DVDs, to the advent of mp3 players and online music libraries, the entertainment world has found itself at the mercy of the digital age. The production of the first e-reading device and digitalized books has forced book publishers to reevaluate their own place in this computerized world. We’ll discuss the ebook revolution in a future post. Today, it’s all about self-publishing.
Trying to change people’s perceptions about self-publishing is a lot like trying to teach a four-month old black Labrador not to chew on furniture. You expend tremendous energy for very little, if any, reward. (Trust me on this one. I consider myself an expert on labs and chewing. A year and a half later, we are still finding that rawhide chewies are less appealing than the leather loveseat or dining room chairs. My suggestion? IKEA.)
One notion particularly seems to be prevalent in the minds of the hard-core traditionalists. “Independent authors will glut the market with mediocre books.” As the writer of one of those mediocre books, I’m afraid I must object. While I know my novel is not the most exciting mystery ever written, it’s certainly not the worst. In an attempt to support the cause, I’ve read quite a few mysteries by self-published writers and many of them are as good as, if not better than, some books published in the mainstream market. What it boils down to is that it doesn’t matter how it’s published but how it’s written.
Years ago, self-publishers were referred to as the vanity press. This was a pretty accurate description. You paid the vanity publisher several thousand dollars and, in turn, you wound up with cartons of your printed masterpiece taking up space in your basement, garage or living room. Having spent all that money on the printing process, you had nothing left over for promotion. So, the book you poured your heart and soul into became holiday presents for your family, friends and anybody you saw walking down the street.
Today, the smart independent author goes a different route. Print-on-demand (or POD) publishing offers the author a chance to get his book into print, in many instances, for free. You upload your manuscript, create a cover, view the galleys, email back the proof, and the book files are sent to the printer. Many of these POD publishers will offer a distribution plan at a fairly reasonable cost. (By reasonable, I mean under $100). I purchased such a plan for my first book at Wordclay. Within a relatively short period of time, the book was showing up in several U.S. online bookseller sites and then began appearing in many international online stores, as well. I certainly didn't have the resources at my disposal to accomplish that. But is it going to sell? Well, that’s up to me.
The downside to self-publishing is that you, the independent author, bear the sole responsibility for promotion. Organizing book tours, landing a spot on a national television show, and having hundreds show up for a book signing are all lofty goals. For the self-published, though, they may not be realistic goals. But even with limited internet skills, you can find places to review your books, learn how to build your own website, how to write your own press releases, engage in a virtual book tour, and how to blog and Twitter until your fingers bleed. You can even find places to host your book for free while you make a name for yourself. Basically, there are no limits on how to form a marketing plan to get your book “out there.”
All of this technical information is great, but I realize none of it really addresses the “Oh, you’re SELF-published” issue. When someone says this, you need to focus on several things. The most important is that you wrote a book. You devised a story line, created characters, developed the scenes, wrote a beginning, middle and ending -- all from the inner sanctum of your own mind. If this isn’t an accomplishment, I don’t know what is. Often, the person tossing out the comment has never written a book. But even if he or she has, you can’t let the comment minimize what you’ve done.
Second, the implication from this phrase is that your work is subpar and, therefore, not worthy of attention. To dismiss something without knowing anything about it is not unusual and not solely directed at independent authors. We are, unfortunately, a society where it’s easier to denounce something without bothering to look into it. Take the comment for what it is: a limited knowledge of what publishing today is all about. The comment is not about you and it’s certainly not about your book. It’s simply someone’s opinion.
Third, if the comment is a reflection on your lack of financial reward, as I mentioned in my last post, writing cannot be about the money. For most of us, there simply isn’t any. We write because we want to write. If someone reads it, fantastic! If you make a few bucks along the way, that’s a great, big “Woo hoo!” But making or not making money doesn’t change the fact of what you’ve accomplished by writing your book. Don’t confuse success with the almighty dollar.
