Where do you meet authors? Where do you hear about their books? How do you discover your next read? And what actually makes you BUY a book versus just waiting around for that freebie? What is too high a cost for you? Do you even need to buy books anymore? You’re reading this, because, somehow, we’ve connected. What drew you to me? And how did you find me? Was it my erotic romances? My new adult fiction? Or my poetry? Or did you find me some other way and still not yet bought or read a book of mine? In a world that seems to create more and more technology that is supposed to make our lives easier, it becomes more and more difficult for an indie author to decide where to spend their time. Building a following is work. It’s another full-time job to not only our full-time day jobs but also our full-time writing jobs! When I first started, I was only on Twitter. I liked the quick banter. The immediate following. The ease with which to discover people with similar interests. And the people I met on Twitter are now some of my oldest friends in the Indie community to this date. And by oldest, I mean longest. 😊 Facebook had turned me off long before, when students of mine started to “friend request” me, and I didn’t have the heart to not accept. I saw my family in disputes over this cousin not liking this cousin’s post, and I just decided: This is a silly hassle. I don’t need social media to see my friends and family. Instagram was a novelty to me. And well, TikTok wasn’t even a thing!
But as time went on, I joined Facebook as RB, and well, I found myself really enjoying the medium of it. I liked that I could write as much as I wanted and wasn’t restricted to “character” constraints. I liked the groups. I liked the layout and the format. But Facebook has changed A LOT in just the few years I’ve been on it. It’s over saturated. They want you to pay for your posts or they don’t pop them into feeds. And groups seem to be a lot of the same. Silly memes. Mindless games. And places for people to be, well, social and flirty, often in the most inane and mundane ways. But is Facebook a place where people talk about books anymore? Or share their love of an author’s work? I find, more and more, people are looking to be entertained in ways that really have nothing to do with reading. And TikTok? Well, the jury is out on even how long it will last, given all the implications of privacy and the ownership in China. It’s also the biggest rabbit hole of dumb I’ve seen in a very long time. The more outrageous, the more it’s watched. It’s a strange thing, this societal shift of entertainment over truth or quality or depth. TikTok mentality is basically humankind mentality these days. But is an author making silly faces and putting on silly costumes really what it takes to sell books these days? Or does even that just lead to a laugh and an empty promise? And now Facebook is scrambling to keep up, begging people to post more reels, to compete with what exactly? More silly entertainment? Have I used the word silly yet? 😉 I don’t know these answers. I just know who I am and what I stand for. I know that I want to share my work with people, but I also don’t want to just give it all away to everyone for free, all the time. Actually publishing a book takes such work and energy, and every time I offer something FREE, I become a “best seller” (note the irony of the word seller there). I have often made it as an Amazon Best Seller with paid books too (who hasn’t really), but it’s usually only in the first month or two of a release or if I run a paid ad that even being an Amazon Best Seller doesn’t do more than help me break a little more than even. I guess the answer, if I were to offer one, is to simply do what brings us joy, share to social media places we enjoy being on. But then again, do we ever grow if we only stay in our comfort zones? If we don’t learn new things? Is selling books really just learning new tricks? If so, this young dog may already be too old for a new bag! 😊
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It’s the biggest question readers are asked: Ebooks or print? Which do you prefer? I'm a writer, yes, but I'm also a reader. And my answer to this question may surprise you.
