Pulling the trigger

Self-promotion sucks. To me, it feels like standing up in front of a room full of people and shouting, “Hey, look at me! See how cool I am.”

And then, of course, everyone in the room will commence throwing vegetables at me along with whatever else they have handy. Shouts of “Burn the witch!” ring out. Flaming torches and sharp-pronged pitchforks mysteriously appear as a bloodthirsty mob forms. Lightning shatters the darkness outside, but I can’t go there and hide–too many angry people stand in the way, all of them clamoring for my head.

Okay, so I might be guilty of a wee-tiny bit of hyperbole. Not everyone will come bearing a torch or a pitchfork. Some will be satisfied just hunting me with an ax. Oh, yes, I can see it now…

I know. I covered this topic last week, and here I am doing it again. But this time, I’m doing it while I’ve got a big promotion running for one of my favorite books, A Little Primitive. The promotion began yesterday and will end at midnight this coming Wednesday (Aug. 29, 2018).

In addition to the dozens of websites and promotional newsletters and blogs, I put together an email flyer of my own. I sent it to everyone I’ve ever met, taught, or corresponded with. And, because I’m basically suspicious of anything that’s offered to me for free, I started it this way:

Here’s the rest:

There is no catch! It’s a free book, and one that’s been selling pretty well.

So, why give it away? Simply to introduce you to one of my favorite fictional worlds. In this case, it’s the world of Mato, a two-foot-tall native American Indian whose grasp of technology is firmly rooted in the stone age. But he’s not. Nor are the members of his tribe. They just aren’t quite as adventuresome. And the rest of the cast is plenty interesting.

Here’s what one reviewer had to say about them:

Shawn, a vengeance machine with a boning knife, is searching for his ex-wife, Tori, who is hiding out in a remote Wyoming cabin expressly to get out of his reach so she can work on the translation of an ancient encoded document. Bit by tantalizing bit, she teases meaning from it with the unexpected help of a two-foot-tall Indian who gives new meaning to the phrase, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Together, the two must survive and prosper despite having nothing in common and more mortal enemies than friends.

Sound like fun? It is! Now download your FREE copy HERE!

Is this the best way to run a promotion? I have no idea. This is the first one I’ve attempted. It’s way too early to report on the results. I’ll tackle that next week.


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Shameless Self-Promotion

There’s no way around it; if you want people to read what you’ve written, you have to promote it. You’ll also have to promote yourself. You and your product are inextricably linked. Forever.

That’s just the way it is. But self-promotion, for most people, is a damned difficult thing to do. It’s even harder for writers. We’re used to being sequestered, hidden away in our cozy little garrets where we can dream dreams of varying sizes and pretend to know everything there is to know about whatever it is we’ve chosen to write about. Sheer bliss.

And, probably, sheer bullshit for most of us. The truth is we write despite obstacles and distractions, major and minor crises and somehow manage to generate something we hope people will want to read. For most writers, the work stops there. We hope people will read our stuff. We might even send out an email or two announcing the fact we finished the project that’s consumed us for-frickin’-ever. Don’t believe me? Ask a writer’s spouse.

The thing is, if the story was worth telling, it’s worth telling people they should read it, pony up a few drachmae, and find out what all the fuss was about. And, at least in the case of my own books, have a good time.

Why is that so damned hard for most writers to do? It doesn’t matter if we produce our books independently or have an agent and a publisher pushing us. Unless you’re a noted politician, a sports star, or a celebrity ax murderer, you’re the one who’s going to have to do most, if not all, of the marketing. Get used to the idea. Suck it up, buttercup.

So, in the spirit of practicing what I preach, here’s what I’ve done to enhance the sales of my work. In addition to this humble blog, I’ve taught classes on writing and publishing. I’ve done some public speaking. I’ve even done some advertising. Alas, the great, flaming tour bus of fame has yet to park in front of my house and bid me enter. There are, it seems, a <cough> few writers somewhat better known than yours truly.

