Let the Self-Publishing Revolution Begin!

Today was a Monday but it wasn't so bad. I think having a three day weekend helped. My boss was back from his vacation which was not as much fun as not having him in the office but he still seemed to be in 'vacation mode' so it wasn't so bad.

It also wasn't so bad as far as workload and coworkers went. I've had far worse days, let's put it that way.

Also, a coworker sent me a link regarding getting my novel published on the iPad. I've been waiting for Apple to make that option available to first time writers so I was excited to see it was finally available.

Of course, this led to a trail of pages, some of which were blogs, some were informational, as to how hard it was to actually get your book on the iPad if you're self-published.

One of the the blogs had a rather rude and snotty comment from someone who said something along the lines of, "what's the point of self-publishing? It's only for losers who can't get their books published in any other way."

My first reaction was anger. Then it was calm. I understood his initial reaction. As I've said on here before, the problem with self-publishing is that there's a stigma associated with it. Back in the days before it became so easy, self-published authors did tend to be those who couldn't get their books published in the traditional way.

I resisted self-publishing because I didn't want to be one of those people who published their own book because no one else would.

But you know what happened? I wrote a book that I knew was good. It was a timely, comical book that in the era of Sookie Stackhouse and the Twilight franchise, the era of 'chick lit' and entertaining fiction, it should have been easy enough for someone to say, "I want to read that."

I followed the traditional path. I sent queries to agents. I got nice, kind rejections this time around. The writing was good and the story seemed fun but they just didn't think I would work for their agency.

Then I became annoyed. From their point of view, I get it: A new writer, no credits to her name, a story that could be amusing but could also suck when, right now, everyone's looking for the next JK Rowling, Stephanie Meyer or Stieg Larsson. They want their Harry Potter, their Twilight, the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

Here's my take on that: The reason there are JK Rowlings and Steig Larssons in the world is because there weren't any already out there. Some one, somewhere thought: "Hey, this looks interesting, maybe I should give it a chance."

But there aren't many agents out there doing that any more. Most of the big publishing companies are 'eating' the smaller ones. There are fewer and fewer chances for writers to get their books published. The interesting thing is that most of the time, unless you get SUPER lucky, even if they decide to publish your book, you still have to do the publicity yourself.

Of course, you could hire a publicist. I mean, if you're paying an agent 10%, the publisher a huge chunk of royalties and possibly a manager to help you figure out what the heck you're doing, what's another big chunk of change to try to get people to read it.

Or, you could do what I and so many other writers have done. You publish it yourself. There are no upfront fees. I went through Createspace. I pay for the proof copies. When I sell a book, they take their fee from the sale price which I set. If I don't sell any, they don't make anything.

Today, I received payment from Amazon for sales on the Kindle over the past month. I make less than 50 cents per sale on this version since I sell it for only $1.99. I made enough for me to say, "whoa! And I haven't done any publicity for this yet!"

It may not be enough for me to quite my job and live but it's enough for me to feel like people are buying and reading my book. I've had enough 'fan' emails for me to blush and feel proud that I've written something that people enjoy.

So, aside from the fact that I didn't wait a couple of years to have an agent read my query, then request my manuscript, then request edits, then try to approach publishers and, if I'm lucky, find one for me, what's the difference between me and someone who went the traditional route?

Is it validation? It used to be that you weren't a writer until you had a product that made money. Just see the blog I once posted in response to such a statement by literary agent, Nathan Bransford.

Now, it seems, even if you make money, you're still not a writer unless someone spins their roulette wheel of 'Lucky New Writer" and decides it's worth taking a chance on you. And then, what happens? You get a book published and unless you're someone who can be a bestseller, you're relegated to the shadows where your book dies. If you are a bestseller, you sign a contract and you promise to deliver so many books in such a time frame. Then, in my opinion, you begin to go downhill. Some of the most promising new writers can't follow up on their original success. Those that do still end up going downhill. They're expected to deliver and they write furiously and fast, to earn their paycheck and give the publishers and not necessarily their readers, a finished book. Sure, Stephanie Meyer, you can deliver Breaking Dawn in less than a year but, uh, did you read it? Jane Green? Your original chick lit was almost deeper than the surrounding stuff but now you're becoming Nicholas Sparks for a new generation. Jennifer Weiner, watch out- you used to be very moving. Now you're becoming cliche. Stephen King...I feel bad chiding you because you're one of the greats but, well, when you announce that you're retiring, RETIRE. From a Buick 8, Cell and Duma Key are all horrible faded shadows of the great stories you used to tell.