Nothing written here is intended to lessen the significance of having your book accepted for publication through traditional means. That achievement is one of which you should be extremely proud. The odds are clearly stacked against you, and to have succeeded puts you in a very special place. It is a dream held most sacred by anyone who puts pencil to paper, whether they admit it or not. But knowing the odds and the wealth of talent with whom you compete shouldn’t cause you to drive over your computer or use your pencils for firewood. Don’t let the competition discourage you from finding alternative methods for sharing your work.
Have you written a book? Good for you! That’s the important part. Now, get it out there in any way that works for you. Someone needs to read it. Are you SELF-published? Yup. And darn proud of it!
Friday, August 6, 2010
Writing for Profit or Nano Economics 101
This morning, as I sipped my coffee (you will learn that coffee plays an integral role in the development of my posts), I contemplated the direction my life had taken over the last several months. In January of this year, I published the first issue of an online poetry magazine. Even though it struggles with attracting new poets, its readership continues to steadily increase. I administer two poetry prompt blogs and recently sponsored a poetry contest on one of them. These blogs also have a sizeable group of readers, but, again, neither has captured those elusive participants. And then, there’s my novel. A story that floated around in my head forever finally found its way onto paper. But have any of these pursuits been worth my time or effort?
No doubt, this sudden introspection evolved from receiving my first royalty statement for Tarnished Idols. In this regard, the word “nano” seems overly optimistic. Quite likely, the check won’t cover the cost of the electricity I’ll use to type this post. But I digress.
You can well imagine that my initial disappointment blew all the facts out of the water. FACT: the book had been available for a mere six weeks before the end of the sales quarter. FACT: The press release hadn’t even gone out yet. FACT: The amount of time I had to spend on promotion was, itself, of nano proportions. FACT: money was never the point … was it?
Those of us who engage in the literary arts should know this one thing above all else. Unless you are an incredibly gifted author with a huge public relations machine projecting your work and protecting your hindquarters, the likelihood of outward success is probably close to zero. There are hundreds of excellent writers out there who will, slowly but surely, find their way onto the bookshelves and eReader devices of the consumer. They’ll make their mark, create a name for themselves, and accrue a loyal following. But for the rest of us, that will probably not happen. And you know what? I’m okay with that.
For me, the act of writing is pursuing a lifelong dream. I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I spent years writing songs in the hopes of achieving musical stardom. When that didn’t materialize, I sporadically wrote poetry while writing bits and pieces of my novel. It wasn’t until last year that I finally had the opportunity to make these literary hopes a reality. Circumstances made it possible for me to spend my entire day engaged in the art of wordplay. While I’m sure, in the back of my mind, I saw myself on the cover of People Magazine for rocketing to the top of Oprah’s booklist, I never seriously expected that to happen. The outward success that all writers dream about is, unfortunately for most, just that – a dream.
You’ve probably noticed I’ve used the phrase “outward success” twice in this post. Not to minimize the impact of that kind of achievement, it’s only part of the picture. The biggest reward comes not from monetary gain, but from “inward success.” Every time I put words down on paper, I’ve created something. Words become thoughts which, in turn, become poems. Or words become sentences that tell a story which, in turn, become a book. It’s the act of really doing it that becomes the success.
After you’ve finished writing your poem, short story or novel, you have already touched one person’s life. Your own. Should others have an opportunity to read your work, then that becomes your second blessing. The first was engaging your brain to form something concrete with your unique gift of words.
So, when the big checks aren’t delivered to your mailbox and the media isn’t banging down your door, don’t waste too much time worrying about it. If you write because you want to retire early on your millions and crisscross the country in your luxury motor home, perhaps this is not the path you should follow. But if you write because you want to write and because you need to write, then let the writing itself become your ultimate goal.
No doubt, this sudden introspection evolved from receiving my first royalty statement for Tarnished Idols. In this regard, the word “nano” seems overly optimistic. Quite likely, the check won’t cover the cost of the electricity I’ll use to type this post. But I digress.
You can well imagine that my initial disappointment blew all the facts out of the water. FACT: the book had been available for a mere six weeks before the end of the sales quarter. FACT: The press release hadn’t even gone out yet. FACT: The amount of time I had to spend on promotion was, itself, of nano proportions. FACT: money was never the point … was it?
