The uncertain life of an indie author

 

Someone—dare I say a fan?—asked me today when Irene Deep in Texas Trouble would be published, and I gave my standard answer: I hope in April, but I can’t be sure. It occurred to me some readers of this blog, not in the publishing world, might be interested in a little lesson publishing.

In my long career—my first book was published in 1978 by Wm. Morrow and Co—I have been published by major New York publishers, university presses, small, independent publishers, and now I am self-published or was we prefer today indie published. Until not so many years ago, paying to publish your own book was the kiss of death in the publishing world. It meant your work was not good enough to interest a legitimate, commercial publisher. There were—and still are, I think—companies devoted to this trade. They would publish your book for a hefty fee, print say a thousand copies, store them in their warehouse, and sell you the copies you’d already paid to produce. It was called vanity publishing, for a reason.

Early in my mystery career, which only began some twelve years ago, I was published by a small press, and I was pretty happy with them. But as small publishers too often do, they went belly up, although I will say they did it with grace: they returned the rights to the five or six books I’d published with them and gave me rights to the covers they’d designed and which I liked a lot.

But after that, the next eleven or so books (I could figure out the exact number but won’t take the time) were indie published. That means after I finish the manuscript, I pay out of pocket for an editor, a designer, and a formatter. Could I do it without those professionals? Of course, but it would look amateurish, which is another kiss of death. I am fortunate that the same woman who designs my covers also formats the manuscripts for publication on Amazon, which is free—they get their cut out of books sold. Amazon is author-friendly, in that you can format and publish your own work, but the times I’ve done it, I’ve gotten it all wrong. So I use a woman I work with on other ongoing projects, and it’s a good working relationship.

If say, Penguin Books has your book under contract, they know exactly when they will publish it—usually at least a year, more often two after the contract is signed. They give you a deadline and you meet it. And six or so months before the pub date, they begin marketing.

As an indie publisher, nothing is that easy. I cannot predict exactly when a work will publish because I am dependent on other people’s schedules. When I have a manuscript as polished as I think I can make it, without overworking it, I send it to an editor. At the same time, I may send the designer enough ideas for her to work on a cover. How fast the editor works depends on her schedule and the workload on her desk. I guarantee no editor says, “Oh, here’s Judy’s manuscript. I’ll drop everything and get right to it.” When I get the mss. back from the editor, I have to go through each of her suggestions—that may take two days or two weeks—and re-submit it. Second edits are more easily dealt with, but you can hear the clock ticking.

When the editing process is done, I send it to the designer. There again, the time frame depends on her workload and schedule. Only when I get it back in final form and have proofread it for the umpteenth time, can we move ahead. For various reasons, I publish almost exclusively on Amazon these days, and I ask my designer to send it to them because she is better at it than I am. I am never sure how to submit it and specify an advanced date—in fact, I think if you publish an ebook, you can’t do that. So when you finally send it to Amazon is when you get your pub date—usually two or three days away. See why specifying a date is hard? And so is advanced marketing.

So you may ask why I don’t have an agent and a commercial publisher. The answer in large part has to do with age—interesting a reliable agent (remember, the relationship is almost like getting married) takes a long time, sometimes ten years. In my seventies, when I would have been looking for an agent, I didn’t feel I had that time. I had books to write, stories to tell, and I didn’t want to twiddle my thumbs while agent after agent worked through slush piles. (I’d played that game earlier in my career with little success.) Same is true of finding a publisher, even if you have an agent marketing your manuscript.

Then there’s the pressure of publishing with a big house. When I submitted my first mystery mss to an editor at Kensington, who happened to be an old friend, he wanted to scrap the first book and start with the second. I declined, because it was my book, and I had my own vision of how it should be. Beyond that, big houses have certain requirements—if  your sales drop too low, they drop you; they require a book a year or whatever. There are pressures, and in my retirement, I didn’t need that.

So here I am, happily indie publishing, not making a lot of money but finding readers who really like my books (my Amazon ratings are good even if my sales statistics are not), and I’m doing what I want. It’s a good life.

And this blog go way too long.

