Cover Design Time

I’m getting ready to publish a new short story. This one is a contemporary romance. The plot revolves around a woman who has been living as a virtual recluse for the past two years, since her husband was killed in Afghanistan. A friend talks her into taking some creative writing classes, and while at school, she bumps into the painting teacher. They strike up a conversation based on their mutual artistic talents and interests, and she ends up modeling for his 1920′s-inspired Impressionist painting.

While none of these covers actually look like the painting described in the book (because I can’t paint), the main character, Carol, does get her Louise Brooks on for the painting. So these are some of the options I’m considering.

So who wants to help me pick?

The Bloodsuckers, Episode 17: It’s a Date

“Sorry, I’m late,” Josie said, as she breezed into the office Friday evening, tossing her pocketbook carelessly into her desk drawer and slamming the drawer shut with her foot.

“That’s alright,” Scott said, distracted by the pile of work Josie had left in his in box the previous day. “No one’s coming in until seven anyways.”

Josie flopped down into her desk chair with a tired, half-exasperated sigh.

Scott glanced at her and perked a brow. “Oversleep?”

“No, I had a dinner date. I thought I was never going to get away. It was like trying to pull off a damn octopus.”

Scott was momentarily shocked. “A… dinner date?” he stammered.

She held up a hand. “My mother’s doing, I assure you. She’s been nagging me to go out for months, and I just couldn’t take it anymore; she beat me down.”

“So… who was it with?” He hoped he sounded casual.

“The son of one of her friends from mahjong club. That’s what middle-aged Jewish women do when they get together—they Yente. They play mahjong and drink wine and pair up their kids.”

“But… it didn’t go well?” Damnit, that sounded hopeful.

She looked up at him. “Complete and total dweeb. And a letch to boot.”

Keep the smile off the face. Keep the smile off the face.

He almost managed it, but a small one snuck on there anyways. “I guess that’s why he needs his mother to get him a date.”

Josie laughed. “I think you’re right.” She looked up at him more seriously. “You’d think the guy hadn’t been out on a date since senior prom. I mean, I could forgive him for being boring at dinner—he’s a medical resident, so I know they don’t have a life outside the hospital—but, first, he wouldn’t take a hint that I needed to leave for work, then he insisted on walking me to my car, and the next thing I know, he’s kissing me—only it was like having my face stuck to the end of a vacuum cleaner hose.”

Scott wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or be jealous. He ended up snorting as a sort of compromise.

“Then his hands started going places, like he was giving me a physical.”

Jealous. Definitely jealous. “Do I need to meet this guy?” Scott asked, frowning.

“I took care of him,” she replied.

“Are you sure?”

She looked at him, confused. “Are you… jealous, Scott?”

He glanced away. “Me?” he said with completely phony cheerfulness.

She looked away too. “I… didn’t know we were dating.”

He winced a little. They weren’t dating. Yes, they had sex frequently, and yes she fed him once or twice a week, and yes, he stayed the day at her house while his apartment was being constructed, but they hadn’t been out on so much as one date. No dinner, no movie—nothing.

He was ashamed to admit it, but he had never even thought about asking her out. It was as if, when they put their clothes back on, everything went back to business as usual.

“I… um… we haven’t been… I don’t think,” he finally admitted.

“Okay,” she said, sounding relieved. “I just went out with Max to get my mother to shut up, but… I mean… what would she say if she knew you and I were dating? That’s worse than just being friends with benefits.”

“She wouldn’t like me because I’m a vampire,” he stated more than asked.

“Yeah. Well, actually…” she paused, considering the question. “If you were a Jewish lawyer, she’d probably forgive you for being a vampire. It’s the fact that you’re a goy that’s a real problem.”

“Am I a shiksa?”

She laughed. “A shiksa is a woman, Scott.”

“What’s the word for a man?”

“I can’t quite remember—shygetz, or something like that. No one really uses it. There’s just nice Jewish boys and men who are not nice Jewish boys.”

