Happy days.
Gallivanting Granny takes a ride on the combine
Tag: indie
We’re all romantic fools at heart…
As a writer of contemporary romance with a novel to sell I am clear about my target market. Now I’m not a fan of pigeon holes. Or of sweeping judgements which attempt to predict character by demographic. But having issued that disclaimer, please bear with me as I litter this post with offensive generalisation. It’s the grubby truth of marketing, and I accept that having a criteria on which to base your marketing efforts does make sense.
To ensure the best response to my own marketing, I carefully researched my target audience. Ok, that’s a lie. I gave it my best guess. I mean we’re talking contemporary romance. How hard can it be? Young women of average intelligence education. We all know that it’s the dreamy lasses who want to read about gorgeous hunks – men who will love them completely, and whose hearts they will mend. Passion, adoration (and a soupçon of scorching-but-meaningful rumpy-pumpy). The cynical mid-lifers (of which I am one, which should have told me something as I am writing this stuff) have been there, done that and thrown away the t-shirt. Some have nurtured ill will against romance ever since the departure of husband number three. And the highly educated know enough to understand that it’s all a load of fanciful tosh, they are busy improving their literary minds with important books.
The elderly? Please. You need to ask? As for men, well we all know that their perfect relationship is straight-forward (willing woman – leg over – meat pie for dinner. Depart to watch the match). If the match is showing widescreen at the pub, we have our happy-every-after. I warned you that this would be offensive.
If you are ranting at me right now, please take some solace in knowing that I now understand the folly of these collective ‘isms’. They are wrong, wrong and wrong again. We are indeed all romantic fools at heart. Take if you will as an example, the lovely letter I received this week from a farmer. A man who I happen to know is the wrong side of 60 (strike that, let’s make it the right side of 60!) He qualified his letter with the fact that he wasn’t much of a book reader, preferring the Farmer’s Weekly. He reads, he tells me, one book a year, on his holiday. He usually chooses a romance (did you see that coming? If not – shame on you.) That letter made my week. And there is the card I received in the post from an octogenarian. The photographs sent to me of my book in exotic locations, despatched by a woman who holds rank in City banking. The builder I met in Tesco who apologised for having not read my novel yet. I countered his apology with one of my own; “It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, what do you usually read?” His reply – “Mills & Boon.” I misjudged, again.
One of my closest friends is on husband number three. I realise now that this fact alone is a credit to her faith in true love. Isn’t that really the message of every romance? And she’s read the book three times. Happy endings, I find, can bring a tear to the most hardened of eyes. Boo sucks demographic. You don’t know us at all.
Sequential absorption – If you’re looking for me I’m in Draymere
I can’t deny that when I started the sequel to my debut novel I was full of trepidation. A Bed of Barley Straw just happened, all by itself. The story ran from my subconscious straight onto the page. It was an experiment, if you like, a challenge to my psyche: “you keep saying you’ve got a book in you” (that’s my psyche talking, I didn’t say it out loud) “about time you bloody well proved it.”
So I did. And I won (yay, one-nil to me!)
But now I’ve got to make it two-nil, although I’m not sure my psyche ever said “actually, you’ve got two.” What if I didn’t have? What if my debut was also my finale? So many excited requests for the next book…thrilling, wonderful feedback, but can I perform twice?
The start of a sequel is problematic and frustrating. I found that as a reader, and I am finding the same as a writer. It isn’t enough to assume that everyone has read the first book (and unlike a series, A Bed of Barley Straw is a stand-alone book). Book two picks up the story where book one ended. Saga-esque (but over too short a time frame to justify calling it the Draymere Saga, much as I like the ring of that).
Inevitably, readers must be re-introduced to the characters and settings. If you haven’t read the first book or if you read it a long time ago (apologies feedbackers – I’m going as fast as I can), I can’t bombard you with character names and places without, at the very least, a hint to their history as contained in book one. Perversely, when I am reading a sequel (especially if I am reading it soon after the preceding book) I find my mind frequently shouting “I know all that!” Don’t waste my time with flashback and re-introduction. I want the nitty gritty.
So, a conundrum and a balance to be struck. A gentle reminder here and there, a drop of reminiscence. Ideally cleared up in the first few chapters so we can all get down to the nitty gritty. And a good editor please, to tell me if I have succeeded.