But I’m not quite ready to rest on my laurels, or my hardies. (I readily forgive my younger readers for not understanding this. It’s old guy speak.) Nope, I’ve decided to try my hand at a promotional campaign. It will officially launch on August 25 and run for five days.

During that time, somewhere between 25 and 35 web entities will be flogging their readers, followers, and twitterees about the temporary availability of a free copy of my book, A Little Primitive. Though only available on Amazon, it can be downloaded and read on either a Kindle device or a computer. I don’t know the extent of my audience for this onslaught of ads, but there’s a chance I could reach upwards of a half million potential readers. I’d like to think I can convince 1 percent of them to take a chance. It’s a FREE book, for cryin’ out loud! What do they have to lose?

With any luck, I’ll hit my target goal of 5,000 downloads. Sadly, I won’t make a nickel in book royalties, but I’m okay with that. My diabolical plan is based on the hope that enough people will actually read the book, that when it comes time for Amazon to reward me for Kindle Pages Read (at just a hair under a half penny per word), I’ll make up the considerable investment I’ve made in the ads. Then too, there’s the hope that readers will be so intrigued by the characters in this book, they’ll eagerly cough up real cash in order to buy the two sequels.

I’ll report back in a couple weeks with the results. Wish me luck!


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For My Fellow Magicians….

Years ago I bid adieu to the rodent relay, and I couldn’t be more happy about it because now I have the time to do the things I’ve wanted to do for as long as I can remember. One of those things is teaching, and more specifically, teaching writing to those who want to learn the craft. Most of my students are of my generation, and most are also retired. Like me, they want to take advantage of the time and resources they have, and I’m tickled to be able to help them.

I love to see the great strides many of them make. Some have had little or no formal training, others were steeped in academic writing, but very few have any experience with what I call “commercial” writing. That is, writing meant for a mass market, whether it’s fiction, non-fiction, essay, travel, or almost anything else. I make a special distinction for one kind of writing: I refuse to teach anyone how to write documentation. I did that for way too many years, and no one in management liked the way I did it. (On the other hand, the folks who had to read it often thanked me for making it light and humorous whenever I could. Management, evidently, has no sense of humor.)

There’s an issue which pops up frequently among my more successful students, those who’ve applied themselves for an extended period and have produced a children’s book, a novel (and in some cases, several novels) or a memoir. Every last one of them claims not to “feel” like a writer. They can’t say what a writer should feel like, but however that is, they don’t feel it.

Well, I’m here to set the record straight. So, be it known now and forevermore: Anyone who writes a book and takes the time and makes the effort to produce something as good as it can be, is a writer.

Most of the writers I know are modest folk, and that includes many tremendously successful ones. There are a few pompous assholes to be sure, but by and large, the writing crowd is characterized by people who are not only imaginative and creative, they’re generally thoughtful and caring as well.

We may not all come from the same places, socially, ethnically or politically, but that doesn’t matter. The feeling that we’re somehow frauds because we turn ideas into words and words into pictures is fairly universal. It’s a kind of magic, and most of us aren’t willing to accept that in some cases, magic really does exist. And, in fact, we’re the magicians.

Therefore I want to celebrate all my fellow magicians, no matter where they fall on the scale of creation. What we do has value. What we do makes a difference.

What we do makes us who we are.



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Character Emotions — Part Nine

While far from a complete discussion of emotions, we’ve touched on those I think are the most critical and/or difficult to convey in any kind of writing. But one emotion that’s gone undiscussed until now is also one fiction writers should treat with extreme caution: happiness.

Waitaminute! Treat happiness with caution? But why? Happy is good, right?

One of the hallmarks of great fiction, or at least readable fiction, is conflict. So how does one square the happy character with one who must face a dilemma or two? Or more–like an attacking horde of zombie Viking cannibals?