“Sounds like your date tonight wasn’t a nice Jewish boy, either,” he said, needling ever so slightly.

She frowned, obviously seeing the truth in his words. Then she looked up at him, her mouth set in a determined line. “Tomorrow night?”

“It’s a date,” he said with a grin.

Read the entire series–The Bloodsuckers: Vampire Lawyers of Middle Tennessee

The Future of Authors

Jon Carroll at the San Francisco Chronicle writes:

Apparently writers are now having to work twice as hard to stay in the same place. The New York Times reported last weekend that best-selling genre authors are now expected to produce two full-length books a year, rather than the traditional one.

When people want an author, they really want that author. They are unwilling to wait 11 months or whatever it would be for the next installment. Fans of whomever apparently gobble up whoever’s backlist immediately – and cheaply too; old books are so satisfyingly inexpensive.

It is also considered useful if the author produces an additional 40,000-word novella for e-book publication. This will presumably fill the void between the two books a year. All that popularity is very nice, of course, and lots of writers would love to be cursed by it, but jeez. About 140,000 to 200,000 words per year? Plus a plot? That’ll be interesting.

It used to be a commonplace that a writer who wrote too fast would create an error-filled, cliche-jammed manuscript. That still may be true, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Writers are now commodities, like corn or pig bellies. They’re measured in bulk. The more words Lee Child writes, the better he is.

Writers also need to commodify themselves on Facebook and Twitter. They need to drop mordant observations into the data stream, gathering followers and fans so they can announce the pub date of their next novel, “Honor the Blood” or “Chain Saw” or whatever it happens to be, in with their lively descriptions of their fascinating lives and thoughts.

Honestly, I could write at that pace if writing was my full-time job. But with the amount of time I spend on revisions right now, plus needing to format and design my books and cover, blog, and market everything, I’d end up pulling down more than 40 hours a week. The hope is, however, that as I grew more of a following, I could market and blog a bit less. Also, with some cash, I could hire people to do my covers and formatting for me. The goal would be to shrink my work week to 35-40 hours a week… unless I felt the overwhelming desire to write more.

Two other points to make about this article. One, it’s confirming what I’ve already said: authors need to sell themselves as much as their work. Authors need to become celebrities because, as books go digital, pirating will ensue. Unlike the recoding and movie industries, I don’t think digital is a bad thing (and I don’t lock my books up with DRM), but I accept the fact that pirating will happen. That’s where your celebrity comes in. Just as bookstores sell a lot of things other than books, so too will authors have to sell a lot of things which aren’t books (just wait; I’m already working on my CafePress products, to be released along with my first book). That’s just where things are heading for all artists.

The other striking point about the article is what’s between the lines. The link to this article was originally posted in the Amazon authors’ forums (a place where independent authors gather). People there pointed out that traditional publishers are apparently pushing social media marketing (which is, lets face it, the bulk of today’s marketing) onto their authors.

For e-books over $2.99, Amazon gives writers 70% royalty. The industry standard is no where near that amount. According to Fiction Factor, the average royalties on paperbacks is 7.5% and hardbacks is 15%. They don’t mention e-books, but I believe that authors are only making about 8%-10% on their e-books when a publisher has control of it.

70% versus 8% is a big difference.

If I understand print-on-demand books correctly, I will get to name my price above and beyond the publishing cost; I assume Amazon then takes a percentage of that. But it looks like I could make $1.00 or more per book–which is the same or more than if I went through a publisher.

As the indie authors on Amazon asked, if you have to do your own marketing anyways, why would you choose to make less money with a traditional publisher?

Even if you pay money for a book designer and an editor up front and out of your own pocket, you still stand to make more money doing it yourself because you only pay for those services once. When you contract your book with a major publisher, you will share your profits forever for the benefit of having them design your cover and do the edits.

Food for thought.