I could go on but I won't. My point is this: All 'great' writers were once "new" writers. They were unpublished once. Nowadays, we have the tools to put our works out there and while I admit my novel isn't as polished as if I had someone from Harper Collins editing it, at least it's the book I wrote, not some watered down version of the story I wanted to tell.

I know, I know. Where's the validation if I had to do it all myself. My validation is in my sales. It's in the reviews I have on Amazon.com. It's in the emails I get from complete strangers who loved my book. It's not on the scale of a bestseller but, you know what? It feels like it.

I'd like to take this opportunity to encourage other writers out there who feel like their bashing their head against a glass ceiling to take charge of their own writing. If you feel like it's good, if people already love it, try it. Use Createspace. Use Lulu. If you're scared of the commitment of printing the book, put it on the Kindle, the iPad, the Nook if nothing else. It costs nothing. People WILL read your work.

It's my dream to start a revolution. The agents and publishers hold the reigns right now but they're losing their grip. We don't need them to slow down a process in which they're becoming a relic. While I love books as much as the next person, I love reading even more. Sure, a literary agent knows their way around the industry but the industry is changing. The power is coming back into the hands of the writer, the creator of the product that is fueling them. Sure it's nice to have an official label on your book that says, "Hey, someone made me pay them a lot of my earnings of this book to get me here," but we don't need it.

Ok, so I realize some books shouldn't be published because they're not ready. But, honestly, given some of the rubbish that's making it to library and bookstore shelves these days, what's the difference. Do we need any more vampire novels, really? Yet each week in Barnes and Noble, there seems to be more.

I want to tell other writers that just because you did it yourself, doesn't make it any less valuable. It took me a while to realize I could admit this but I am an author. I have an Amazon page to prove it. In 100 years, I'll still have a book, somewhere, out there, published and it's unlikely someone will stop to scoff, "wait, it's self published. It must be crap!"

I need to get my name out there. I know this. But it's happening slowly. I'm part of a revolution and I'm proud to admit it. Agents can open doors, publishers can help you walk through them but if you can create the building yourself with doors that you actually design, isn't that better?

I'm proud to have published my book. I'm proud to be selling it. I'll keep pushing it, hoping to get more readers. It's not about the money. It's about getting your story out there.

And my story is just getting started.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Happy Tuesday.

Home is Where my Bed is, Contentment is where my Heart Lies...

It's Friday today and I'm in a far better mood than I was yesterday. I apologize for that by the way; some days you just wake up crabby and moody and the shadow of the day never quite goes away.

Today seems better though. The mere fact that it's a Friday helps. I had a nice relaxing evening with Sausage last night, ordering pizza, watching a little "True Blood," and catching up with a good friend on the phone. That's always a mood enhancer.

I'm looking forward to the weekend. I have a bridal shower tomorrow and after that, I'm heading to my parent's to house-sit/drop of The Sausage. In a way, I'll be sad to lose him from my apartment. Aside from the stress of having to leave him alone all day, having those liquid brown eyes following me with adoration (even if he is really just waiting for a snack), is a lovely thing. Last night while eating my pizza, I was sitting on the floor. He was on the sofa behind me and he just put his head on my shoulder. It was a nice moment. It's about as much of a Marley and Me moment than I'll ever get.

As of Monday, I'll be a dog-less singleton again. I'm going to start packing to move though when I look around, I feel like much of what I need to pack can just be taken as I need it. I can pack my media up, my CD's, my books, my DVD's. I can take my Christmas decorations and storage-type items. But when do you decide when to take things like cookware, silverware, bathroom stuff? I use all that now. It's going to be a balancing act between when I decide to physically move into the house and move out of my apartment. When my bed goes, I go. That's pretty much all there is to it, I suppose. I always say home is where my bed is. I have a bed at my parents. Thus...I have two homes.