The thing to remember about happiness is that it’s usually temporary. People who run around perpetually happy are instantly suspect. They’re either up to something, or they’re insane. Either way, there’s potential for conflict. If they’re always happy, and nothing dreadful comes their way, there’s no story. G’nite Irene. Zzzzz….

There’s also the issue of mistaking contentment and happiness. They aren’t the same thing. You could think of it this way: happy is when your team wins; contentment is when you pay off your mortgage.

There’s nothing wrong with having a happy character, even one who’s diabolically happy. But more often than not, you’ll have a character whose happiness is either illusional or about to abruptly end. Perhaps even tragically.

For writers of fiction, that tragedy is usually a good thing. It means there’s a story coming, and if an author is willing to do something dreadful to a beloved character, the chances of that story being truly compelling multiply exponentially.

So, how does one depict happy? By following the same guidelines provided for any other emotion:

  • Eschew clichés. Don’t tell your readers Egbert was happy as a clam, which besides being a cliché is just stupid; clams can’t even smile much less giggle, chatter, skip, or hum. Any of which might be useful in portraying someone in the throes of happiness.
  • Be specific. There’s bound to be a reason for this joyful moment in your player’s life; don’t keep it a secret. If your character has just discovered a cure for something awful, make sure your readers know exactly what that awful thing is.
  • Emotional range. Like every other emotion, being happy can and usually does encompass a range of feeling. A newly engaged female might experience a sharp burst of bubbly energy when she gazes at the sparkly new adornment on her ring finger, but that initial zing will likely dissolve into a contented sigh or maybe even one of relief.
  • Trust your own life experience. Unless you’ve never been happy, and that would truly be unfortunate, find something in your own history that made you gleeful, exuberant, or just plain silly. Examine those feelings and amp them up or down to meet the needs of your character.

In case you hadn’t noticed, the formula I offer for depicting all these widely varying emotions is exactly the same. The emotions aren’t, but the strategy is. All I ask is that you try it. You might surprise yourself!


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Character Emotions — Part Eight

Last time around I presented the opening scene from a work in progress by writer Nancy James. Many of you who took the time to read it may have come away with the same question in mind that I had, once I got over the sheer impact of what I’d just read. How on Earth did she craft such a powerful and evocative piece? (And if you’re fortunate to know Nancy, you will have instantly recognized how different this bit of prose is from her usual, bubbly, out-going persona.) Click here if you missed it.

So with apologies in advance to anyone disinterested in looking behind the curtain, here’s my take on why this scene works–and works so incredibly well. Simply put, it has: So, just as the Flash Gordon spaceship on the left–complete with the white fishing line that suspended it during filming–is laughably phony, the artist’s conception of the Space shuttle Atlantis on the right is easy to believe. It’s better art. It feels real.

If we focus on the elements I’ve been repeating over the course of this discussion, it’s fairly easy to see why this scene is so effective.

For openers, there are no clichés. Instead, simple language is used to describe both the macabre and the everyday, and the even-tempered mixture of the two only heightens the inherent tension.

The degree of specificity also contributes to the feeling of reality. We see the blood seeping into the gold carpet. We hear the awful sounds that go with it. There’s no hiding from this; the scene sprawls before us, a grisly image, in all its awful detail.

The point of view character experiences a range of feelings, albeit feelings blunted by the violence she has just witnessed. Her mind ricochets between thoughts of what just happened to how the furniture is arranged, from his still-beating heart to her concern for her neighbor if either had opened the door at that critical moment. She experiences someone in her face, yelling at her, and yet she’s strangely calm.

Sadly, Nancy is writing from tragic personal experience, and it is this which undoubtedly gives the entire scene its rock-solid grounding in reality.

From the standpoint of writing mechanics, one technique stands above the others: it’s the rapid-fire quality of her sentences. Short. Pointed. In some cases, brutal. Just like the terrible event which just occurred. These blunt, fast, often jolting sentences pound the reader like a hard-beating heart. Again, and again. They often eschew the niceties one expects to find in well-behaved sentences: subjects, verbs, and all the connecting tissue of evolved language.