 

Computer woes

 

The computer gods are against me today. Nothing, but nothing, I touched went right. It started when I tried to upload a book to Amazon. The book, Skeleton in a Dead Space, is something like twelve years old, and Amazon shows it for sale in paperback. But when I went to my dashboard to order a discounted copy, it said it needed to be uploaded. So I dutifully entered all the information again but was stymied when the form called or a PDF of the cover and I only had a jpeg. So I sent the cover to a designer friend and asked her to send it to me as a PDF. She did, but it took me four times to figure out how to save it—I’m sure my friend began to rethink her initial wiling patience. I finally got it saved, had to do a lot of figuring and experimenting to figure out how to go from the saved download to the Amazon upload, but I got it done. So Amazon said in effect “Yay! All done. Now preview it.” But the preview wouldn’t launch because my browser window isn’t big enough. I cannot tell you how many books I’ve uploaded to Amazon without this becoming an issue. I have no idea what to do about it, but Colin will be working from home tomorrow and will help me with it. He can remotely take over my computer.

I made a doctor’s appointment and went to put it on my calendar, only to discover the calendar had somehow switched its format and would allow only one skinny line per hour. That would never do, so I set about changing it—and in the process totally messed up the way Outlook displays email. I maybe could live with the calendar wonky, but I must have my email in a format where I can manage it. I probably spent forty-five minutes trying to fix it. Finally, something I did worked, and it once again displayed the Favorites bar that had disappeared into cyberspace. Now I can’t tell you what I did.

Next I checked notifications on Facebook, something I can really do fairly quickly because a lot are just viewers liking something I’ve posted. Notifications, for the uninitiated or the multitudes who hate Facebook, have a blue dot next to them; when you’ve clicked on one, the blue dot goes away. Only today it didn’t go away, so I had a wealth of messages and couldn’t tell what I’d read and what I hadn’t. I should have rebooted at that point, but I was lazy. I did let the computer rest while I napped, and apparently it collected itself because when I came back to it, the blue dots were gone.

At happy hour I served the dipping spices I’d made, and Mary Dulle was so taken with them she asked for the recipe. No problem, I’d scan and send it to her. Except the printer would say it had scanned when it hadn’t and then ask me if I had something else to scan. Yes, I did—the original scan. I tried auto feed, and I tried putting the recipe on the glass plate. Nothing worked. I still haven’t solved that one and may end up typing the recipe—and it’s not a short one. Lots of spices.

My woes weren’t confined to the computer but apparently included all electronics. I mentioned that the wonderful display of colored, pinpoint lights that shows on my neighbors white wall had suddenly gone all red. Jordan said I had pushed a button I shouldn’t have (I haven’t touched the remote in months) and there is a multicolor button. I pushed it. Nothing, but it was daylight. So I pushed the on button. Nothing. Jordan said wait until dark. Once dark came, she tried, announced the on/off button doesn’t work, and when the lights come on, I should push the multicolor button. Now, nearing ten o’clock, the lights haven’t come on yet. I’m sure she thinks I broke it.

Jordan says my trouble is I got clickety-click all over the place too quickly. She took the mouse, dragged it down somehow, and sort of semi-fixed the calendar. Her advice was to leave it alone for now.

So maybe tomorrow, after a reboot, all my troubles will be over. Ha! Do I really believer that? Meantime the only really good thing I did today was to cook a pork tenderloin with tiny new potatoes around it. I served it with raspberry/peach/chipotle sauce—so good—and Christian did Brussel sprouts, shaved, with lemon and butter. Jordan announced that meal must be in our regular rotation.

I’d blame my woes on the computer—and maybe it will fix itself—but when so much goes wrong, you can’t avoid user error. I think many of us are so tense right now about the imminent midterms, that we are losing our grip. I’m not sure what I’ll do election night although Jordan said we’ll have dinner as usual and watch returns. I’m not sure, and already we’re hearing about decisions that will probably come down “after midterms.” It’s as though the whole world is holding its breath. One of the Halloween guests, a political consultant, said to me that Tarrant County Democrats weren’t voting in the numbers hoped for. I brushed by and said I didn’t even want to hear it.

Tidbits from a Saturday

 

Cheater's spanikopita

Visitors to the Metropolitan Museum of Art who are over twelve must now be vaccinated—I assume that means show proof. Visitors under twelve must be accompanied by a vaccinated person. And everybody must wear a mask. Yay for institutional responsibility.