Given that it's a Friday, I'm prone to ramble. I'm rambling now. I was reading a friend's blog today. She just bought a unicycle and juggling pins and is going to bartending school. She recently graduated with honours from college with double degree in Engineering and Philosophy. She has decided she doesn't want a 9-5 job and is now exploring different paths in life. I'd like to admire her for that but mostly, I can't help thinking how lucky she is to have friends and family who are supporting her as she goes through a stage in life many of us go/went through. I graduated with a degree in Technical Theatre. When I left school I became...a legal secretary. I wanted to go to law school, you see and that was my way of figuring out if I really wanted it or if it was a the effect of reading too much John Grisham. It turned out to be the Grisham effect because I realized law was boring. I moved on to other fields, medical, journalism, video production, market research and various other fields. I had my writing ephiphany and from then onwards, I realized it wasn't about how I earned my paycheck, just that I liked my job enough to keep doing it so I could keep writing.

I'm reminding myself of that now. I'm letting this job trip me up, fall into a pit of insecurity because I'm just not being utilized enough. I need to remember that while I need to like my job, it isn't where my heart will ever truly be. My heart is mentally sitting at a computer, the sun pouring in while I hold a cup of coffee, a warm brown Sausage dog at my feet and a novel open on the screen. I can have that no matter where I'm working and when I picture that, I realize it's not so much about getting a good review from Publisher's Weekly, it's not about debating with acolytes of Nathan Bransford about craft vs. profession and what makes us writers and it's not about those rejection slips I get regularly. It's about that level of contentment in knowing I have the power to create anything on that Word document.

I hope my friend discovers that somewhere between learning to ride a unicycle, juggling and going to bartending school. I hope that someday, just as I did, she wakes up and realizes that working in an office, working a regular day isn't imprisonment, it's a means to support the things in life you really want to do. It'd be nice if we could all have our dream job but sometimes we think we know what that is and then, when we have it, we realize it's not what we thought it would be. For me, that was theatre. I loved it. I love it still. But I got burned out from it, I got tired of working 18 hour days, tired of seeing the magic of the theatre in it's realistic, down-and-dirty reality. I still love it and wouldn't mind doing some light theatre work but when I actually got to do it, I realize it wasn't my dream job.

I'm sure there is such a thing as a dream job. Right now, I think it would be nice to get paid to blog. I'd love to be a television blogger; I do that occasionally on my Captain TV blog but not as often as I'd like to. I still get to do it though, I just don't get paid for it. So, in a way, I am doing my dream job, blogging here every day, blogging sporadically there. I just don't earn a living from it. Yet when I do it, my heart is there and I am happy. Contentment is where my heart lies and it lies with writing. It's a nice realization.

Happy Friday.

Friday Ramblings: Philosophers, Brazen Bulls and (of course) Green Day...

I was robbed of my rainy day yesterday. I got out of work to discover the betrayal of the sun who had stolen the rainy day away and conquered. Currently, the sun is shining this morning even though the rain is supposed to move in later. We'll see. I think the only true way to predict the weather is to stick your head out the door and see what it's currently doing. Predicting any further than the current minute is a bit iffy.

Not to worry. It's Friday and it's sunny. I can't exactly complain about either of those two facts. As an added bonus, Green Day's new album has been released. If you haven't bought it/downloaded it, do it now. If your computer is anything like mine at home, if you start on iTunes now, you might have it by this evening. I was hoping to put the, uh, 'full' version of the album on my iPod instead of the sneakily obtained version I got last week. However, for now, I'll have to settle with that version. By this evening, I can put my pre-ordered iTunes version on my iPod along with the four bonus tracks. This is a good Friday.

As always, I'm glad it's Friday. It's been a rather long week for some reason. It's been TV season finale week for some of my shows which means as of next Monday after 24 finishes, I'm done with TV until Fall. I might watch some on DVD but since I dislike almost all reality-TV, I barely tune in for anything during the summer. It's rather liberating, actually. It means I can focus on getting my stuff packed up to move. It means I'll have more time to write. And yes, sadly, there are some nights where I'd rather watch TV than write.

