Many times I hear people ask that. They think that based on the fact that there isn’t a physical book there shouldn’t be a cost. After all a few megabytes of information cant cost that much –can it?
One of the things I have learned in my journey to being a published author is that there is a whole lot more to it than what shows up on the page at the end of the day.
There are so many hidden costs that you might not even think about! Editing costs anywhere from 2 to 5 cents per word. Making an average novel of 77,000 words over $1,700.00 to edit at minimum. At the worst you cant afford a have your neighbour down the road have a once over and buy them dinner. Still money laid out.
Cover. This one can go a few different ways. You could lay out money and have a professional do it, do it yourself or have a friend do it for you. Either way somewhere you are going to end up spending money be it on professional fees, rights for the graphic elements or dinner again. Somewhere money will be spent.
Marketing. Yes! Surely given the wide world of the internet this has got to be free ….right? NOPE. At least not all of it for me. I spend money on my website purely on the URL alone. I am lucky the good people over at WordPress host it for me. One day I hope to out grow their “free” website and have to pay for the next one up. Oh! Have you seen the posters, business cards and other fun stuff I have with my name and/or book cover on it? I bought those too. You are right. I probably didnt have to buy them. But it makes my job marketing so much easier. In this day and age you need a way to stand out from the pack.
Booths. Everyone loves a book show or festival. They are great arent they? Well they are also expensive to an author just starting out. Great wonderful invaluable exposure but painful on the pocketbook.
Those are what I have run into myself personally. I am sure there are other fees which the small publishing house I work with has taken care of for me. That doesn’t even include the cost of the “man hours” spent writing the book itself. Needless to say the costs are there for us newbies, they are needs not wants. Needs if we want to create a good name for ourselves that is.
Those of you out there who are lucky enough to get your hands on a really great, well edited and beautiful ebook for free I want you to take a brief moment and thank the wonderful author who gave you that present.
Under-paid! You Bet! 1000 words or less! Enjoy!
Twenty…forty…sixty…eighty —a loud bang interrupted my counting. I looked up from the stack of bills in my hands in time to see three large men walk through the front door to the shop.
I can’t tell you why they had caught my attention more than any other customer would. I work in a motorcycle shop so I get to see my fair share of oddities. I see everything from the old men who want to relive their glory days to the young jocks with biceps so huge they are never able to find a jacket that will fit them. Even though we deal mostly in racing bikes we get the occasional biker walk in that looks like the poster child for the Hells Angels.
It was probably a good thing that my sixth sense tingled because it more than likely saved my life and that of the guys I work with.
I heard the door to the garage in the back of our shop bang and then loud voices yelling. Was it just an irate customer? The loud crash that came from the back lead me to think that there was more to this than just an irate customer.
I had seen my fair share of them as well. My boss isn’t the customer service guru he pretends to be.
The whole situation seemed so surreal to me. I slowly inched my chair away from my desk, watching the guy by the front door. I slid under my desk trying not to make a sound as I went.
Another crash came from the back and the door to the garage banged open again. I could hear my boss and the two mechanics that were in the garage at the time all trying to talk at once.
“Shut up. I’m the one who is in charge here now and you all are going to do exactly what I say. You do what I say and no one needs to get hurt. Understand?” A gruff voice commanded.
I took a deep breath and tried to slow the rapid beating of my heart. It was something like out of a movie.
My mind raced trying to sort out what would be the next logical step for me to take. As obviously the guys were not going to be of any help in the matter.
There was phone on my desk. I had to call someone and get the word out that things were going horribly wrong at the shop.
I reached up, felt around until I found the edge of the phone and pulled it slowly forward towards the edge of the desk, silently cursing at the sound the rubber feet were making.
“Well now what do we have here?” I had been concentrating so hard on moving the phone that I didn’t hear the approach of one of them men.
The next thing I knew I was being forcefully dragged out from under my desk and violently shoved out into the middle of the showroom floor.
“Look who we found hiding under a desk in one of the back offices.”
“Looks like we might have a little more fun than we bargained for eh boys?” the man with the gruff voice said as he sneered at me.