You often get those traditionalists who talk about the smell of books, the tactile experience, the bindings and spine, the art, and sometimes the leather. We even romanticize the dust, those particles that look like glitter floating in one ray of sunlight, instead of the sneezes, a lazy day in bed, with a book in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other. If not tea, maybe a pen to mark up the margins with hearts and annotations, smiley faces and exclamation points. That one passage we underline several times and earmark, so we can come back to it like that kiss we’ll never forget. But I’m here to confess. I recently cleaned out all my bookshelves and gave them away to libraries, schools, and the swap shack in town. Oh! What a Philistine! I mustn’t be a “real” reader. I kept my favorites. All my Shakespeare. Fahrenheit 451 and 1984 and Brave New World. The Catcher in the Rye and To Kill A Mockingbird. All the poetry books I have from Dickinson to Cummings to Plath to Poe (and yes Ted too—sorry) and so many more. I even kept the 50 Shades trilogy and Twilight. Stephen King classics. Lolita. Hemingway. But it’s one bookcase now, vs six. I love going to bookstores and libraries, leafing through bookshelves and sale racks, remembering where I was when I read, Are You There, God, It’s Me, Margaret and Anais Nin and The Story of O, a cappuccino in one hand, a book in the other. But when I want to read—on a beach, by my pool, in the quiet moments at night when I’m alone with only the moon and stars as my witness--my kindle is my companion, and I’m not ashamed to say it. I love late-night reads, with the font as big as I want it and the lights off. I love marking up the pages with my fingers and having a record of where I finished. I love bouncing from thrillers to romances to poetry to classics to smut, all at the swipe of my finger, depending on my mood. And I love that I can rest it on my lap and not lose my page. For me, ebooks let me read more. I don’t have to remember to carry eight books or worry if, while poolside, I’ll ruin the pages. Put simply, I love to read. And ebooks give me words. What else do I need? I want to taste and smell the words. Not the book. I want to transport myself to places in my mind. Meet new people without having to go anywhere. And I want to do them often and at the same time sometimes. I’ve kept the paper books that mattered to me, that show me where I was or what I was thinking when I lived with them. I like to reread them and see where I was then and where I’ve come now. Virginia Woolf when I was 16 is not the same as she is in my thirties. Kate Chopin makes sense to me now. I will never stop collecting books, I just do so differently. But I still collect them. I collect moments that are my moments, housed in a mind that will forever love to read. We all have guilty pleasures. What is yours? Mine, of course, is reading...but why have I latched on to the New Adult genre? What has grabbed me about it, and why would I write such a tale now that I'm far removed from being a college-aged student myself? It was a summer morning, and I had been binge reading on the After series (Are you familiar with it?) --you know that summer reading that you don't want to take too much time on or take too seriously? I was at my family camp (which I'm sad to say I no longer have), sitting on the dock, remembering young love and all the angst that comes with it, from years right there on the dock to that present moment, right there reading. And when I went back to the cabin, it just poured out, and I became a college freshman all over again, a young, shy woman trying to find her way, discovering who she was, deciding who she wanted to be, a girl who had been involved with dance and theatre and music her whole life, like the characters who appear in the story and not, and the story just appeared in my mind. I found myself going back there --to first loves and first times and self-discovery and heartbreak--and then the characters began to talk my ear off. Though fictional, the emotions were anything but. At its core, it's just a simple love story. But for anyone who has experienced the highs and lows of young love, you know: Love is never simple. There is something moving about New Adult literature, and there is something especially moving about romance. It's the time in our lives we are realizing ourselves with the freedom that allows it. We have rights and privileges we dreamed of having, without the heavy weight of responsibility, especially if you are fortunate to go to college without having to work full-time. Your mind is open, your eyes are wide, and you feel that inexplicable optimism and hope that anything is possible. You believe in change. You believe in fighting the cause. And you believe in love. Education does that to a person; you're closer to reaching your dreams, even as you embrace your dreams shifting. And love--love seems to happen most when your heart is vulnerable and available to it. We've not, probably, loved so fully before or been able to understand ourselves enough to know love. It's a time in our lives where it's easier to give ourselves, because we're finally starting to know ourselves... And so, Play Only For Me is a bit of that journey, two opposites, one a singer, one a guitarist, who try to find not only each other, but themselves. Thanks for being patient as I continue to write it. There’s been a bit of…hmmmm…I’m not really sure what to call it. Nastiness? Drama? Controversy? Whatever you call it, I’m not being a part of it. Perhaps you’re wondering what I’m talking about? And I took a long time today deciding whether or not I should write about it. Am I just adding fire to the flames by writing my whole response this way? I don’t think so. I have every right to voice my opinion. And I believe there needs to be more support in the indie community rather than in-fighting. I'm tired of it. Let me say this: If you’re an author/writer/poet, and you think putting down other authors publicly is fun, or you think you’re one hundred times better than other writers, or you can’t have a conversation or healthy debate about writing but turn to name-calling or worse, have others do it for you, I’m out. I’m not here to do that. I’m here to raise and lift others, write, share my work, and celebrate the written word with readers and fellow authors. If I don’t like another author’s writing, that’s that. I don’t read it. Or support it much or at all. (If it is abuse or something nefarious, that is different. I’m not talking about that.) And if you enjoy being involved with authors who do that as a reader or as their fan club, and if I see you being a part of that or a leader of it, jumping on a bandwagon to verbally assault other authors, I’m out of there too. With that said, I believe authors should try to be as honest as they can, that if they say something is autobiographical it should be, and that they shouldn’t be passing things off as the gospel truth. Remember that book there that Oprah recommended? A Million Little Pieces by James Frey, the guy who said it was autobiographical when it wasn’t? Not cool. I agree. Go, Oprah. Glad he got his rear-end handed to him. But see how it came to the surface because of astute readers? Not some other author leading some kind of witch hunt? No one likes dishonesty or being fed a crockpot of lies. No one. But in this indie community, if readers can’t figure that out for themselves, it’s not my job to take care of it. That shit takes care of itself. Watching authors act like petulant and jealous competitors is not my jam. I like to stick with those who support others vying for a chance. I like the underdogs. I love the indie community and the authors I’ve met along the way with the same mentality. I have too much going on in my flesh and blood life to worry about people typing anonymously behind a screen, suddenly so brave, who believe it’s okay to attack and ridicule others. If we can’t have a conversation like adults, if you’re here to make waves to sell books, good luck drowning. I won’t be there to lend a preserver. I’ll be long gone by then.