Speaking of writing, I've noticed I'm not the only post in response to Nathan Bransford's blog. A lot of writers seem to be disagreeing with my point of view. I like that, actually. I still stand by my claim that writing is a craft, not a profession but it's interesting to hear other writers disagree. For the record, I also will claim 'blogger' as part of my identity. I don't get paid for that, either. I was thinking about that...where does the craft end and profession begin? What about philosophers? People are philosophers but...there aren't many professional philosopher jobs out there. Do you ever pull up Craigslist or Monster.com and see "Wanted: Philospher?" Does anyone ever want a philosopher? And yet....almost every university offers a degree in it. Interesting.

Sorry, I'm digressing. Well, actually I'm not sorry. It's a Friday post. I always digress and ramble on Fridays. I think it's because I stay up too late on Thursdays. Last night it was because of the stupid Grey's Anatomy season finale. Which, in my opinion, was pretty awful but I have a TV blog for ranting about that. I suppose its inevitable that even the good shows go downhill at some point but...I was hoping it wouldn't happen to Grey's which has suddenly decided it wants to be ER when it grows up.

Anyway, moving on...I've discussed philosophers, Green Day, TV and weather...I suppose I could throw politics in but I'll leave that to those that know more than me. I confess, I'm not terribly political. I want to make up stories for a living, would you really want to hear my opinions on politics?

I do keep hearing about waterboarding though. Apparently that's a hot topic along with the discussion of torture. I watch 24, waterboarding seems like a mild torture method after seeing Jack Bauer grab a hacksaw or use a hotel lamp and bowl of water to electrocute a suspect into talking. Also, I found an article on the website "How Stuff Works" the other day about ten brutal torture methods from the days of yore. Wow, people were cruel! The worst was this giant bronze bull, called the Brazen Bull, in which they'd trap their victim, lock him in and then heat the bull over a fire so the victim would roast to death, literally. When he screamed, his scream would be modulated so it sounded like the bull was roaring. There were others. I won't spoil your dinner with them but wow...when it comes to punishing people, we humans are creative. And brutal.

Ok, I think that might be enough random thoughts for one Friday. You might start thinking I'm a little dark and twisty since I seem to be fascinated with torture methods. Not that I support torture but I am fascinated by creativity in doing so.

Perhaps I ought to talk about something happy and bright like...butterflies and flowers. There are some lovely lilacs beside the entrance to my apartment building. They smell heavenly, even when it rains. There, you can have that as the image with which to finish reading my blog, not the giant bronze bull. That I just brought up again. Oops.

Have a great weekend!

The Gift of a Rainy Day

Before I write today's blog, I'd like to thank Nathan Bransford for responding to yesterday's blog about "Writing as Identity". It's always nice to know that people are reading the words you write and I do actually agree with him after rereading my blog: Our opinions are not so different after all, just different vantage points, I suppose.

Moving on. It's a really rainy day out there today. It's been thunderstorming on and off since yesterday. It's a very Midwestern spring day. Even down here in my basement cubicle, I can hear the heavy rain beating down and making me glad to be inside. It's supposed to be like this for the next few days.

I love days like this. I think it harkens back to the fact that I was born and raised in the UK where rain happens as often as it's sunny. When I moved to Indiana, it also rained a lot. Thus, when I moved to Los Angeles and I had too many ham sandwich days thatI realized how much I did enjoy rain. Rainy days like this are the best because if you look at the weather on Google, it shows rain for the next few days. This means it will keep raining and I won't be disappointed because the sun will come out.

That probably sounds a little strange. Imagine that. What I mean is that when it's a rainy day, I like the idea of a rainy night in which I can go home from work, make something comforting and rainy-dayesque for dinner and then curl up with a book or good TV show, listening to the rain beat down. Better yet, it's good writing weather which means I can sit at my PC and hear the rain pouring down and mixing with the music I have playing. There's nothing more disappointing than planning an evening like that and then, when you get home, the rain has stopped and the sun is trying to come out from behind the clouds, thin and weedy but still managing to brighten up the world and stop the rainy day.

I don't hate evenings like that. Sometimes after a couple of rainy days, they're rather nice. In those cases the sun isn't greedily trying to steal the thunder from the rainy day but, instead, is making a guest appearance to promote the sunny day that lies ahead tomorrow. It's welcome then. We can't have all rainy days.