I’m delighted to say I am now in the thick of the gritty in book two. Happily the psyche, when it eventually stopped sulking, willingly poured forth a brand new story, complete with plot-twists and turns. Some of the events have even surprised me. And I thought I knew my characters better than that.
Maybe I know them too well. Like an addictive alter-ego computer game, the characters and settings threaten to become more real than my actual life. I am not ‘in the present’, I am in Draymere.
Spirited discussions with The Farmer have erupted from that old cherry – ‘who said what’. You know the bugger:
“I told you…”, “we agreed…”, “we talked about this only yesterday…”
The most recent spirited discussion ended when The Farmer announced heatedly that he was going to start recording our conversations. Now I am not saying that he is right and I am wrong, but shortly after that encounter I called his brother Alexander. Close, both names begin with A.
I have hidden all recording devices in our house and I’m heading off to Draymere. To find out what exactly Alexander is up to now.
Reaping the rewards
I am writing like a demon. Smug as a skunk. I should point out that my reaping of rewards lies in the satisfaction of a story coming together…a novel forming. Monetary rewards, not so much but right now I couldn’t give a hoot. I #amwriting – and loving every minute of it.
I accept that this nirvana may be temporary. I recently latched on to an interesting forum discussion based on the question ‘How many words should you write each day?’ Various frightening word counts littered said forum outrageously. I selected the lowest target (500 words) and set to with evangelist gusto. It almost worked, for a day or so, then I had a weekend away and wrote not a single word. Panic at falling behind my target perversely blocked me from getting back to the writing at all. With every day that I failed to write I mentally upped the daily word count which I would achieve when I started writing again. The days stretched on, to a point where the daily word count I was planning to achieve became, well, unachievable. I finally acknowledged my frailty and gave up altogether. The mysteries of the human mind are anathema to me (or maybe only my mind functions this way) but within an instant of concluding that I couldn’t write any more, I was off like the proverbial steamy-train (note: deliberate typo).
Contrary, but I’m not knocking it. Not this week anyway, while I’m writing like a demon. My *k words are climbing. It is easy to get caught up in the numbers (stroke-impossible-not-to). When I wrote the first book I am embarrassed to admit that I reached my final word count without a clue how long the book was. No idea if my number was paltry, sufficient or awesome (it was somewhere in the middle). That lack of number pressure was a guilt-free blessing. I just kept writing until the story was written.
In the smugness of my current flow (and the block which preceded it) I have arrived at my own answer to the conundrum ‘how many words should you write in a day?’ That answer is simply ‘as many as you bloody well can’. That might be two (I have experienced this, the words were ‘Chapter Twelve’) it might be 20k (I haven’t experienced this yet). When the fug strikes, hammer out five. When the floodgates are open – CLEAR THE DECKS AND DO NOTHING ELSE (as best you are able, this may prove counter-productive if you expire at your desktop from starvation. Take that as a health warning.)
Facebook won’t miss me, tweets are an endangered species, blog posts will be scant. Marketing is tedious anyway (as are ironing and housework). No escaping the day job which is growing my daily bread. If I keep this up maybe harvest and the manuscript will collide in a glorious eruption of reaping.
Uh-oh, that sounds like a target, and you know what targets bring. I really hope I haven’t jinxed my fortune, by writing about my writing here (if you get what I mean). Thank heavens I am not traditionally published, imagine the pressure of advance payment!
*Shudders dramatically* like the tortured indie she is.
50 Bales of Hay (shameless, I know)
One million book sales in just one week. Woah.
That is a level of book sales that most of us haven’t imagined in our wildest, most optimistic day dreams. An unbelievable storyline (the figures, not the book). You couldn’t write it as the saying goes (and a million is not easy to write unless you are concentrating. That’s a lot of noughts).
I’m talking Grey of course. Isn’t everyone?
Another masterclass in selling from the stable of E.L.James, and the message is starkly simple: Write something that everyone wants to read. And market the living daylights out of it. Respect.
Or it would be simple but for two things. The first is a question – what the hell does everyone want to read? (Submission and lashings might be the answer, but I think that has been done). There are whips in my book, but only the riding sort (and we’re talking horse riding here I’m afraid) so I may have missed a trick.