Those of us who engage in the literary arts should know this one thing above all else. Unless you are an incredibly gifted author with a huge public relations machine projecting your work and protecting your hindquarters, the likelihood of outward success is probably close to zero. There are hundreds of excellent writers out there who will, slowly but surely, find their way onto the bookshelves and eReader devices of the consumer. They’ll make their mark, create a name for themselves, and accrue a loyal following. But for the rest of us, that will probably not happen. And you know what? I’m okay with that.
For me, the act of writing is pursuing a lifelong dream. I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I spent years writing songs in the hopes of achieving musical stardom. When that didn’t materialize, I sporadically wrote poetry while writing bits and pieces of my novel. It wasn’t until last year that I finally had the opportunity to make these literary hopes a reality. Circumstances made it possible for me to spend my entire day engaged in the art of wordplay. While I’m sure, in the back of my mind, I saw myself on the cover of People Magazine for rocketing to the top of Oprah’s booklist, I never seriously expected that to happen. The outward success that all writers dream about is, unfortunately for most, just that – a dream.
You’ve probably noticed I’ve used the phrase “outward success” twice in this post. Not to minimize the impact of that kind of achievement, it’s only part of the picture. The biggest reward comes not from monetary gain, but from “inward success.” Every time I put words down on paper, I’ve created something. Words become thoughts which, in turn, become poems. Or words become sentences that tell a story which, in turn, become a book. It’s the act of really doing it that becomes the success.
After you’ve finished writing your poem, short story or novel, you have already touched one person’s life. Your own. Should others have an opportunity to read your work, then that becomes your second blessing. The first was engaging your brain to form something concrete with your unique gift of words.
So, when the big checks aren’t delivered to your mailbox and the media isn’t banging down your door, don’t waste too much time worrying about it. If you write because you want to retire early on your millions and crisscross the country in your luxury motor home, perhaps this is not the path you should follow. But if you write because you want to write and because you need to write, then let the writing itself become your ultimate goal.
Monday, August 2, 2010
To Prompt Or Not To Prompt
I administer two weekly, poetry prompt sites. Every week, A Muse Fuse follows the alphabet by picking a new word, in alphabetical order, from the dictionary. The Magnified Muse chooses a particular quote from which to create a poem based on what that quote means to the poet. Before I became so absorbed with my own projects, I wrote to the weekly prompts at Poetic Asides and micro poetry.
On July 6th, A Muse Fuse began a Poem-A-Day Challenge and for the next twenty-six days, I wrote a poem based upon a word following the alphabet from A-Z. My partner, Lynda, created the list two months ago. I added the list to my calendar and didn’t look at the words again until the Challenge began. Every morning, my PDA beeped and blinked with the daily prompt while it dared me to find a way to work the word into a poem.
The Challenge ended on Saturday, July 31st. We were having friends for dinner on August 1st. With company coming, our house of two dogs and two cats needed a serious de-furring. Preoccupied with the cleaning and cooking preparations, I had little time to think of much else. It wasn’t until this morning that it hit me. There was no scheduled poem to write. My muse was on a mini-vacation until next week when I would return to my series of poetry prompts. And I felt lost.
I was trying to decide where to begin, here at my new blog home. What deep, inner revelations would inspire my first post? After some serious thought, and several cups of coffee, the idea materialized. I’d write about poetry prompts.
Several months ago, I was scrolling through some Twitter comments about poetry prompts. One entry caught my attention. A woman posted that she didn’t believe in poetry prompts. Poems should be born solely through the inspiration buried within the heart and soul. Puzzled by her comment, I discussed the point with a friend of mine. To my surprise, he agreed with her. He didn’t like his inspiration being restricted to a particular word or thought. Not for the first time (and, surely, not for the last), I remain baffled by people’s perceptions. I’m a poet. I’ve been writing for years. Inspiration abounds in my heart and soul, but it doesn’t just jump haphazardly through my fingers to the keyboard.