And yay for corporate responsibility: when a resort at Jackson Hole, WY held a fund-raiser for Marjorie Taylor Greene, Jim Jordan, and Mark Meadows, Patagonia said it would no longer supply its products to the resort. It had been their largest customer in the chichi resort area.

Today was a cooking day, as Saturdays often are for me. When I woke up this morning, my first thought, a downer, was that I had all that cooking to do, and I really wanted to get to things on my computer. I thought that was odd for someone who professes to like to cook as much as I do. Maybe, I thought, I like the idea of cooking, the culling of recipes, the thinking about food. But given my puritanical conscience, I was dicing onion by about nine-thirty this morning. Made the filling for what I call cheater’s spanakopita (I use puff pastry instead of phyllo—shh! Don’t tell your favorite Greek aunt!). And I made a tomato soup that Mrs. Electra Waggoner Biggs used to serve at the Waggoner Ranch—yep, it’s for a blog promoting my forthcoming book on the Waggoners, and I had to take a picture of it. Actually, it was pretty good, and I am glad to have some left over for lunch.

But what struck me this morning about cooking was that once I get into it, I enjoy it—even dicing onions (I wear onion goggles). There’s something mechanical and almost meditative about it, and I like the precision when I make myself slow down, read the recipe, take it step by step, and clean up as I go—the latter is a big deal with me, a lesson drummed in by my mother. So it was a good morning, and by eleven o’clock, I was back at my computer where I learned an awful lesson.

I started watching a webinar on making the best use of Amazon and immediately was overwhelmed by the knowledge that I really wasn’t using Amazon to my advantage at all. In the first fifteen meetings, the speaker, award-winning mystery writer S. W. Hubbard, gave me so many chores, I paused the tape and clicked on Amazon to begin to correct my omissions. I’ve decided that will be a week-long project—listen to the tape until I find the next thing I should do, and then click over to Amazon. I’ll watch the webinar in chunks.

These are bad days for our country, days when, no matter our political sympathies, we are almost in agony for the Americans trapped in Afghanistan and for the Afghans whose lives are in danger. The subject of blame is all over the media, and I don’t want to go there, though as you can imagine, if you know me, I have some definite ideas. In addition, the East Coast, around Boston and Cape Cod, is bracing for an unusually severe storm. California is burning, and kids in Florida and Texas are dying. The masking controversy, unbelievable as it is, is tearing our country apart—a phenomenon it is beyond me to comprehend.

It’s definitely a time when everyone needs a Dammit Doll, and Jean brought me one today. When frustration gets more than you can stand, you just bang his head over and over on the nearest hard surface, while yelling, “Dammit, dammit, dammit!” Your guess on who he resembles.

Cemetery pictures, a quick giveaway, and a Mexican supper

Cemetery pictures don’t often make good blog illustrations, but this one is special to me. It shows the gravestones of my father and sister at St. Jude Cemetery in Oakville, Ontario. I’ve talked to someone in the city office responsible for the cemetery, and she tells me the graves will be well maintained when I get there—right now they need some attention. She also sent me a map of the cemetery, so I can easily find the plot. My detective work continues.

            Who says book giveaways are old hat? I discovered a “Set up a Giveaway” link on the Amazon page for Murder at the Blue Plate Cafe. Clicked on it out of curiosity but wasn’t quite prepared to have to pay full price for five ebook copies. Still, Amazon is clever, and they know how to hook you in. Soon I was busily filling in the details to give away five copies, one to each fifth person to respond (the method they recommend). The site confirmed the giveaway was live about two this afternoon.

Those who know me know that two o’clock is about the time I take an afternoon nap, a luxury I’ve become addicted to in retirement. And that’s where I headed when I got the confirmation email. I thought I’d publicize the giveaway after my nap, which often lasts an hour.

But I woke up to another email that told me the giveaway was closed. All five copies had been given away, so Amazon was busily spreading the word while I snoozed. I’d love to know how. If anyone reading this got an email or something, please let me know. I hadn’t expected to spend the money, as I said, but it may have been great marketing, depending on how many people Amazon notified. The notice I got had a link to the giveaway which, in turn had a link to “Learn more about Judy Alter,” so maybe some new readers saw my name and books.