Whatever Happens, Make Great Art

Okay, I’m going to break my rule about not posting more than once a day. I found a video on Annie Cardi’s blog, and it not only does it encompass everything (and more) that I’ve been talking about lately, but it’s so inspirational, it brings tears to my eyes. If you’re a writer, go watch it; it’ll be the best 20 minutes of your day–and possibly week. (And, really, it applies to all people who are artists.)

Words of Wisdom for New Writers

I found this quote on Artist – Mother – Teacher, and I very much resemble it. And, apparently, a lot of other people resemble it; I’ve been checking out a lot of other writers’ blogs lately, and so many people lament the fact that their first bit of writing isn’t what they want it to be. So I feel the need to spread this around as much as possible.

I wrote a little in elementary and high school–including poetry–but I didn’t really start flexing my creative writing efforts until I went to college and started taking classes.

One day I had an idea for a short story. Then I decided I liked it too well to keep it short, so I started to turn it into a novel. But–just as Ira Glass says–I grew disappointed with my budding novel. My main character didn’t seem to have any personality. She was weak and rather helpless. She fell in love with my romantic lead, but only because I wanted her to; there was no real build up of their relationship, no blooming of love. Unsure how to correct what were pretty major fatal flaws (and rather disillusioned with the entire writing process after some bad experiences in those same creative writing classes), I put my book aside for nine years.

Then, in 2009, while I was derping around on the internet, bored and depressed and unemployed, a friend mentioned National Novel Writing Month on Facebook. With nothing better to do, I decided I would participate. At the very least, I thought, it would give me a sense of accomplishment when I finished it. God knew I wasn’t getting anything else done at the time. The few resumes I sent out never got call backs. Some days I couldn’t even find a job posting which I was qualified for (despite the fact that I had 6 years of legal experience and general office–and even retail–experience, plus a degree).

So I decided that I would write a cheesy romance novel–just for shits and giggles. Then I decided to make it a cheesy vampire novel. Then I decided that I might resurrect the characters from my old novel. I had no expectations for myself except to write 50,000 words (no matter how crappy).

I’m going to be publishing that book, Acceptance, in November, three years after starting it.

After I had my first draft done, I actually pulled out my old binder with all the printed pages of the original novel in it (the computer file disappeared on a floppy disk ages ago). I started to read it.

It was even more horrible than I remembered.

But the potential was there. I did a lot of background research on vampires and the Bible, and–with only some small tweaking–all of that came into my new novel intact. (You can read all of the background information here.) I kept the idea of two different types of vampires–one good and one evil–although I altered how the evil vampires worked and where they came from. Kalyn was in her early twenties in the original book; I knocked that down to sixteen and started the book off with her “coming out party.” The original vampires did not keep humans; the new ones not only keep humans (Yaechahre), but the humans are there willingly and have their own culture which is both separate from and connected to the culture of the vampires.

There’s an axiom of writing that I’ve seen referenced in several different places which also needs to be told to new writers: You have a million words of crap in you.

One writer said that when she learned this, she set herself the goal of writing 2,739 words per day for a year, with the thought that she could get out all one million crappy words at once, then start on her career as a writer.

Even bad writing serves a purpose; it siphons off the crap. Just keep plugging along, and eventually you’ll start writing things you’re proud of and it will become easier to do so. Writing is like any other talent: it requires practice.

The Dreaded “New and Improved” Label

As forewarned, I’m remodeling my blog. I’m moving my book-specific pages to a website (I have it mostly built, but I’m still exploring hosting options) and I’m going to make some new pages for some new content.

When I first started this blog two years ago, all I did was talk about my Acceptance Trilogy and trying to get it published. Since that time, my writing has branched out into other genres–including short stories and novellas–and I’ve begun self-publishing.

My blog is also starting to take on a life of its own. It’s no longer a means to an end (promoting a single book), but a work in its own right.

I hope everyone will enjoy the new and improved blog. Feel free to leave comments about things you’d like to see, or if this sucks in a bad way. Everything’s an experiment.

