I am participating in the Writer Mama Every-Day-In-May Book Giveaway

NOTE: This blog post is also at Edin Road Radio where Hope presents tonight at 6:30 PM Eastern Time. Tune in and listen!

===

Lowcountry Bribe, the first in The Carolina Slade Mystery Series, portrays a smart yet low-key protagonist who’s satisfied being a government bureaucrat, making loans and grants to the rural residents of South Carolina. When one of her clients, a good-old-boy bubba hog farmer, offers her a bribe, her world explodes with adversity. Her husband, her office, her children, everything and everybody seem against her or threatened until she has no choice but to become a different person and fight back.

When you compose words and scenes, you don’t foresee how readers will accept them. Writing a regional novel, I had my doubts whether folks in the Pacific Northwest, New England, or the Midwestern Corn Belt would find it interesting. The dialect, slang, and witticisms held deep South connotations, and humor is difficult to spin on a universal scale. What I saw as beautiful scenery along the marshes of my home state might seem icky to someone from the city. And unless someone grew up on a farm, would hogs add anything to a plot? My concern was underlined by New York agents who voiced skepticism about the culture and didn’t “get it.”

I drove myself crazy, wondering how to rewrite a tale that everyone would appreciate. Some colloquial verbiage was cut when my international online critique group didn’t understand, like “happy as a dead pig in the sunshine.” I wrote and rewrote and rewrote again, striving for a balance between a colorful Southern lingo and a language everybody understood.

However, after 72 queries, a California agent who raised horses grasped the visual of the writing and the uniqueness of the story. Thanks to her, a Memphis publisher, Bell Bridge Books, read the manuscript and loved the sass and setting, understanding all my Southernisms.

A writer cannot write for all readers. The best of the bestsellers are not beloved by all, regardless of their talent. And those that try to compose for all sorts of interests will fail. So I stuck to what I knew, the environment I grew up with, using the background I loved so well, telling myself I might have to settle for regional acceptance.

To my amazement, the reviews on Amazon show that readers interpreted the story in many different ways.

Some saw it as a mystery interlaced with humor and wit. “…a fiery and fiesty Southern Belle with a wickedly dry sense of humor and an endless supply of priceless (and quite quotable) one-liners.” While others saw the protagonist as, “a tough mother, bitchy boss and remorseful, reluctant wife.”

One labeled it as a suspense thriller. “Lowcountry Bribe is as good a suspense thriller with a strong female protagonist as I have read, and that includes the likes of Patricia Cornwell, Janet Evanovich, J.D. Robb, or Jan Burke. Slade can, and does, run with the best of them. This is a spine tingling thriller with a twist that will take your breath away…” While another considered it, “Part southern fiction, part hard-boiled mystery and part romance, and well worth my time.”

I teared up over and over as each of the 67 reviews poured in. These readers “got it,” but each in his or her own way. One even saw it as a testament for abused women, because of what Carolina Slade overcomes in her journey. Each reader saw what they loved in a good story, and thanked me for writing this mystery for them, painting a protagonist they would like.

That’s when it hit me.

When I finally decided to write a story that came from my core, sculpting the characters, dialogue, setting, and plot from my foundation, using the prime of my talents, I not only wrote my best, but I wrote what’s best for every possible person out there.

It doesn’t matter if a town in some state, or a section of the country, or a demographic strata somewhere doesn’t “get it.”

When we splinter our skill in an effort to please all, we dilute it. When we concentrate on using the individuality of our skills to their utmost, pumping our guts into a project, we give it power. And that is the ultimate legacy any writer, any creative spirit, can give the world.

Conference season is alive and well, from California to New York, and you can sense the energy in the air as writers walk in the front doors of motels and register. They collect their goodie bags, glancing quickly to see if there’s anything to eat in it for later, and find their way to the horde. They might seek friends they know, or might be alone, but chances are, they arrived with only two goals: To find someone who can help their writing struggle, or sell their wares. Other than that, they haven’t clearly defined their purpose to be at that particular event, at that period in their professional lives.

You might consider being selective in your conferences.

What do you need from a conference at this point in your career?

1. An agent?

2. A publisher?

3. A class on writing your genre?

4. Ideas on platform and promotion?

5. To step up your poetry?

This list could be a hundred items long, but the point is that you need to make a list. What do you need from a conference? And most importantly, does the conference you’re currently considering offer precisely what you need?