The guys I work with were sitting on the floor, hands bound, with their backs against the front counter. My boss looked up at me and I could see just by the look on his face that he knew he was helpless to stop anything that they were going to do.
I would have to find my own way out of the situation.
My mind set on what I had to do I don’t think I stopped to think about what I was doing.
I dropped to the ground and kicked out catching one of the men in the side of the knee. I rolled quickly behind a rack of leather jackets and pushed myself to my feet charging into the garage. I could hear the men cursing over the bang of the door. I grabbed one of the wrenches as I ducked behind a work bench. It wasn’t much but it was certainly better than nothing at all.
I heard the door to the garage open up and then swing shut again.
I sat there holding my breath listening for any sound that might tell me what might be on the other side of the work bench.
I heard a sound that I recognized, the sound of a gun being cocked.
I took a deep breath, turned and tried to peer through the workbench to see if I could see anything. He was there maybe six feet away from where I was crouched. His back was to me. Gripping the wrench firmly I quickly rose to my feet prepared to throw it.
I wish I had of seen the guy walking in my direction, but given the circumstances I still managed to pull my arm back and clobber him over the head with my wrench before throwing it at the other guy, catching him hard he turned around to see what had happened to his friend.
My heart raced I bent to pick up the gun that had clattered to the ground when I hit them with the wrench.
I slid up to the door to the showroom listening for any sign of life from the other side.
I heard nothing.
What happened next was nothing short of a miracle. I rushed out of the garage gun pointed out straight ahead of me.
The guy was standing there unarmed. He obviously was waiting on the two others to come back with me in tow.
I calmly walked up to him and smacked him across the face with the butt of the gun and he went down in a heap.
The guys looked up at me in shock.
“What? Its just all in a days work.” I said as I started cutting them loose.
I don’t know that there is one distinct reason that I wrote a bunch of books other than the fact that the voices in my head told me their stories and forced me to share them with the general public.
Joking aside however my journey to being a published author wasn’t as straight forward as that statement would make it seem.
I started out writing detective stories when I was twelve years old. I loved making the good guys win and the bad guys get caught by their own buffoonery. I did however create a main character who’s life had been modeled after my own young life in that she had been through a lot and bore a lot of emotional and physical scars as a result.
I was quite proud of her really. That much I do remember. I was proud because she did something I hoped I would be able to do one day. Overcome the demons of my past and make of myself something that people could be proud of. She was what I hoped I would grow up to be.
I remember one day taking my story in to school to show my eighth grade English teacher. It was a few notebooks long and from what I can remember had a full plot, so a beginning, middle and an ending. My teacher hated it. For whatever reason she told me it wasn’t believable at all, that no one could possibly go through all that my main character had and still come out the way I depicted her.
Believing that I had once again failed I didn’t write again for a good number of years.
It wasn’t until my best friend and I were out one night sitting on the patio at our favorite coffee shop and she asked me what was one thing I had always wanted to do but had never done yet. For reasons I can not explain I answered write a book.
It was in March or April of 2006 that I started writing again. My first full novel, Sacrifice of Innocence, was born out of that conversation. The next few years I poured out more and more novels ( There are 10 so far in this series). Writing is now as natural to me as breathing and drinking coffee. It is also a need just like breathing and drinking coffee is to me. I don’t know that I could ever not write again really and truly.
For the record, my main character this time around, is just like me, been through the wars and has the battle scars to prove it. But he also knows that its those battle scars that make him the man he is today. Just like I know the scars I bear make me the writer I am today.
So why did you write a book? Where does your inspiration come from?
Guilty? As Charged! 1000 words or less! Enjoy!
The man was guilty. There was no doubt about it in her mind. She knew her client had done what the prosecutors said he had done. The look in her client’s eyes had told her all she had needed to know when she had asked the question of him on their first meeting.
She shivered as she thought back to the conversation. It had been in one of the city jail’s bleak interview rooms. Her client was an older man, in his mid fifties with charcoal grey hair and piercing blue eyes. He had been waiting for at the small table in the middle of the room. His hands were cuffed and chained to the table top. His legs were in irons and chained to the floor.