I think today I'm safe. I think the rain will continue and I'll be able to enjoy it through at least the next couple of days. I'm hoping to squeeze in a little writing tonight. Of course, given my penchant for writing darker stuff when it rains, perhaps I should wait. I'm trying to write something a little happier. Well...maybe not happier but a little less "world of the dead" like Sleep or less gritty like St. Jimmy or even less brother vs. brother like Rainlight.

That's the thing. I'd love to come up with something nice and safe, like chastely brooding vampires who sparkle in the sunlight. The problem is I like the other kind of vampires better, the ones who drink human blood, hide in dark alleyways and always have a witty comeback. I like the sensual dark side of traditional vampire, rather than the current popular version.

I suppose I should stick with what I enjoy. Besides, I'm crap at trying to keep things on a happy, uncomplicated path. I try that and then I ask myself, "ooh, what if..." and then the nice sunny path takes a detour in the dark shadowy woods and it begins to rain and...

...You get the picture. Hence the fact I enjoy the rain as much as I enjoy sun. I'm a firm believer in needing the shadows to emphasize the light and vice versa.

Thus, I shall enjoy this lovely rain day, letting myself get wet as I go home so I can shower and throw on my lazy clothes and curl up with a hot cup of tea. There's nothing better sometimes. It's a renewing sort of day, the world around me closing down for a while so that when the sun comes out, it knows it's appreciated.

Happy Thursday.

Writing as Identity: Money or Love?

Today did not begin well. I refuse to accept that as an omen that the day is doomed. I will, however, keep my smoke detector in my hall closet for a little while as a punishment for being so sensitive.

I burned my toast. The entire building now knows. In order to stop my smoke detector from making the piercing horrible noise that is still ringing in my ears an hour later, I had to quickly rip it off the ceiling and throw it in the closet. As I am not a giant, this involves standing on a chair. Unfortunately, the chair almost tipped. It did not, however, and I am taking that as a good sign.

I also got trapped by a train today. The tracks wind sleepily through town and it's inevitable that you have to cross them at some point. There was a train just sitting on the tracks almost the entire way through town and I had to go around. Fortunately, it gave me a chance to listen to more Green Day and nibble on my burned toast and contemplate life.

More specifically, it gave me a chance to contemplate my writing. I read an agent's blog yesterday that made me think a lot. The agent is Nathan Bransford, an agent who blogs fairly regularly. I'm not actually a huge fan of his, not only because he set the record for rejecting one of my queries- twelve minutes after I emailed it- but because, based on his blog, he tends to come across as a little superior and that sometimes rubs me the wrong way.

He had a blog a couple of days ago about "Writing as Identity" in which he said how unsettling he found it when people defined themselves as writers. By this, he was referring to the writers who say "I am a writer. It's who I am." These are the writers who claim that writing is like oxygen, that they cannot live without it. His claim is that people shouldn't define themselves by what they do in their spare time, for example, comparing it to someone who is enjoys reality TV but doesn't walk around claiming "They are a connisseur of reality TV." Well, no, Nathan because that would be both silly AND embarrassing.

However, while my first reaction was to be offended and angry at him, I stopped and thought about it. I know I set up this blog to talk about writing, to give me an outlet so I could write often and regularly yet...was I guilty of the charges he laid down? Am I self-indulgent enough to think of myself only as a writer and everything else secondary?

Given some of my posts on rejection and how personal it feels, I am guilty. Nathan says ofof these writers that, "They've stopped enjoying the writing process, and because writing is so wrapped up in their self-conception, they can't bear the pain of rejection and instead look outward for blame."

He might have a point. I do that at times. Hence the fact that I'm boycotting Amazon.com. I don't know how not to feel that I'm disappointing those characters who've charged me with telling their story. I'd say I'd like to be more businesslike about my writing and not make it such a personal thing but, well, what kind of writer would I be then? I used to dabble in journalism and I hated the impersonal nature of it. Anyone can use words to describe facts but not everyone can make those facts interesting and readable.