Many writers attend conferences for the feel of them. They want to be around other authors, compare notes about what they are doing. Mutual cheerleading, or at worst, mooching ideas off the successful. Hey, I get that. I love hearing new concepts and directions. However,  attending a conference without a purpose is like going to school without a major. You might learn some things in the process, but you aren’t headed in any direction. You could waste precious time that could be spent writing. Or you waste money that could be better spent on a conference more suited to your needs.

Make a list of what you seek for your writing right now. Then identify conferences that offer what you seek. Design an agenda and establish goals to reach while you are in attendance. If they feature a particular agent you’ve love to meet, write a list of questions for him on a notecard. If they have a class on plotting, make a notecard with a list of your shortcomings or concerns or questions to ask.

I understand that sometimes you attend a conference based on locale and cost. In that case thoroughly review the courses and speakers, making notes on what to accomplish. Make it detailed.

“I hope to determine whether I need a prologue for my story.”

“I want to understand how to format a novel for Kindle.”

“I want to learn why I need an agent.”

“I want to learn how to get my script in the right hands without being stolen.”

I’ve seen scriptwriters at conferences where nothing was offered for scripts. They attended because friends were there or it happened to be the closest conference with the least amount of travel. Don’t waste your time if you don’t go with purpose, with full intentions of walking away with your money’s worth.

You might only need a one-day workshop just for romance writers. You might prefer a retreat where you write, and then exchange critiques among attendees of your caliber. You could have a manuscript complete and only need advice on pitching agents, available through an online class.

Conferences can be great catalysts for us, but they can also waste our time, even confuse us. You create marketing plans, platform plans, novel outlines, and day to day notes to accomplish word counts and chapter completion; so why not develop a personal development plan . . . precisely noting when and where to expand yourself as a writer.

I just returned off a whirlwind tour of three states and 3200 miles in ten days. Whew! I met some great, great readers, fans, writers, and authors . . . some remarkable editors and agents. The larger conferences are always interesting. If you don’t allow yourself to become intimidated by the names and experience, you can actually enjoy watching the pecking order.

All of us had to start somewhere. Everybody debuted at some time or another, but you wouldn’t know it at a conference. Watch the dipping and dodging, the study and measuring. If I were Charlaine Harris’ Sookie Stackhouse, able to read minds, I’d probably be amazed, embarrassed, and charmed, all at once. When you have hundreds of people interested in writing, collected in one locale, the social strata fall in line.

The self-published often feel indignant at the traditionally published. The traditionally published try not to notice. Watch the dynamics in a room where both are selling their wares. Agents often stick together. Editors as well. Sometimes with each other. Writers in the same writing groups hang tight. The small publishers pal with other small publishers.

Writers are afraid to speak to agents except during pitch sessions, and agents seem to avoid being cornered. I watched self-published look for reasons to be defensive in sessions, as if daring someone to doubt they could make a living as an indie.Traditionally published were almost afraid to say they were.

I don’t understand why people don’t split up, open up, and learn from each other.

When I go to conferences, I love being cornered and questioned. I want to meet people. I want to greet FundsforWriters readers who happen to attend. I crave to hear from someone who loved my book. I want to hear how others have done well, in hopes of learning from them. I’d love to participate in a big round table of assorted industry types, eating lunch, sharing situations, even arguing pros and cons of a current debatable topic like the DOJ lawsuit against Apple and several of the Big Six. Sure, someone won’t understand, but they just might once you explain it to them. Everyone could learn from everyone else.

If you are a new writer, dare to approach the published, the agents, and the editors and ask questions. Don’t feel badly if they are too busy. Try another one. You’ve paid a fee to be in the same rooms with these people.

If you are a seasoned individual at any aspect of the profession, be available. Hang in the lobby, the lounge, the back of the room at the end of a presentation. Be real. Be approachable. Leave your high horse elsewhere.

Conferences can be great places to meet friends, but they can also be fantastic places to make new ones and learn. It shouldn’t matter whether you are from NY City or Muscogee, AL. After all, why go to a conference to begin with if not to broaden horizons?

This writing thing can be a first-class b–ch as well as heaven on earth. Writers grow in stages, many falling by the wayside when they ignore the fact they have to pay a few dues.