If you think you know the answer, get on and write that book but my instinct tells me that none of us actually do. We might know what is working now but 50 Shades was new and different. I doubt that James wrote it because she knew it would be the next big thing. She probably wrote the story she carried in her head, as I suspect most authors do. I wonder if she dared to dream one million book sales, right back at the very beginning.
Marketing the living daylights out of a book must surely be easier when you already have one..two…three best sellers and a film under your belt. A supermarket, nay mega-market, full of eager buyers and a proven product to sell. So we have looped very neatly back to the first point. Get yourself a best seller. Write the book that everyone wants to read. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, thanks ELJ.
Or don’t of course. Write the book that you want to write. Write it the best you can. Tell people about it at every random opportunity you trip over. Cross your fingers, and don’t give up the day job. A masterclass in book sales from the stable of Sam Russell. Best week to date (excluding the giveaways which did make my sales chart very pretty) 32 books (thank you the WI) and I was delighted with that. But a hundred would be nice…or even a thousand. Nothing wrong with optimistic day dreams, they are what keeps us going.
As for Grey, have I bought it? You bet I have.
Writing – here’s where I’m at – an excerpt from the work-in-progress sequel to A Bed of Barley Straw
Alexander drank his black coffee on the bench outside the cottage. Rested from a fortnight of undisturbed nights, lulled by the rhythmic crashing of the Irish Sea against the rocks below. The dark stubble on his chin formed the shadow of a beard. The blue of his eyes, mirroring the ocean, flashed from his relaxed, ruggedly tanned face. He rested easy on the bench; long legs stretched out, clad in faded denim, weathered brogues on his feet. His body warmed by the oiled wool sweater which draped over his torso.
Alexander thought he would never grow tired of this view. His gaze took in the ocean and the infinite sky; an ever-changing vista. He watched as the clouds swept in from the West and scudded along the coast or paused to envelop Porth Wen in damp grey mist. At times the weather battered his cottage with heady gusts carrying fierce pellets of rain. He saw the haunting, derelict brickworks emerge from dull haze, and smiled as sunlight on the waves glided teasingly closer before embracing the land with warmth and colour. The occasional distant walker or lone fishing boat could hold his attention until they vanished from sight. Sometimes his walks took him along the coast to Hell’s Mouth where he paused to survey the surfers riding the waves; distant from his cliff top lookout. The days followed a rudimentary pattern. With no telephone, no TV or internet, simplicity was enforced. He woke when the first stripes of daylight settled on his pillow. He stoked the stove, filled a basin with water and placed it on top of the wood-burner. Brewing his coffee and feeding the dogs gave the heat of the flames time to lift the chill from the water before he stood, buck naked on the coarse rug, to wash from head to toe.
He took his second coffee with a wedge of bara brith, spread with salted butter; eaten on the bench outside if the weather allowed, at the table when it did not. The cottage door stood open allowing Digger and Dora to wander. They snuffled their way through the rocky gorse outcrop and explored the path to the cove before returning to settle at Alexander’s feet. After breaking his fast Alexander indulged in a leisurely cigarette and turned on his lap top. He couldn’t connect with anyone, nor did he want to, but he spent an hour going over the plans for the equine wing of the practice. He noted steps that needed to be taken. He studied financial spreadsheets, listed questions and points that required his attention. On the dot of the hour he closed his laptop and put it in his rucksack, shoving his waterproof jacket on top. He whistled the dogs who scurried to him. The cottage was left unlocked. He did not chose his route but let the path take him where it would.
Mid-day always found him at the Crag Inn. The landlord knew him now and drew a pint of dark bitter as he came in. Alexander read as he absently downed a plate of welsh stew. With his hunger sated he took advantage of the Wi-Fi to catch up on emails. On this particular day he was jolted by a message.
Hettie Redfern is on Facebook: Hettie Redfern invites you to like her page “Redfern Livery Stables”
Alexander deleted the notification. He didn’t want her name in his head.
Striding through the town with the dogs at his heels, Alexander stocked up on basics before hiking back to the cottage. He raised a hand in greeting of the painter as she traipsed the coastal path with an easel slung over her shoulder and a bulky satchel. The woman had passed his cottage twice daily since his arrival. She spent her day perched in a nook on the cliffs above the brick-works. Her silvered blonde hair caught the wind and flew into a writhing nest around her head as she turned to wave in reply.