The Bloodsuckers, Episode 16: Po’ Daddy

Clarice was absolutely delighted when she came downstairs the next day and was greeted by yaps.

“A puppy!” she squealed, kneeling down to pick it up.

“That’s a present from Josie for us. She thought we missed Blondie.”

“Yeah, I miss her,” Clarice said, petting the dog’s head. She laughed and dodged away as he tried to lick her face. “What’s her name?”

“It’s a boy. And I think I’m going to call him Po.”

“Po?” She giggled. “That’s a funny name. …But maybe he looks like a Po.”

Clarice had such a hard time concentrating on her homework, she and Scott were still working on it when Josie called down the stairs.

“Maggie’s here.”

Scott leapt to his feet. “Oh, crap.”

Clarice hurriedly put Po down, looking guilty. Together, she and Scott quickly packed up her homework.

“I didn’t know it was so late,” he mumbled. “I completely forgot about your supper.”

“It’s okay; I’m not really hungry.”

Scott pulled out his wallet and handed her five dollars. “You need to eat,” he said firmly. “Have your mother stop and get you something on the way home.”

“Okay,” she said cheerfully, taking the money from him.

He bent down and gave her a quick hug. “Bye, baby. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.” She reached down to pet the dog. “Bye, Po! I’ll be back in a couple of days, okay?”

Po slobbered on her hand.

Scott followed Clarice upstairs and watched as she went out the door and got into Maggie’s car.

“I hope that doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass,” he muttered to himself.

“What?” Josie asked.

He looked at her, grimacing. “We were so busy playing with the dog, Clarice didn’t get her homework finished and I completely lost track of time and forgot to get her dinner.”

“It’s not like it’s that late,” Josie said, consoling. “She still has time to eat dinner and finish her work.”

“Yeah, but Maggie will probably give me hell for it.”

“If she ever comes in…” Josie muttered.

Scott shrugged.

“So, other than him being a bad distraction, how do you like the puppy?”

Scott couldn’t help himself; he smiled. “I like him. Thank you.”

She smiled in return. She really had the most beautiful smile. “Have you thought of a name for him yet?”

“I think ‘Po.’”

“Po? As in Edgar Allen Poe?”

“No, as in broke; lacking funds.”

“Broke?” Josie asked, confused. Then realization dawned on her face. “Oh, po’ as in poor. Like a po’ boy.”

“Exactly.”

She laughed. “Where on earth did you come up with that?”

“I have no idea. I was half-awake this morning, contemplating my poverty, and that just came to mind.”

Someone walked in the front door, interrupting their conversation.

“Evening,” Scott said.

“Evening,” the man said, his eyes darting around nervously. “Is… is this Mr. Cunningham’s office? The vampire lawyer?”

“That’s me,” Scott replied.

Josie glanced at the calendar on her computer. “Are you Mr. Peterson?”

“Yes, I am.”

Josie glanced at Scott. “Mr. Peterson is your 7:30 appointment. Custody.”

“I’m a little early,” Mr. Peterson said apologetically.

“That’s okay. Come on back,” Scott said, gesturing for him to follow.

They walked into Scott’s office, and Scott shut the door behind them. “Have a seat, Mr. Peterson.”

“Thank you,” he said, sitting down. Scott could tell he was nervous. He could also tell he was a vampire. He had that same musty, old basement smell all of them seemed to have. Scott was always paranoid about being stinky—especially as he did live in a musty, old basement—and he wore a little light cologne almost constantly—even though Josie had sniffed him when he wasn’t wearing anything and swore that he didn’t have any smell whatsoever.

“What can I do for you?” Scott asked, walking around his desk to sit down.

“I… was wondering if you could help me with custody. My ex and I’ve been divorced for… about five years, now. We had joint custody of my boy—you know, where we split our time with him; I’d have him one week and she’d have him the other one. But when I became a vampire, she told me I shouldn’t have him. At first I agreed with her, because I didn’t know what was going to happen, and I certainly didn’t want to hurt my kid, you know. But after a while, when things kind of settled down, and I saw I was still pretty normal—I mean, that I could be around people okay—I told her I wanted to go back to having him every other week. And she hemmed and hawed and made excuses, and I’m just tired of it.