Just deciding to write is not easy. Not when faced with a job, family, and other pre-existing obligations. But you go ahead and decide, and you feel all cozy about yourself. Good. It’s the first step on a long journey, but you took it. Yay you!

But no new writer writes well. Your family and friends might like your work. They do not count . . . at all. You must educate yourself through formal education, an endless assortment of self-help and how-to efforts, and mentors. You must hone grammar, syntax, story arc development, dialogue, setting, and characterization–not just know what it is. You must be able to recognize writing that has a good grasp of each topic, then you practice it until you hate it. Then you practice it again. Then you practice it again. You practice it so many times you have to remind yourself why you’re being so anal about it. You almost want to quit. You think nobody will appreciate going the extra mile.

You want total strangers to like your work. Strangers who know how to write, edit, and make a living with words.That means you have a voice and know how to use it. If you aren’t sure what your voice is, you haven’t found it. So keep practicing, learning, writing, tossing, deleting, and rewriting. Enter contests, join critique groups, hire editors.

A journalist friend ate lunch with me recently, and she mentioned how hard she was trying to learn how to write fiction. I asked what she’d done. She hadn’t written a word. Instead, she was studying how to outline, how to flesh out characters, how to do a story arc, and so on. She was researching and setting herself up, getting all her tools in place to get started. Not writing. I looked her in the eye and said, “Just write. Pick a good scene and start the book.”

“I know,” she said, but we’d had this conversation before, so I wasn’t sure she really did know.

“Write that story,” I said. “Then when you get to chapter 33 or whatever the final chapter is, read the book over. You’ll realize it stinks. Throw it away.”

Her eyes flew wide. “Oh, I could never do that.”

“Why not? By the time you get to that final chapter, especially on a first time novel, your writing will have grown so far that chapter one is nowhere near the caliber of that last chapter. You’ll do major rewrites anyway. Keep a hard copy for posterity, but start over with nothing more than an outline. You’ll realize after the next rewrite that you’ve once again outgrown chapter one. You may not throw it away then, but you do some serious cutting and readjustment. Over and over . . . until you realize a voice has surfaced and chapter one isn’t much different than the last one. And you do from beginning to end as many times as it takes, exorcising all the silly little demons in your work.”

She winced, scrunched her nose and shook her head again. “Nope, I’ll never throw it away.”

I sighed. All she’d heard was the part about throwing away the first draft.

When you cook, you wash each utensil and bowl thoroughly, because to leave a remnant of an ingredient behind could be what destroys your next recipe. Culling the crap is necessary. You don’t season it with sugar or salt to make it palatable or sprinkle almond extract or lemon oil on it to reduce the stink. You throw it away.

Vow to be great, however long it takes. You will so love yourself more. Vow to be superb.

I was reading a blog post about publishing options and marveled at how terms morph and paradigms shift over such a very short time. Not two years ago, we fussed over traditional publishing, vanity publishing, and self-publishing. Many whined about SO many choices, worried how to select the “right” one. Well, hold onto your hat. Now you can choose traditional, vanity, self-published, Indie published (why the capitalization??), and hybrid.

If you’re an author trying to decide how to publish, you’re allowed to throw that hat on the ground and stomp on it. I know. It’s frustrating. I’ve self-published and traditionally published, and years and years ago, I once vanity published (trying to forget that experience).

No one way is right for all, but you have definite issues to consider with each one. You just have to weigh the good, the bad, and what fits in your life, your marketing plan, and your pocketbook.

Traditional

• Pays royalties based upon sales
• You pay nothing
• Highly vetted
• What you generally see on bookstore shelves
• The publisher is responsible for formatting, cover, editing, distribution
• You sign away an agreed upon number of rights
• Found at Amazon and B&N and in Indie bookstores.
• ISBN belongs to traditional press

Self-publishing / Indie publishing

•  You pay everything
• You own all rights
• You receive all money
• You are the publisher, responsible for formatting, cover, editing, distribution
• You are the distributor
• Some difficulty placing books in brick and mortar stores
• Found at Amazon and B&N online and e-book venues like Smashwords
• Common method used for e-book sales
• Indie means an author creates the image of an imprint or “publishing house” for his/her books
• ISBN belongs to you/your imprint

Hybrid Presses

• You pay part of the cost
• You negotiate the rights, but are usually able to keep more, if not all, rights
• You receive royalties, usually at a higher rate than traditional
• You choose the degree of editing, formatting, cover, and pay for the service
• Your investment determines the print run, just like self-publishing
• Sometimes material is vetted, depending on the entity
• ISBN belongs to hybrid press, but might be negotiated.