Yay – I’m ‘Z’ List!
I am a celebrity this week. I may be indulging in big fish syndrome, but I insist on enjoying my moment of fame in next week’s chip papers.
The local press were hot on the heels of Good Housekeeping Magazine in bringing my story (From Farmers Wife to Author of Saucy Novel) to the world’s attention. Ok, not to the world. To the UK readers of GH magazine and a very small corner of Essex. And the reason for all this attention? The combined efforts of me, myself, and I, plus the instrumental role played by Eldest Daughter, my home-grown PR, who got me into GH and wrote the press releases.
I received an email from our accountant: Subject: Very Strange Question. Message: Forgive me for asking this, but I’m on the train reading this month’s edition of GH magazine, and I have come across a picture of someone I recognise, bearing your name. Is this you?
The temptation to reply “No, I haven’t got a clue who that is” was strong. This lady does our accounts, I kind of figured she would be bright enough to work it out for herself. She had worked it out, of course (I am being mean-minded for the purpose of comedy) because the final line of the message congratulated me on writing the book. I am using her missive to underline the surprise (should that be shock?) which acquaintances experience when they find a friend/colleague/client in COMPLETELY THE WRONG PLACE. A fish out of water.
I had a similar reaction from the lady who waxes my eyebrows (“Was that YOU in the local paper?”) and to be entirely fair, if my accountant or the lady who waxes my eyebrows had been splashed across the media for writing a ‘saucy’ novel, I would undoubtedly ask them the same question.
Generally, the result has been positively overwhelming, with moments of fear thrown in. Such as when the vicar called to offer her congratulations and confirm that she was “looking forward to reading the book.” I shook in my boots then. “It isn’t vicar reading” my mind was screaming, but instead of saying that I made non-committal choking noises at her. Shame on me, for passing judgement on a vicar’s reading choices; the woman has undoubtedly seen more of life than I have. It does, however, make me uncomfortable when people read my book because I wrote it, rather than because it is a book they would pick from the shelf. Plus, well, you know, it is a little bit raunchy. (I prefer ‘raunchy’ to ‘saucy’, saucy conjures images of Benny Hill which are far more disturbing).
The Gallivanting Granny scared me a little, when she rang up to say the picture was “terrible, terrible, terrible” (yup – repeated three times) and The Farmer added to my disquiet when, having read the article at his brother’s house, he reported back that the headline was “Saucy Farmer’s Wife”. Lucky then that the terrible picture would quickly dispel that notion. Even luckier that when I finally got to see the paper (our house being too remote to benefit from paper delivery) the picture was poor, not terrible, and the headline was saucy novel.
Great fame and fortune have resulted from the articles: An instant invitation (before I knew the piece had featured, which proved confusing) to talk about self-publishing at a creative writing class. A last minute request to speak to the WI (their pre-booked speaker was poorly) and, as a I write this post, a plea from a friend to speak to her Mother’s luncheon group.
So, wha’ do ya know, I’ve become a Public Speaker! I didn’t see that coming. The W.I. were great. Good fun, spirited, enthusiastic. My heart stopped the words getting out of my mouth for the first few seconds, but then by some stroke of luck I remembered that I am a show off and thoroughly enjoyed myself. There was one mildly hostile moment from my audience, when I told them the excerpt I was reading would be free of smut, but we got through that.
As a post note question, don’t chips taste so much better when they are wrapped in newspaper?