“So are you guilty?” She had asked and watched his reaction. She always made it a habit to ask her clients of their guilt or innocence. It managed to give her a starting ground on which to build their defense. They all thought they were not guilty and each and every one of them that she had met over the years had told her the same thing. They were not guilty.
To some of her client’s credit there were some who were definitely not guilty of the crimes that they had been accused of. They had simply been caught up in something that they had no business being involved in, in the first place. Then there were of course the guilty ones, who just didn’t want to admit that they were indeed guilty of the crimes charged to them. And there were more still whose guilt was unknown. Those were the hardest of cases for her.
Some would think that they wouldn’t be as hard, but they are. Not knowing was worse than knowing one way or the other.
He had said nothing when she had asked him. He had simply sat there smiling at her.
She then had begun to read to him the charges. As she had she had watched from the corner of her eye to see his reaction.
What she had seen then had made her stomach turn.
With every count he had licked his lips. At every victims name he had grinned. His eyes were alive and sparkling with a gleam that could only be described as evil. He however said nothing which only served to make his reaction more vile.
It was as if he was enjoying the obvious fruits of his labour.
She had had to force herself to keep reading the charges as it was what was customary and expected. There was well over one hundred charges, and over fifty victims. Those were the ones that they had found.
How she was going to be able to defend a man such as this she had no idea. She hated her bosses at the firm for having put her in such a position. But she had drawn the short straw on this one and had been sent to deal with the man before her.
Once they were done reading out the charges they would have to go over each and every one of them and he was going to have to explain.
She found the room hot as she continued to read. She felt the man’s hot gaze on her as she bent over the pages. She did not want to look up. She did not want to see the look on his face as he stared at her.
She came to the last name on the list and that’s when he finally spoke for the first time since she had sat down.
“Wait.” His voice was as smooth as silk. Low and sultry.
If she had been anywhere else she would have thought it was sexy. But here it only served to make her skin crawl.
“Yes?” She said finally looking up at him again.
“That last one? That was not mine.” He said and he smiled at her.
For those of you in the Greater Toronto Area (or heck anyone who lives in Southern Ontario!) be sure to stop by The Word on the Street book festival September 23, 2012 from 11am to 6pm and meet me! I will be autographing soft cover books at my humble booth in the market place.
Note: Those of you who have already purchased the special limited edition hard covers, there was a problem with the printer that caused a major delay, and they are just now starting to head north. I am hoping that I will have some if not all of them up here in time for the show, however never fear they are on their way!
I just finished off the final camping trip with my kids this week and I am finding myself quite creatively recharged. I have spent a quarter of my summer living out of a tent and a duffle bag. The inside of my van has so much sand in it Im thinking of building a sandcastle with it all. And the brain is recharged and firing all thrusters in perfect harmony.
For me getting away from the hustle and bustle of the city tends to get my creative juices flowing especially if they have been stagnant for a while. Which in more recent months they havent quite been that bad off but the urge to write was generally over-shadowed by the need to take care of everything else under the sun. It is the hardest part for me being a writer and a mother. But if I can get that reset every so often then I can somehow keep the thoughts fresh and give myself the creative energy needed to write.
Not eveyone gets their creativity flowing the same way. I know some authors have certian places in public (like coffee shops or libraries) that they go to on a regular basis to get their creative energy going. Others still have a place in their house that is set up just right for their writing.
Where do you go to reconnect with your muse and get things rolling again?
What is in a smile? Enjoy!
It was the same thing every week. Day in and day out he stood there watching the people in the building come and go. There were all sorts of people who lived in his building. Some small families with young children, some couples who were just starting out on their lives together, older couples who had enjoyed a long life together and had seen there children grow up to be adults with families of their own. They were all nice to him. They always remembering that he was the one that held the door for him with a polite nod, a smile or a kind word. The children were the best of the bunch, some of them were now old enough to leave their parents side, run up to him calling his name, all smiles and giggles and then wrap their tiny arms around his legs or waist.
Then there was the old woman. He only saw her every Sunday morning when she left for church, and then when she came back from running her errands.