Peace. Paper Cuts was months in the making, where eight poets came together, shared their work, critiqued each other, applauded each other, and worked as a team of artists to become better poets. At times, it was difficult, and sometimes the paper cuts took longer to heal, but they did, and so, too, did we. Our words, like skin, became more beautiful, textured, and interesting over time. Where layers grew, so did our integrity and character. It took some mistakes, some Band-aids, and some trial and error; but mostly, it took vulnerability. Without that, there is no growth for a poet. And as we exposed our wounds, slowly allowing ourselves to become more and more uncomfortable, we realized our deepest poetry was brimming just below our surfaces. We are now ready to share our work with you, hoping our poetry cuts into your heart, your feelings, your emotions, and that you’ll heal, somehow, along with us. To read moe about our journey and our special thanks, get your copy of PAPER CUTS: We bleed but do not die. We live in an age that contradicts itself. Do you notice that? Recycle but not plastic bags. Open your mind but not when it disagrees with my politics. Don't pirate my work but, here, it's all free. And buy books, but save trees. It's a polarizing time to live, and it's also a confusing time. And what is happening to the poet in all of this? Is there any such thing anymore? Has the internet killed the poet? Does anyone BUY poetry? Or are they just cruising the internet, reading what snippets come their way? This discussion has been on my mind lately. and I asked if people still bought poetry books. Do you? Or are poetry books a bit of a thing of the past, that the internet is littered with poetry if you want it, so why buy a damn thing? I buy books. Oh do I buy books. Not like the ones I write much, but nonetheless, I'm constantly reading before I fall asleep at night. Many of my newer books are on my kindle now, yes, because of the environment, but also for its convenience. I used to be against the kindle, until, of course, I actually owned one and could take and read as many books as I wanted at once. But poetry books are the one thing, besides my own, I do not have on my kindle. I own Dickinson and Shakespeare and Cummings and Plath and Whitman and...and...and...all in paperback or hardcover. I read them over and over. Paper books, somehow, are just perfect to plop down in a chair with by the fire to read. One poem or two at a sitting, sipping wine or drinking tea, god, I want to be doing it right now! I have no idea what it is about it that needs to be paper for me when it comes to poetry. Maybe it's because somehow poetry carries with an antiquated sense of romance, perhaps one we fear we are losing with the ubiquitous presence of the internet and technology and the constant barrage of poetry in bite-sizes, quick candies, not to be savored and marked and shared as we once did, but now to be shared in a sentence or two on those damn squares I've bitched about before (and won't do it again. You can read it here: BLOG) as if bumper stickers are poetry. Grab a coffee. Read a line. Breathe out the hot steam of coffee and call yourself a poetry lover. I'm not sure if the internet has killed or is killing the poet or not. There are certainly no shortages of poets out there. I, myself, call myself a poet, never said a great one, but I am a poet nonetheless. Hell, I think everyone has a poet in him/her if I'm being honest, so who I am to say what is and what isn't great poetry. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Instagram squares are the best invention ever made for the writer. I will say this. I think really great poetry gets overshadowed by what has become standard poetry. People want their quick fixes. They don't often want to think or reread poetry or read it aloud. Today, if it's not understood on the first read, someone shouts: "I hate poetry. I don't understand it. I don't get poetry," unless, of course, they find it on Instagram. And the moon is mentioned. Next to the sun. :) Maybe I'm not young anymore. Maybe I need to get with the times. Or maybe, I'll just sit down here at work for a few moments, savor a poem or two, and shut off the internet for a little longer than a flash of a disappearing tweet. "I was deceiving Scott, I was deceiving Michael, and I was deceiving myself if I didn’t think they were both going to find out the truth about each other eventually." |
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I LOVE to write and read. I particularly enjoy reading erotic romance that has tons of emotion in it. I hope you will ask me questions and share your favorite authors and novels. I welcome all feedback.
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