My rookie efforts at experimental, almost zero budget, Marketing
I have been dabbling in marketing over the last few weeks, without a budget, although I did fork out just shy of thirty quid on Facebook in April. And three pounds 49 pence on postage… Facebook – Page Promotion and Boosted Posts I love that you can target Facebook boosts to a specific audience, and the fact that it only costs you if a person actually connects with your post. FB allows you to set your daily budget and the duration of the boost, so right from the get go you know absolutely what your maximum spend will be. Great user tools, and targeting too, what more could you ask for! Results and connections are charted for you. I saw an increase in page likes and in activity on all the posts I boosted. FB also tells you which of your (un-boosted) posts are amusing people, so you can make informed choices about what to promote. What you cannot do is work out if all this activity translates to actual book sales. I console myself with the belief that any PR carrying the name of my book is valuable, even if it does not directly translate to financial returns! As the author of rural romance, featuring horses and dogs. I targeted my post at women who like books, romance, dogs and horses. Which feels pretty specific. As I have yet to complete my ‘Facebook Ads training’ I could well be missing a trick. Amazon Giveaway Unfortunately only in the USA – a US address is a requirement of entry (Amazon’s idea, not mine) but as America knows little about me yet, I thought this was worth a bash. I offered three free copies of my paperback (you have to have a physical book – or a physical something- to participate in this) and ticked ‘follow me on twitter’ as one of the entry requirements. You decide the ‘lucky number’ who will win a book, e.g. every 30th entrant or every 1000th. I over-estimated the potential number of entrants and set my number too high. Consequently I only gave away one book in the end. Amazon despatches the book themselves and charges you the retail cost plus postage, so prize giving is delightfully easy (I had to pay £10 to despatch a book to the USA after my Goodreads Giveaway). You can promote the giveaway on twitter with the #AmazonGiveaway tag. Result – an increase in twitter followers, potentially people who actually read books, although probably those that just enjoy giveaways! Cheap Handouts for my upcoming signing An easy one this, I ordered 100 free business cards from Vistaprint, replacing the business name with the name of my book, and adding my tag line where the legend should have been. I’m quite pleased with the result (see below) and I have something to give to those attending my book signing. Total spend £3.49 (on postage) and I now carry a few in my handbag to distribute to anyone who shows a glimmer of interest. P.S. I got a voucher from Visa Print this morning, offering £10 off my next order, which I am about to use to create a poster for the book signing. I think I’m in profit.
Pinterest Having become absorbed by Pinterest when creating mood boards for my novel (otherwise known as procrastinating), I finally made the boards public. I find images a great way to stimulate writing, and as many of my readers have said that they would like to “step into the world of Draymere”, I decided it was time to share.
The cover image on my mood board “A Bed of Barley Straw – Draymere” offers a link to my book on Amazon. I have absolutely no idea if this will engage potential readers or not but I’m enjoying myself! It also spurred me on to create the mood board for the sequel (not public yet) which had the effect of breaking my writers block and delivered me back to the typewriter. Now that, I call a success.
Woah! What a week.
An interesting week in my self-publishing journey. Much to excite. I am still writing my book talk for next month’s ‘book chat/signing/author interview’ (I must come up with a snappier name before we announce the event). The speech isn’t getting longer, but much like my manuscript it is undergoing a million edits.
A certain very good friend has agreed to read some passages from the book out loud. She reads beautifully and I fear I may squeak on the day (It is not meant to be a comedy act). Being the character that she is, when I told her that I would email the relevant passages, typed out and edited for profanities, she suggested she carry a little bell and ‘ding out’ the swear words. Comedy Store, here we come. I vetoed the idea on the grounds of nervous hysteria looming.
The first passage for reading was easy to select. Near the beginning of the story, so no spoilers here. Not involving too many characters to confuse those who have not read the book. No sex! I replaced the edgy swearing with milder words, but then another friend who is coming to support told me she would be bringing her grand-daughter along (3 years old). We may be re-visiting that bell.
The format of the event is broadly as follows:
- Gin and tonic (that’s just for me, the rest get tea or coffee)
- Hello (mustn’t forget that)
- Speak about my journey to self-publishing
- Reading (and bell-ringing?) by very good friend
- Speak about the book
- Second reading*
- Host (and hopefully audience) Q&A session
- Book signing and goodbye
- Probably more gin.
*You will note that the second reading has an asterisk in place, because I am really struggling to find a second passage that meets the criteria of “no spoilers, no blue bits, not too many characters.” This book is fast, in more ways than one (and yes, that is a plug).
I put a post on Facebook asking readers for their favourite passages. Great response, but few that met the rules. My friend wants to read a steamy scene but personally I think she is becoming obsessed with that bell. Replace “second reading” with “musical interlude”.
Other exciting events this week – I GOT THE BOOK ACCEPTED IN A LOCAL BOOKSTORE! I couldn’t be more thrilled, although I did have to beg and turn up the charm simultaneously. Not an easy thing to achieve. Two copies, but it’s a start. I am hoping that if I get the publicity for the book chat right, those two books will launch themselves off the shelves.