So how do you define inspiration? If you write about how you feel in the rain, aren’t you writing about rain or a particular emotion? If you write about your love for someone, you’re inspired by love, a person or a relationship.
Poetry prompts serve the same purpose and, usually, produce results on a deeper level. For example, it isn’t just writing a poem about a grapefruit. After you’ve said it’s a round, tart, diet food, what else is there to write? The poem is more about what the image of a grapefruit brings to mind. I’m taken back to my younger days, sitting around the table in our kitchen. We seldom ate breakfast as a family unit during the week, and we weren’t much of a hot breakfast kind of family. Cereal was our morning staple. Dad ate his Wheaties with a banana and Mom ate her Total with half a grapefruit. If we were eating together, it was because we were heading out for the day or getting ready for Sunday Mass. From that one grapefruit, I’ve got the inspiration for family, memories, anticipation, and spirituality. That’s a pretty hefty list of ideas from one piece of fruit!
Words, phrases or images fuel our imagination. They uncover places we might not otherwise think to visit. And once we reach that destination, the sky is our creative limit.
Weekly quote prompts at The Magnified Muse resume on Thursday, August 9th. A Muse Fuse returns to its regular, weekly journey through the alphabet on Thursday, August 12th, starting with the letter “S”.
On July 6th, A Muse Fuse began a Poem-A-Day Challenge and for the next twenty-six days, I wrote a poem based upon a word following the alphabet from A-Z. My partner, Lynda, created the list two months ago. I added the list to my calendar and didn’t look at the words again until the Challenge began. Every morning, my PDA beeped and blinked with the daily prompt while it dared me to find a way to work the word into a poem.
The Challenge ended on Saturday, July 31st. We were having friends for dinner on August 1st. With company coming, our house of two dogs and two cats needed a serious de-furring. Preoccupied with the cleaning and cooking preparations, I had little time to think of much else. It wasn’t until this morning that it hit me. There was no scheduled poem to write. My muse was on a mini-vacation until next week when I would return to my series of poetry prompts. And I felt lost.
I was trying to decide where to begin, here at my new blog home. What deep, inner revelations would inspire my first post? After some serious thought, and several cups of coffee, the idea materialized. I’d write about poetry prompts.
Several months ago, I was scrolling through some Twitter comments about poetry prompts. One entry caught my attention. A woman posted that she didn’t believe in poetry prompts. Poems should be born solely through the inspiration buried within the heart and soul. Puzzled by her comment, I discussed the point with a friend of mine. To my surprise, he agreed with her. He didn’t like his inspiration being restricted to a particular word or thought. Not for the first time (and, surely, not for the last), I remain baffled by people’s perceptions. I’m a poet. I’ve been writing for years. Inspiration abounds in my heart and soul, but it doesn’t just jump haphazardly through my fingers to the keyboard.
So how do you define inspiration? If you write about how you feel in the rain, aren’t you writing about rain or a particular emotion? If you write about your love for someone, you’re inspired by love, a person or a relationship.
Poetry prompts serve the same purpose and, usually, produce results on a deeper level. For example, it isn’t just writing a poem about a grapefruit. After you’ve said it’s a round, tart, diet food, what else is there to write? The poem is more about what the image of a grapefruit brings to mind. I’m taken back to my younger days, sitting around the table in our kitchen. We seldom ate breakfast as a family unit during the week, and we weren’t much of a hot breakfast kind of family. Cereal was our morning staple. Dad ate his Wheaties with a banana and Mom ate her Total with half a grapefruit. If we were eating together, it was because we were heading out for the day or getting ready for Sunday Mass. From that one grapefruit, I’ve got the inspiration for family, memories, anticipation, and spirituality. That’s a pretty hefty list of ideas from one piece of fruit!
Words, phrases or images fuel our imagination. They uncover places we might not otherwise think to visit. And once we reach that destination, the sky is our creative limit.
Weekly quote prompts at The Magnified Muse resume on Thursday, August 9th. A Muse Fuse returns to its regular, weekly journey through the alphabet on Thursday, August 12th, starting with the letter “S”.
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