“Someone told me that I could go to her house, when it was my turn to pick him up, and if she wouldn’t let me have him, call the police, and they’d come and make her give him to me.”

“Yes, they generally will, so long as you have a copy of the signed Parenting Plan to show them.”

“Well, I thought about doing that, then I thought no, Gary, that ain’t right. I mean, I don’t care if the cops come out and embarrass my wife in front of her neighbors and everything, but I don’t want to embarrass my boy. And I don’t want to traumatize him or anything—having the police come after him. It makes me think of those kids that the State comes and takes away and puts into foster care. That’s got to be so upsetting for a kid. I don’t want him to think that he’s being taken away from his Mama.”

Scott nodded understandingly.

“So I thought I’d try taking her to court and let the judge tell her to do it, or else.”

“Yeah, well, it sounds like a pretty straightforward contempt case, Mr. Peterson. If you have a signed Parenting Plan, it’s valid and there’s really nothing she can do about it. The only way she can change it is if there’s been a material change of circumstances. And even if you are a vampire now, that doesn’t affect your parental rights.”

“So, what will happen? At court, I mean? …Or whatever you have to do.”

“We’ll draft contempt papers and have her served with them. She’ll have thirty days to respond and present a defense or counterclaim.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“Then we go to court and almost certainly win.”

“What if she answers?”

“Then we still go to court, but the judge will weigh both arguments.”

“Can she get a lawyer?”

“Yes, she can.”

“What will happen then?”

“The same thing, basically.”

“What happens if I do this, but she starts letting me have Jason again? I mean, before we go to court?”

“You can either drop the petition and we don’t go to court, or we can go to court and she can argue that she’s not in contempt. The judge will probably admonish her for not following the Parenting Plan for so long, and will warn her not to do that again. He almost certainly wouldn’t give her jail time—they almost never do that on a first offense.”

“And what about the judges around here? Are they pretty fair to guys like me?”

“Judge Standiff is a vampire. I’ve only been before him a couple of times. He has a reputation for being tough—very no-nonsense—but fair. I think you’ll get a fair shake from him. He can’t very well ding you for being a vampire when he’s a vampire. He should know—the same as the rest of us—that you’re not a danger to your child.”

“You got children, Mr. Cunningham?”

“I have a daughter. My ex took her away from me, too, but I’ve finally managed to finagle some visitation.”

Mr. Peterson smiled. “All that good lawyering, huh?”

“No, actually, I think she’s hurting for money and wants to get on my good side.”

Mr. Peterson looked stunned for a moment, then chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like something an ex-wife would do.”

“Sounds like mine, at least.”

“So, how much will this set me back?”

Scott considered it for a moment. “Eight hundred to go to court on the contempt, plus any court costs—although I don’t think there are any to file a contempt petition. On the off chance that something comes up and we end up fighting it out over the Parenting Plan, that’ll be more. But I really don’t think there’s anything she can do about it,” he added.

“Okay.”

“And we’ll ask for attorney’s fees as part of the contempt. If she loses, the judge will almost certainly make her reimburse you.”

Mr. Peterson grinned. “I like that.”

“Do you have any more questions?”

“Do I pay you now, or…?”

Scott stood up. “You can pay my secretary and give her your information—she has some form she has people fill out. And then we can get started on it tonight.”

Mr. Peterson stood and stuck out his hand. “You sure have been helpful, Mr. Cunningham—answering all my questions and all that.”

Scott shook his hand. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“I knew if anyone could help me, it’d be you.”

“I will certainly do my very best. I know what it’s like to have your child taken away.”

 

Read the entire series–The Bloodsuckers: Vampire Lawyers of Middle Tennessee