I chose to give that book away to publicize the new Blue Plate Café Mystery, Murder at the Bus Depot. My thought was to interest readers in the series in general as a way of leading them to the new book. I just never got a chance to say it. Thanks to Lois Winston for that train of thought. Lois thought up the anthology, Sleuthing Women: Ten First-in-a-Series Mysteries, put it together (including my Skeleton in a Dead Space), and marketed it. It’s done great but will go away April 30. Here’s a buy link if you want to take advantage of this great bargain before it disappears forever: https://tinyurl.com/y882o7zw

Haven’t read the first in the Blue Plate Cafe series, Murder at the Blue Plate Café? Not to worry. I’m working on making it free, and it is already free on several platforms. But Amazon moves slowly on such things. I’ll keep trying. Then I’ll leisurely publicize it. The ways of Amazon are sometimes devious, but I’m still a fan.

This is not the week for me to complain about being alone in the cottage. I’ve been out to supper with friends four nights in a row. Tonight, with Subie and Phil, I tried the new Mexican restaurant at Clearfork, Mesero. The evening started off badly when they seated us at a table in the bar area—too noisy for both Phil and me. We asked to be moved, and when we were put in the main section of the dining area, with carpet on the floor, the noise level was much more manageable. Subie was quite sure they seated us in that less desirable, out-of-the-way spot because we had Phil’s service dog with us. My chicken enchiladas with white crema sauce were attractively presented and really good but so rich. I have ¾ of an enchilada in the fridge for lunch tomorrow. A pleasant, early evening.

A good news day

Today was a good news day on two counts: this morning I finally mastered posting a print copy of my forthcoming mystery, Murder at the Bus Depot, on Amazon through their Create Space program. Well, maybe mastered is a bit of an exaggeration, but I came a lot closer than I did with yesterday’s frustrating attempt. I produced (I think) a book where the pages almost match evenly and fit inside the margins as they should. The cover fits. When I ran the preview, I did not get any intimidating warnings that this, that, or the other was wrong. I learned that I can format a book on Word in 8.5 x 5.5. Who knew? I thought all Word documents were 8.5 x 11. I am obnoxiously proud of myself for this accomplishment. I sent all proof copies to my publicist because she has review requests, so it will be a while before I can see my accomplishment and judge for sure.

Eye doctor this afternoon, and I got a good report, though at first the tech scared me half to death. She seemed surprised that I can’t yet see out of that eye; then she took the pressure and asked, sort of accusingly, if I’d used eye drops today. I assured her I’ve been religious about the eye drops. Then she reported the pressure in that eye was too high. By the time I saw the doctor, I was half convinced I would lose the sight in my right eye and was one of the surgeon’s statistically rare complications.

The doctor was most reassuring. The swelling has gone down, external and internal, by over half; at least half the pooled blood has been absorbed. The pressure is high, not to the point of alarm but requiring a new drop. But it’s because of the blood in the eye. He said everything is healing nicely, and it’s simply a matter of being patient. Patience is not my long suit, but I can do it. So I am relieved and happy tonight.

Cold weather coming to North Texas again this weekend. Time to burrow in and stay cozy. Happy weekend, everyone.

Nose to the grindstone

I always remember seeing something, way before Facebook so maybe it was so old-fashioned as to be in the newspaper, but it said, “Put your nose to the grindstone, your shoulder to the wheel, and now try to work in that position.”

But that’s what I did today—nose to the grindstone. I finally, after much travail, got Amazon to approve the files for the cover and text of my forthcoming novel (launch September 7), Pigface and the Perfect Dog. So I had to proof the digital files. I got 40 pages done yesterday, and my project for today was to finish. Which I did. And sent the corrections off to the formatter.

It’s amazing what you see when the book is in print that you missed in manuscript. Humbles me every time. Some of the things I found: the, should be she; walked, should be talked; showoff, should be showdown; want, should be wanted. I had given a girl reddish-brown hair and then subsequently, several times, referred to her black hair. A character asked a question that had been answered pages earlier. And so it went. I made a list and sent them off.