Wonderful ED, my home grown PR, is writing a local press release and the MAGAZINE IS OUT! Weirdly this has happened 6 days ahead of the date I am allowed to shout about it. I’m tempted to break rank here, but I am so humbly grateful for the great publicity I will rein myself in and abide by the rules. Besides, they were really nice people and a promise is a promise. Once again news of my ‘launch’ has reached me via social medial. Must be subscribers only, because I can’t find a copy anywhere (trust me, I have looked). A photograph of the article (depicting a very well turned out woman who resembles me a little) arrived via Facebook.
The final starburst to award this week, goes to the news that I have SOLD A BOOK IN AMERICA! My first transatlantic sale. In fact, I sold three. On the same day. Go figure. I have no idea why the US of A suddenly glimpsed across me. Or three of them did. The mysterious workings of the World Wide Wonderful web. I can’t figure it out, but I’m happy in my ignorance. Much as the tracking of this blog bemuses and fascinates me. Occasional readers from 18 Nations. A special “Hello!” to the Netherlands, Canada, Poland, and all of you World Wonderful readers. It’s great to be in touch.
PS America, check out #AmazonGiveaway “A Bed of Barley Straw” for the chance to win a copy of my book.
So yes, an interesting week.
Talking about my book…
That is what I have to do now. Blog tours, author interviews and a couple of local speaking/signing events lurk on my horizon. I will have to talk out loud, in front of people. Yikes.
Numerous niggles are harrying my mind. The blog tour sounds fine; I can sit at my computer, happy in my space, editing and re-editing my words as often as I like before I send them out. Viewers can glance at my post and move swiftly on, or they can read every sentence. I cannot be offended because I will never know which of those actions they have taken (unless they drop a comment or a reassuring ‘like’ – lovely gifts from cyberspace which let you know you have actually connected).
My issue with author interviews is that I’m not sure I’m getting the answers right. This belief is confirmed when I read the interviews of proper, grown up authors. Those familiar with my blog will surely remember that my response to a straightforward query about my favourite books resulted in total brain freeze. (I felt only empathy for Natalie Bennett after that train crash of a radio interview). Also I did not study journalism at the University of Brilliant, I cannot quote Shakespeare (at least not knowingly), I have never written for the National Shout it Out, and there are zero awards to my name.
My author bio is a desperate little paragraph with few writer credentials, and zero proof of wordsmithery:
Left school at 16 ( I couldn’t wait to get out). Worked with horses. Got married, had kids, wrote a book.
There is more of course, but little of relevance. Various eclectic jobs, study and hobbies. You’re taking a gamble on me as an author, but hey, live dangerously. Oh, I’ve just remembered, I won the poetry contest at our village fete – for three years on the run! How the hell did I miss that out? They even gave me a cup (it had to be given back at the end of the year, of course). My poem about the Queen’s Jubilee was an absolute cracker. I would love to share it with you here but it is sadly lost in the mist of obsolete PCs.
Now the book, I can talk about, as friends will verify (whilst rolling their eyes to the heavens). Here are some great sample questions on author interviews which I can’t wait to get my teeth into:
“Describe your hero in five words” – Hunky, bloody gorgeous. Bit of a sod. (Oops that’s seven)
“Was your novel inspired by real life events?” – No! But no one believes me (mates who have read it are eyeing the Farmer in very different light). Some of the horses and dogs existed in real life…does that count?
“Can you remember where you first saw your book on the shelves” – I can promise you I.WILL.REMEMBER.THAT. When it happens.
And now the biggest Frog – PUBLIC SPEAKING. I’ve yet to find out if I can pull this off without my voice going weird and squeaky. I used to read the lesson in church as a child. That didn’t bother me. In my twenties and thirties I became adept at lecturing my offspring. Do either of those qualify as public speaking? I have hollered across a windy field whilst teaching people to ride, so I know the voice can carry when it wants to.
Luckily I have two secret weapons in my armoury.
- The lovely, helpful people on the “Alliance of Independent Authors” Facebook group, who have been amazingly generous with hints and tips.
- Gin and tonic.
Wish me luck.
Sam Russell 