...is that I'm constantly forgetting to add the stuff I'm reading to it. Maybe it's a touch of ADD, but I'm usually reading at least two or three books at the same time. To look at my Kindle would be like looking at the horror section of Amazon. Seriously. Too many books and not enough time. And don't even ask about the books I lose interest in reading. If I'm not caught hook, line and sinker in the first chapter (or even first few pages), I'm out. I'm notoriously vicious in my reading habits. I don't tolerate boredom well...especially if it's in a mass-produced, major-publishing house novel. Again, I guess I'll chalk it up to writer's envy (it's like penis envy, only you envy someone for their publishing contract/connections instead).
I really need to do some work on GoodReads. Maybe even a competition or giveaway for my books. I can hear the multitudes reaching for their keyboards now.
Monday, April 30, 2012
A smallish rant
I'm not naming names, and this could come across as just a simple case of writer's envy, but when did it become okay for the EDITOR of an anthology to present himself or herself as the sole author of the work? I'm talking about anything from appearing alone at book signings to having it under his/her own name at Amazon. I'm not talking about anyone I've worked with (well...recently) but I'm noticing this and wondering if it's a new trend. I realize that the editor does a good bit of work in creating an anthology, but what would it be without the work of the writers (who are, in most cases, listed as "and others" in an anthology that has one or two brand name authors)?
Okay. End rant. For now.
Okay. End rant. For now.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Surviving ORFOB
It's taken me a while to recover from Friday night's book signing fiasco at the Ohio River Festival of Books. How bad was it? Oh, bad. Very bad. Bad enough that I'm not going to sign up to do it again. And there were a lot of other people there who aren't going back, either. But I'm skimping on the details. Do let's revisit the horror, shall we?
First of all...they only gave the signing authors a two and a half hour signing period. Seriously. From 6:30 to 9:00. On a Friday night. Because there's nothing people like better on a Friday night than to wander around a half-empty ballroom of a civic center. In 2008, the signing period lasted all day--and I did better business even with a blizzard. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Just keep in mind that we only had two and a half hours to try to sell books.
So I'm sitting there at my nicely decorated table--skulls on raised candleholders, a nice vinyl sign hanging on the front of the table (again, with skulls) with my name and my books, a cute little monster holding my business cards, my books neatly stacked and ready for people to browse. A few people mosey past the table. I smile pleasantly and say hello, ready to launch into an explanation of why I have two horror books and a romance, or why I love zombies, or any number of things. But most of the people just kind of drift on by. Some of them look a little rattled by the skulls.
I should digress for a moment and explain that the majority of authors at this signing were hawking books of a more Appalachian flavor--histories of coal camps, railroads, etc and so on. I don't know if there were very many of us selling fiction, and I know for sure that there weren't any other people selling horror novels (or even romances). To say it wasn't quite my demographic would be a nice way of saying, "Nobody was interested in my books."
Anyway, after being condescended to by one publisher who was there (he said I had "pluck" for publishing my own stuff; I hate 'pluck') and ignored by one person after another, I had a sinking feeling that this wasn't going to be my night. An elderly woman walked past my table and said, "I don't do zombies." My brother, under his breath, said, "Give it some time."
That was probably the highlight of the evening.
Because this is when ORFOB turned to FUBAR. Apparently, someone scheduled a Pulitzer Prize winning writer to give a talk from 7 - 8 pm, with a reception afterward in the ballroom where all us nobody, non-Pulitzer winning slobs were selling books. That would have been fine--let the people who wanted to hear Ms. Pulitzer talk see her, and let the rest of us try to sell books. But no...no, that wasn't the way someone wanted it. Suddenly the building crowd was bumrushed into the other room to hear the Pulitzer Prize winner. Someone connected to the festival (I won't say who, but those who were there know what happened) was shanghaiing everyone and forcing them to go listen to the other writer.
And when I say everyone, I mean EVERYONE...even us authors who were there just trying to sell a book or two.
Yeah, that wasn't working for me. I didn't want to leave my table. I was told by that certain someone that everyone HAD to leave the ballroom, that we could leave our stuff because it was going to be locked up, that we just had to come listen to this prize-winning writer.
Okay, first off...how demeaning was that to all us 'nobody' writers? I've never won a Pulitzer, obviously, but how dare she take time away from us just to fill seats? People were wandering around with dazed looks on their faces, asking "Is this mandatory? Do we HAVE to do this?"
Within minutes, the momentum that was slowly building at the book signing screeched to a halt. And guess what...? The doors weren't even locked.
An hour passes. An hour out of that two and a half hour window we were given to sign and sell books. By eight o'clock, people come filtering in again...but now, we can't talk freely because there's a bluegrass band playing as loudly as they can, and people aren't interested in our books anyway because hey look! There's free food!