But there were other issues, too deep and involved to change at this point. Changing them would have involved rewriting passages and pages, and that is not fair to the formatter. It also is a slippery slope. There comes a time you have to let go of a manuscript and accept that you’ve done the best you can. I imagine several of the “problems” I saw won’t bother a reader who is not as deep into the characters and story as I am. I hope so.

I’m proud of this book, for several reasons. I walked away from it a year ago, when my health first began to deteriorate. I think in my state then, lacking ambition, I couldn’t see my way to finish it. But in the late spring when I went back to it, I thought, Hey! This isn’t half bad. And I rather quickly wrote the remainder of it. That was maybe in April, and the fact that I’m just now getting files approved tells you that writing is just the beginning of the process.

There will be a cover reveal for Pigface on August 15, after which it will be available for pre-order on Amazon and, as quickly as I can get it posted, on several digital platforms. Official launch day is September 7, and there will be a signing on September 21. Stay tuned for all those details.

The Color of Fear represented my toe dip in the waters of publishing after a year out due to health problems. Pigface and the Perfect Dog is my full-blown comeback, and I’m excited about it for many reasons, including that I think it’s one of the best I’ve done. I’m telling readers, friends, anyone who will listen to read The Perfect Coed, first in the Oak Grove Mysteries, so you’ll know the characters when you read Pigface.

I talked to an old friend today, a woman in her nineties with whom I had not talked in too long, and I told her I was still writing. She said her body was giving way but her mind was still sharp, and I said we would both much rather have it that way. I am grateful that my writing keeps me involved, gives me a reason to get out of bed every morning. And I’m having such fun with it. Nose to the grindstone? Nope. It’s more like a walk in the park, a joyful one.

A banner day--and some uncertainty

My newest mystery, The Perfect Coed, is live on Amazon today--actually it was live a couple of days ago. The ebook was supposed to be delayed until October 1, but it doesn't look to me like it was. This is a huge deal to me, a book that is my first leap into indie publishing, one that I've labored over for several years, and one I really hope readers like. It's different from the Kelly O'Connell and Blue Plate Café mysteries--a little darker, a little more complicated, a little less cozy.
But when and whether to announce has been a dilemma. I was uncertain of the timing in putting a book on Amazon, so, compulsive that I am, I planned ahead--had it edited and formatted last spring and early summer. Started a listing on Amazon for it, but sat on the proof for a long time because I'd advertised an October 15 pub date. Then that seemed silly, and I approved the proof. It was up almost instantly. So in an industry where the dreaded scourge is a late book, mine is a month and a half early.
Another thing about indie publishing: there's no fanfare about launching, unless you create it. So if you see this cover over and over, I'm sorry. I just want everyone who might be interested to know it's out there. I'll be posting excerpts and snippets of reviews--all good so far.
This is probably the first mystery I ever wrote (if you don't count Nancy Drew knock-offs years ago)--though it's been through countless versions. I wrote it ten to twelve years ago and placed it with an agent who got disinterested replies at best. In retrospect, she was the wrong agent. She wanted me to write romance, which I didn't feel any affinity for, and her main area of expertise was textbooks. Eventually either I took it back or she gave it back--anyway we both gave up.
I joined Sisters in Crime and Guppies and learned more than I can ever tell about the world of writing and publishing mysteries. And I published seven--five in the Kelly O'Connell series, with one more to come, and two in the Blue Plate Café series. But every so often I went back and rewrote The Perfect Coed, and I followed my instincts. I thought it was good; I ignored my mentor's advice to take out two of my favorite characters, who have since been praised in one review. I kept at it. Perseverance, they tell me, is the key to publishing.
I am eternally grateful to Turquoise Morning Press for getting me into the world of mysteries, but when they announced they would henceforth only publish romance, it solved a dilemma for me. I didn't want to go with another small press--I'd learned some lessons there--and I surely didn't want to compete for a slot in the competitive world of New York houses. I don't need that kind of pressure to produce in retirement. Sure, I like my books to make money but I also like to enjoy my life and don't want to feel driven. So indie publishing was my answer. And after considering all the pros and cons and opinions, I chose to go exclusively with Amazon--at least at first.
So there it is folks--my big project is out there for you to judge if you want to. If you're in Fort
Worth, watch for a launch party at the Old Neighborhood Grill sometimes soon. Believe me, I'll give plenty of notice--and maybe come up with some giveaways and prizes and fun things.
Happy reading!