It's clear from his blogs that Nathan Bransford is a rational creature, one who thrives on the business side of being an agent rather than the creative side. There's nothing wrong with this except his job as an agent is to represent writers. Given some of the comments on his blog, there are definitely writers out there who write because they can, because they can earn money at it, writers who don't have any emotional tie to what they do. I find that fascinating; not because I can't do that but...I don't want to. I thought about it. I've done it. I hated it.

Believe me, I'd sometimes rather love to divorce myself from writing so that I could just do it but not care about it; it would be less draining and disappointing. But...then why would I do it? I like my job in software. I like my friends and family. I have a life outside of writing. But it's writing that gives me that passion, that thrill, that realization that makes me feel like I'm complete. I've had my ephiphany moment where I just knew. From then on, I wrote. I can almost hear Nathan groaning that this is exactly what he meant. I will say that while I could live without writing in my life, that it isn't the oxygen that keeps me going, it does make my life that much brighter, more enjoyable. People don't need sports but it doesn't stop people from dressing head to toe in their team colours, putting up posters and banners, drinking out of mugs while using a mouse-pad adorned with their teams-logo, does it? Sports enhance people's lives. Writing enhances mine. Try telling a die-hard Red Sox fan that their team means nothing, that it's just a stupid hobby. I dare you.

I do tell people I'm a writer sometimes. Most of the time, I don't bother unless it comes up in conversation. This blog is about as nametaggy as I get as to the fact that I'm a writer. I don't go to coffee shops with my laptop so people can see that I write. I don't pull out my notebook everytime I'm with friends and there's a silence so that they can see I'm a writer. I don't carry Stephen King's On Writing with me all the time even though I love that book.

Yet I can't stop my brain from constantly seeing stories in everything around me, hearing an idea from a song on the radio (or, in my case, my iPod). I can't stop myself from filing away news stories for future plot points. Sometimes it would be nice to be able to turn that off. I've actually tried and it doesn't work. I'm still figuring out how to steal something someone told me and work it into a story, even when I think I'm not thinking about writing.

Originally, Mr. Bransford referred to writing as a hobby. He changed that, I think because he realized that saying that was a wee bit condescending. Yes, writing is a hobby for me because it doesn't pay my bills. Yet since I've been watching the Food Network, I've started to love cooking. Yet don't go around thinking I'm a chef and I never will. I consider Mario Batali and Bobby Flay to be chefs just as I consider J.K. Rowling, Neil Gaiman and Stephen King to be writers. I consider Beethoven, Mozart, Green Day and Andrew Lloyd Webber to be composers and musicians. You know why? Because that's what they are. I guarantee in all of the cases I cited, those people enjoy it, they do it because they have no choice: it's their path in life.

I'm not arrogant enough to suggest I'm in the same league as J.K. Rowling, Neil Gaiman and Stephen King. Yet...is it because they get a paycheck that we get to say "they're writers?" Is it because they are fortunate enough to get paid for it that they have the permission to be a writer? Or is J.K. Rowling really just a former unemployed single mother who happened to write one of the best children's books and become a multi-millionaire because of it. Is it always about the money?

It would make sense that to agents like Nathan Bransford, that would be the case. It's his job to get writers to the point where they're making money so that he can make money. Yet...where is that line? I suppose he has a point that stamp collectors don't go around claiming to be a stamp collector and making that their identity. Reality-TV watchers don't claim that's who they are. I don't deny that there is a line between claiming to be a writer and actually being one. I am a firm believer that a writer has to write to be a writer. They can't be a coffee-shop dabbler who thinks they are a writer but doesn't do more than read books about it, make outlines and tell people about it. A real writer just writes because we love it. So what should we call ourselves? People-who-have-full-time-jobs-but-have-this-horrible-need-to-go-home-and-make-up-stories? Should I call myself a story-maker-upper-hobbyinst instead of a writer? Or am I allowed to say I'm a writer because...I am? Does making money at what you love grant you the title and identity or is it the thing itself?

I suppose it depends on how you look at it. I like my way better. Naturally. I suppose Mr. Bransford would probably argue that I am one of those writers that he criticized and the reason I'm writing this is because he rejected me. I would argue that's not the case. I just think there should be two sides to every argument. This is mine.

Happy Wednesday!