She was the exact opposite of the rest of them. When every one else was nice and polite to him, she was rude and spiteful. She never had a nice word for anyone else in the building but all the things she spoke to him were worse still. She complained about everything and managed to find a way to blame him for everything that was wrong with her day. If he failed to hail a cab for her in time she would blame him. If it had snowed the night before and the building maintenance had failed to shovel properly, it was his fault, and he would be told that he should have taken care of it.
She was the only reason he had to hate his job. He had wished that she would just hurry up and kick the bucket already. She had to be in her eighties or nineties and she certainly couldn’t be any younger than that. She had lived enough of a life of making people and it wasn’t like there was going to be anyone who missed her.
He knew that he was not the only one who had problems with the woman. He had heard whispers amongst the tenants that she was a trouble maker for most people as she complained to the property manager about the other tenants, and had even called the police several times on some. He had seen her make some of the children cry with her sharp tongue. Even the building maintenance disliked her.
Today was Sunday, and going to be different. She was not going to be coming down. They were all going to be rid of her and her crankiness. She was not going to darken another person’s day ever again.
A week ago had been the final straw. She had almost growled at one of the tenants daughter for having been laughing at her mother too loudly for the old woman. That night there had been a small meeting of men. They had all talked of how to get the old witch to back off. No one had come up with something that another had not already tried. In the end they all decided it would just be best if she left.
And they all knew that she was far too well off and too in control of her faculties to be convinced to leave. There was no way for them to put her in an old aged home. Then there was the fact that no one had ever seen any family or visitors of any sort come and go into the building for her at least. So there was no one there who would be able to help them talk her into leaving. No the only way for them to get her out was for her to die. Then they would be free of her forever. It had been settled. He was the one to take care of it.
And he had obliged.
It was Sunday and the sun was just starting to rise. Today was going to be different.
Delictious? 1000 words or less! Enjoy
The stew smelled wonderful. She thought as she stood there looking around her kitchen to see that everything was in order.
It had been a long year for her. She had gotten married to a man she loved and moved to another city to follow him when he got himself a job in another state. She had left her family and friends behind. As much as everyone had promised her that they would keep in touch they had slowly drifted away. Even her family had drifted more than she would have liked.
‘Not that they had ever been all that close to begin with.’ she thought as she stirred the stew again and felt the baby kick.
That was the other thing. The baby.
It hadn’t been her idea, but when she had had so much trouble finding work when they moved here that her husband had thought it was the perfect time to start a family.
No career to get in the way, he had said.
She hadn’t really had an option in the end. After all he was the one who brought in all the money, he was the one who gave her everything. It was the least she could do for him. It was her duty as a wife, to give him a child.
He had wanted a son. He said in his family sons were always born first. It was a big deal to him. And so she tried, but in the end again she had had no option.
When the doctors told them that it was a girl he had not been happy. He had insisted that the doctor had made a mistake. He demanded another test, much to the doctors dismay, and when he was shown that there was no mistaking it he had not talked to her for over a week.
It had been the longest week of her life. She had had no one to talk to. Even a phone call from her mother had done nothing to ease the loneliness in her heart. But she couldn’t tell her mother what had happened. Her mother was one of those stand by your man people, who believed that husbands could do no wrong.
As the months passed her husband had done nothing to make it up to her. He spent more and more time away from the house, saying it was because he had to work late. But she wasn’t born yesterday. She might have been stupid, but not so much so that she missed the smell of perfume on his clothes, the lipstick on his collar or the late night phone calls from some woman.
No, stupid she was not and when she confronted him, he had told her that if she hadn’t become a fat cow and pushed him away that he wouldn’t have had to turn to another woman to fill his needs.
It was always HER fault. Never his. Even their little girl who was not even born yet was her fault. Even when he called her names it was HER fault. That’s what he said anyways.
She on the other hand had had enough, and was going to set things straight. That was why she had made his favorite stew tonight. He was actually home in time for dinner for that reason alone.
After she had served the stew and brought it out to him in the living room where he sat in HIS reclining chair, she stood there beside him, waiting on him to start eating it.
“This smells good for once. Did you do something different?” He asked taking a huge spoonful and stuffing it into his mouth.
She just shook her head and smiled.
He was right, for once he was right. The stew smelled wonderful.