A loverly day

This morning I woke up with a sense of euphoria--usually it takes me ten minutes to transition from whatever dream I was having to the real world (I dream deeply and usually remember them, at least for a while). But I felt optimistic, my hips didn't hurt as they have been, and I felt ready to take on the world. Except I didn't have to. Over the weekend I finished the third edits on a manuscript--it's ready to go to readers before I send it to my editor--and I finished the book I was reading, plus cooked Sunday dinner for six people, had a lovely lunch with friends, and had two other friends in for wine and cheese. Yeah, it was a good holiday weekend.
But today I'm an author without a project--I honestly don't know what project I want to do next, and I'm fairly compulsive (mild understatement) about having work on my desk. I read something about the difference in prayer between talking to God and listening to God. Perhaps I'm waiting for Him to tell me what to do...or waiting for inspiration to strike me--they both may be the same thing.
But I convinced myself today that I didn't have to do anything. So I spent a nice hour or so going through the accumulated food magazines on my desk--have to check them one more time for recipes I might want to try. I ran some errands. I cleaned up a few odds and ends.
And tonight I checked my books on Amazon. Some authors do that daily. I don't, haven't done it in a long time and was pleasantly surprised. I don't have a lot of reviews but the ones I have are so good they're liable to give me the big head. Maybe that's a clue to what I should do next--keep on doing what I've been doing.

I did have one surprise--an audio edition of one of my books that I didn't know existed. I swear I never signed a contract, never saw the cover art, never heard of the narrator, and never got a penny of royalties. I'll have to look into it, since it's probably been the best-selling book I ever wrote since I put it up on Amazon at a really low price...and it's gathered something like 130 reviews. I think it would make a great audio book, with the right narrator, but I'd like a piece of the action, thank you very much.
I expect to drift through tomorrow...and maybe the rest of the week in the same fashion--taking care of some aspects of my life I've ignored (four loads of laundry today) and reading and waiting for inspiration to strike.
And oh boy did I have a good nap today. The kind that really makes it hard to wake up.

Keyboard woes and now great joy

After I killed my wireless keyboard by spilling wine on it (not the first time I've done that), I immediately ordered a new one from Amazon and paid dearly for one-day delivery. It didn't come, though they showed it delivered to my front door at 1:47 p.m. Wednesday. We searched the porch--no keyboard. Called Amazon, and I have nothing but praise for their customer service--at first I got a woman whose English was heavily accented, and I explained I needed someone in the States. After some delay I got a gentleman who was more than helpful.  He refunded the cost of the keyboard plus shipping, helped me order a new one that was more what I wanted (with a mouse--I had worried about how an independent keyboard would work with my existing mouse), and waived the one-day shipping fee when I explained that I had a deadline and I am lost without a full-size keyboard.
Yes, sure, there's a keyboard on my laptop, but I don't type well on it. The smaller size bothers me, but I could get used to that. What I can't get used to is the way the cursor seems to jump from where I want it to be. I'll be typing along and suddenly the word I'm typing is four lines up in the middle of another word (proofreading the little bit I wrote yesterday is going to be fun). I'm sure it's something I'm doing wrong, but I'll be darned if I know what. I try going slowly--still happens. I fear if I had to use a laptop all the time I might never write another novel. As I wrote yesterday, probably a measly 400 words, my thoughts were flying, and I couldn't help thinking if I had my keyboard, my fingers would be flying too.
But tonight I am typing on a new keyboard and mouse. Installation these days is a breeze--install the batteries (they come with it), plug the connector into a USB port, and you're in business. There's an added advantage to getting a new keyboard every so often. I wear the print off my keys, probably something acidic in my system but the white letters disappear. It doesn't bother me much because I'm a touch typist from way back--those high school typing classes were one of the best things my parents every made me do. Others who use me keyboard are sometimes confounded, however.
So I'm back in business and happy. Friends dropping by for a quick glass of wine around seven. Wonder how much I can write after they move on to the dinner date? I'm writing the climactic scene of that novel, and it beckons.