Vanity-Subsidy Presses

• You pay everything
• You own all rights
• You receive royalties at a much higher rate than traditional
• You agree to formatting, cover, editing, distribution, marketing in the price
• Agreements may be made to restrict rights of author and increase rights of press to harbor the book in its catalog
• Minimal vetting; some do not vet at all
• ISBN belongs to press

Somebody may take issue with bits and pieces of each of these, and in real life, there are exceptions within these categories as well as some entities that may feel they don’t fall into any of the above (like Publish America). If you are new, just notice the terms and read the general descriptions. It’s tempting to jump into publishing, but you don’t want to spend months and years on a story to ruin its appearance to the world. Choose wisely, and only after doing your research. It’s well worth the time and investment of your full-attention to know what you are getting into . . . and what you are choosing not to.
 

As writers, we understand that one of our most crucial milestones is identifying the voice. We strive to become confident in how we write our stories so they are like fingerprints, unique and identifiable with only us. How heavenly would it be if one of our lines was included in someone’s Top 100 Quotable Lines from Books We Love?

 That voice is very important in more ways than a chapter’s opening line or the clinch at the end of a feature article. Success in social media commands use of voice as well. If you think everybody is competing against you with a book, imagine the competition on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn and blogs. Someone who misspells every fourth word can gain a following in social media, but as long as he’s cute, informative, funny, sarcastic or smart, i.e., has a voice, he can succeed.

The biggest turnoff in these social venues is usually the vanilla-flavored individual who only tries to sell. The person who says, “buy my book and buy it here.”  We don’t know the attributes of the product nor the strengths of the individual selling, but for some reason we are expected to want to purchase it. When a person assumes the public doesn’t need the details of the product (let’s say book) and can be coaxed (conned) into handing over money for it anyway, he insults the reader.

Only when you become Nora Roberts, Patricia Cornwell or Stephen King can you say, “Hey, my new book is out,” and people unquestionably accept the quality. Those type names are one percent of the authors on the shelves. A solid mid-list author still has to convince a reader that the book is a worthy investment, and that the author is behooved to the reader to make that book selection.

So when using social media, any of them, remember these four rules:

Posts should be FOR the reader.

Share with the reader as an equal.

Don’t SELL to the reader.

Mention your commodity in no more than 30 percent of your posts.

In a world where everyone wants you to follow, like, or recommend them on social media, it’s easy to cull those who don’t respect you. They are the ones who never chat with you, enlighten you, or entertain you. They want a piece of you, and aren’t willing to take the time to give back. If you can’t admire the poster in social media, then you probably aren’t inclined to buy what they’re selling.

Find that voice in you . . . the one that invites, strokes, and welcomes a follower. Leave the conning, hard-selling, and pleading to the novices, because you appreciate your readers. After all, don’t you want them to be your friends? Willing to follow you for life? Of course you do. So Tweet like it. Post like it. Message like losing these people would hurt your feelings; don’t post like you’re trying to step on theirs.

I wince every time I open an email or receive a tweet or read a Facebook message that says:

A good cheap read.

Buy my book and help my rankings.

Buy this book. Partial proceeds go to charity.

Help spread the news about my new book.

Here, buy my book. It’s on Amazon.

It’s only 99 cents!

And . . . those are the last books I’d ever think of buying.

First, nobody tells me what genre it is. At least give me a synopsis, even a blurb . . . throw me a bone, writer. Tell me what the heck I’ll be reading and why it matters to my life. Entice me. Intrigue me. Lead me on with a taste of the plot. But I’m always surprised that I’m asked in these messages to buy a book without the first word about the story.

I read a lot. A book a week, I guess. Not ravenous but respectable. Occasionally I’ll take 10 days when I’m over my head in work. And I have this huge pile of books on my nightstand that I’ve bought, been given, judged, and critiqued. Thirty at least. Yeah, I have a sturdy nightstand. You ought to see my Kindle, where One-Click Shopping makes buying so simple. So for me to buy a book means I’m definitely excited about the experience.