As we read, however, we realize none of that matters in a moment like this. We’re not thinking in sentences; we’re thinking in images, and those images run the gamut from harsh and intense to soft and demure. It’s this overall juxtaposition of sensory messages which drives the truth of this scene home. We believe it, and we pray we’ll never have to experience anything like it.

Most importantly, we can’t stop reading it.

My hat’s off to Nancy, and I sincerely appreciate her allowing me to comment on her work in such a public forum. I’ve no doubt there’s a great deal more which can be said about this, and I invite my readers to offer their thoughts.

Hopefully, I’ll provide a less demanding emotion to dissect next time around.


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Character Emotions — Part Seven

In the past few posts, I’ve discussed a number of emotions. This time I’d like to focus on an emotional state which isn’t as easy to sum up as fear, anger, jealousy, or passion. I’m talking about shock. Like most emotions, it manifests in a wide range, from mental and physical paralysis to babbling incoherence. Shock may be induced by an equally wide range of triggers including the surprise return of a loved one or an abrupt and unexpected death. Unlike other emotions, real shock is an extreme emotion. One might claim to be shocked that Ben And Jerry don’t make a certain flavor of ice cream, but recovering from that discovery would normally be trivial.

This post is longer than most, so be forewarned. It’s not that I’ve grown wordier, it’s because of the writing sample included. It’s the work of a talented writer and friend who has experienced more than her share of emotional upheaval. Time has granted her some much-needed perspective, but it hasn’t dimmed the power of her words or her ability to paint vivid, sometimes haunting, word pictures.

Because of the excerpt’s length, I won’t be adding any commentary until my next post, so please stay tuned. The following is the opening scene from a work in progress by Nancy James:


The body lay before me on the floor. No, that is not true. When the knees buckled after the shot, I found myself across the room. I listened to his throat gurgling with blood. Saw the dark halo spread around his head onto the gold carpet. The needlepoint pillow I held when seated had flown from my arms and landed in the scarlet stream. Days later I would see where it had been carefully placed on the washer in the kitchen. A stitched sampler I had painstakingly created as a teaching piece now tarnished like all of life. Its rust and golds now darkened. His clothes would be returned to me later. The leisure suit carefully folded but stained also. Funny how people seek to preserve unnecessary tokens after a life is gone.

But that was later. In that instant, I knew what needed to be done. Late night rehearsals prepared me for this moment. Call for an ambulance. Call Bill for help and advice. But the phone rang as I touched it. The young woman who had rung the doorbell asked if everything was okay. “No,” I answered and replaced the receiver. A March of Dimes volunteer, she did not know she had prompted that now or never moment. She could not know the look in his eyes before the final decision, the finger on the trigger. She did not know the fear I felt when I realized the door was unlocked, and she might enter into uninvited danger. She did not know.

Neither did most of the world know our secrets. Don’t tell Daddy ran across my thoughts; he has a heart condition. That final attempt to keep our secrets from the gossips’ mouths and off The Meridian Star’s front page would fail. I made my calls.

I returned to the living room and knelt by the body. Still breathing, but gone. A runner’s heart that could last forever. I thought I should tell him l loved him. I could not.

Bill arrived with the ambulance. The body was carted away. A neighbor, Cathy, came. Sought to comfort. Marian came. I remained calm.

Somewhere in there, two police officers arrived. One pinned me down in our wingback chair. Tastefully covered and decorated. A nice cozy arrangement around the fireplace. A farce of comfort. His hands were on the chair arms, and he was screaming in my face. I wondered vaguely why he was so angry. Why he was yelling. Later I learned he thought I had killed Coach Cameron. No, in the doorway he had committed the crime himself.

I sit now in the blue channel-backed chair inherited from his parents. A gallery of ancestors stare at me from their matched frames on the wall. Such a formal, organized, beautiful room. Everything carefully coordinated. Proper. Tasteful. Now filled with chaos and confusion. Soon I will leave to have my hands dusted at the police station, to be interrogated, to spend the night elsewhere.  Secrets exposed. Shame exposed. Now everyone will know.