To make a pathetic story shorter, I didn't sell a single book Friday night. Not even a nibble. People took my card, or even picked up a book and said, "Hey, that looks like that might actually be good." But no sales. Meanwhile, I'm told that I look like an actress that I've never heard of (and when I looked her up...sigh...I'm not too happy about the comparison).
So no...never again. I'm going to try the WV Book Festival in October if I can get a table, but I'll never do ORFOB again. Certain egos ruined the entire experience.
So that's how I spent my Friday night.
First of all...they only gave the signing authors a two and a half hour signing period. Seriously. From 6:30 to 9:00. On a Friday night. Because there's nothing people like better on a Friday night than to wander around a half-empty ballroom of a civic center. In 2008, the signing period lasted all day--and I did better business even with a blizzard. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Just keep in mind that we only had two and a half hours to try to sell books.
So I'm sitting there at my nicely decorated table--skulls on raised candleholders, a nice vinyl sign hanging on the front of the table (again, with skulls) with my name and my books, a cute little monster holding my business cards, my books neatly stacked and ready for people to browse. A few people mosey past the table. I smile pleasantly and say hello, ready to launch into an explanation of why I have two horror books and a romance, or why I love zombies, or any number of things. But most of the people just kind of drift on by. Some of them look a little rattled by the skulls.
I should digress for a moment and explain that the majority of authors at this signing were hawking books of a more Appalachian flavor--histories of coal camps, railroads, etc and so on. I don't know if there were very many of us selling fiction, and I know for sure that there weren't any other people selling horror novels (or even romances). To say it wasn't quite my demographic would be a nice way of saying, "Nobody was interested in my books."
Anyway, after being condescended to by one publisher who was there (he said I had "pluck" for publishing my own stuff; I hate 'pluck') and ignored by one person after another, I had a sinking feeling that this wasn't going to be my night. An elderly woman walked past my table and said, "I don't do zombies." My brother, under his breath, said, "Give it some time."
That was probably the highlight of the evening.
Because this is when ORFOB turned to FUBAR. Apparently, someone scheduled a Pulitzer Prize winning writer to give a talk from 7 - 8 pm, with a reception afterward in the ballroom where all us nobody, non-Pulitzer winning slobs were selling books. That would have been fine--let the people who wanted to hear Ms. Pulitzer talk see her, and let the rest of us try to sell books. But no...no, that wasn't the way someone wanted it. Suddenly the building crowd was bumrushed into the other room to hear the Pulitzer Prize winner. Someone connected to the festival (I won't say who, but those who were there know what happened) was shanghaiing everyone and forcing them to go listen to the other writer.
And when I say everyone, I mean EVERYONE...even us authors who were there just trying to sell a book or two.
Yeah, that wasn't working for me. I didn't want to leave my table. I was told by that certain someone that everyone HAD to leave the ballroom, that we could leave our stuff because it was going to be locked up, that we just had to come listen to this prize-winning writer.
Okay, first off...how demeaning was that to all us 'nobody' writers? I've never won a Pulitzer, obviously, but how dare she take time away from us just to fill seats? People were wandering around with dazed looks on their faces, asking "Is this mandatory? Do we HAVE to do this?"
Within minutes, the momentum that was slowly building at the book signing screeched to a halt. And guess what...? The doors weren't even locked.
An hour passes. An hour out of that two and a half hour window we were given to sign and sell books. By eight o'clock, people come filtering in again...but now, we can't talk freely because there's a bluegrass band playing as loudly as they can, and people aren't interested in our books anyway because hey look! There's free food!
To make a pathetic story shorter, I didn't sell a single book Friday night. Not even a nibble. People took my card, or even picked up a book and said, "Hey, that looks like that might actually be good." But no sales. Meanwhile, I'm told that I look like an actress that I've never heard of (and when I looked her up...sigh...I'm not too happy about the comparison).
So no...never again. I'm going to try the WV Book Festival in October if I can get a table, but I'll never do ORFOB again. Certain egos ruined the entire experience.
So that's how I spent my Friday night.
Monday, April 9, 2012
REVIEW: Girl Walks Into a Bar... by Rachel Dratch
I've always had a soft spot for Rachel Dratch because she's not the "traditional" actress-type. Plus, she's always funny as hell and willing to go the extra mile for a laugh. She's relatable, I always thought, because she seems real.
Turns out that I was right. Her memoirs have no tragic reveals about her life, no awful memories or life-changing tragedies, but Dratch comes across as a very nice person who happens to not have the beauty queen looks that Hollywood seems to demand. Seeing as how I'm also not of the beauty queen variety, I could relate to her struggles to get out of the "wacky lesbian/secretary/best friend" roles. Dratch writes with an easy humor that feels like a friend telling you a story. I finished the book in one evening because the pages just rolled by...plus her story--including her unexpected pregnancy at the age of 44--was so interesting and well-told.
Highly recommended.
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