But nobody can get in your head and understand what the book’s about. You have to bait, tease, advertise and suggest with tact that someone read your story . . . based on its merits. Not on how hard you worked or how much you love your own story or even how much the touching tale changed your life.

Inspire with the story, not the process and not how you did what you did. Readers want to purchase an experience, not buy a product. And they aren’t interested in your reality . . . only in their own.

You don’t know where to start. You know you’re supposed to query magazines, but which ones, and to whom? Or you need clients for your copywriting business. What is cold calling and how do you even start?

When you freelance, you assume the responsibility of asking for business. It’s scary, I know. I hate it, too. Put me in a room full of people, and I can wing it. Put me one-on-one and talk about hiring me, and I’m all jelly inside. But let’s say you want to start this writing business. How do you start finding people to write for?

1. Who you know.

It’s that simple. Tell everybody that you write for a living and are taking on clients and gigs. Give them cards and have them pass them out, contact acquaintances, talk you up. Hey, my mother sells my books via her tax prep business. I’ve had the editor of one magazine sell me to the editor of another. Conference organizers have validated me to other writing professionals. Your friends and family have employers who just might use a freelance writer. Use the mouthpieces you have.

2. Who you subscribe to.

Start with the magazines you read. After all, you understand them. Then grow to the magazines your friends and family read, because you can pick their minds as to why they read them and what the magazines represent. It’s the age-old adage of tapping what you  know . . . something we tend to overlook. Note the free regional pubs you grab while out shopping. Don’t forget to pitch a column to the fledgling newspaper you’ve subscribed to for years, trying to help keep it alive.

3. Businesses you use.

Ask your dentist to write his newsletter . . . or start one for him. Ask your child’s school if you can pen a column on writing.Pick up the Out Here magazine at Tractor Supply or the local parenting magazine at the restaurant you frequent. Keep your writing eyes open.

4. Using coattails.

Use writers you know to open doors for you. I’m friends with a freelancer who makes a full-time living writing for regional newspapers and magazines. Lake Murray Living and Sandlapper are local mags in South Carolina, and she’s well known at both. Don’t know any? Start following someone, commenting on their blog or friending them on Facebook. My son knows two sports journalists in the state, simply because he regularly comments on their blogs. Same goes for journalists at the papers. They can tell you how to pitch, what to pitch, and possibly knock on the door of the editor you need to pitch it to.

We’re all connected. Put yourself in the other person’s shoes. Wouldn’t you love to help someone? Of course you would. In this case, getting started is all in who you know, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

How would you reply if asked this question? Indignant? After all, everybody has to start somewhere, plus you’ve been writing various pieces for years.

Everybody has to write the first manuscript. But few of them need to publish that first manuscript.

If you went to the doctor, needing an operation, you might ask, “Have you done this sort of operation before?” What if the reply is, “No, but I’ve been studying how to do it.” You’d move on to another doctor, because no matter how long he’s read the books and tested on cadavers, he hasn’t proven himself.

To an agent or publisher, saying this is your first book is like saying, “I don’t know what I’m doing yet, but trust me, it’s going to be a great book!” Rachelle Gardner, an agent with Books & Such Literary Agency, recently penned a great post about this subject: “4 Reasons to Write Several Books — Before You’re Published.”

You need experience before you publish. So what is experience?

1. Completed manuscripts of other books.

Just the fact you’ve spent years (yes, as in many months) writing says something about your diligence. That doesn’t mean two or three first drafts. It means books you struggled with and might be willing for someone to read and consider in addition to the one you are pitching. Trying to query about the fourth book you’ve written versus the first, tells a professional that you’re fighting in this business until you get it right. That’s enough thought to give someone pause that you might be worth considering.

2. A writing reputation elsewhere.

Published twenty magazine articles? Published numerous columns for your newspaper? Taught creative writing? Written for nonprofits or corporations for a reputation period of time? Received an MFA? Published nonfiction or commercial material and now dabbling in fiction? Show something. Have nothing? Then you know what you need to do.

3. Contest wins.

A zillion contests exist for unpublished writers. Frankly, most contests do not require experience or publishing credits. However, place in several contests, and you gain credibility as well as put your name in the view of important people in the business.

I want experienced people teaching my children, removing my gall bladder, or selling my house, just like agents and publishers want experienced writers. No, you might not have published a book, but show you are fanatically serious about this business by giving them something, anything, to show you are experienced in one way or another.