We’ll discuss this in more depth next time around. See you then!


[Secrets excerpt: Copyright 2018 Nancy James]

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Character Emotions — Part Six

These discussions about how to convey character emotions don’t come in any particular order, alphabetical or otherwise. So, if you’re trying to guess what comes next, good luck! But here’s a visual clue for this go-round: Please try to restrain yourself, even though we’re going to be talking about excitement. Considering all the emotions fully drowning in cliches, excitement has to be near the top of the list.

There’s a good reason for that since excitement can come in so many forms–from sheer joy to abject terror, and a pile of other triggers in between. Like virtually all emotions, excitement is only part of the equation, and it’s not strong enough to stand on its own. It’s most often partnered with something else.

The problem for most writers is how to avoid being snared by the verbal form of a leg-hold trap: clichés. It’s just too damned easy to resort to them! Consider these tired, worn-out, overused examples:

  • Jamal was so pumped he could hardly stand it.
  • Betty had butterflies in her stomach.
  • Looby couldn’t sit still, the excitement was killing him.

I have no idea what’s fueling the excitement of these three characters, but with just a tiny bit of effort, it’s possible to make those clichés useful. Consider:

  • Jamal tried to sit still, but his heels kept bouncing off the floor, and his knees pummeled the underside of the table in a nervous staccato. Do it, damn it. Do it now!
  • Betty choked back the butterflies abandoning her belly. She squirmed as she held back the firey eruption she expected at any moment. For God’s sake, what was taking so long?  
  • Looby bounced in his seat like a caged jumping bean. It chafed his butt, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t think about anything other than the puppy they’d promised him, and today was the day.

More often than not, the excitement phase of an event occurs before something happens. It’s the anticipation that drives those butterflies and pounds that drum. Time is a relevant factor as well. Imagine one of your characters standing in line to ride what they’ve been told is “the world’s scariest roller coaster.” You don’t just need a word picture, you almost need a word video to show the mounting anticipation as your player nears the boarding gate. It works the exact same way in a memoir.

Not surprisingly, it works that way in the case of someone waiting for something bad to happen. Imagine your character being transported to the gallows or the guillotine. Again, there’s excitement and anticipation, but it’s hardly the kind anyone would envy. But knowing what goes through your character’s head will make the reading of it irresistible. Or it should!

Excitement has so many wonderful flavors, it’s hard to know which to write about here. Consider the excitement of a first date, a first kiss, or a wedding night. Or consider what a young man goes through the first time he works up enough courage to ask a girl out (and I pray our over-stimulated society hasn’t yet made that an easy thing). And what about the young lady who receives the call? Has she been waiting for it? And if so, how? Eagerly? Impatiently? Or maybe with dread? Please, oh please, oh please God, let Alonzo call me first!

The whole “first kiss” thing bears further review, and not just because my work-in-progress involves a coming of age story. (Seriously? You think I’d try to plug a forthcoming book here? In these <cough> sacred pages?)

Okay, the first kiss. From the male perspective, it’s pretty cut and dried. The thoughts drifting through a young guy’s head are along the lines of: Oh crap, I’m sweating; can she smell it? What’ll she tell her friends? What if I suck at kissing? What if I mess it up? How long should it last? What if she laughs? What if I fart? Oh, God, I can’t do this!

All the while, the object of our young swain’s affection will be having thoughts of her own: Should I eat a breath mint first? What if he doesn’t know what he’s doing? What if he realizes I don’t know what I’m doing? I’ve only ever kissed my parents, my dog, my arm, and my friend Wanda, but she’s never kissed a boy either. Oh, God, I can’t do this!

If you’re going to write about excitement, you’d best be prepared to handle what comes next, because it’s often the exact opposite of what’s anticipated. At least, that’s the way it happens in good books. <smile>



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