More about book publishing and an odd couple of holidays

 

After I posted about indie publishing and the world of mystery the other day, I read a blog post by Maureen Milliken on Maine Crime Writers. She points out that about four million new book titles come out a year, with 500,000 to one million traditionally published, and the rest independently published. Think of that—three million indie published books. Even with Amazon’s good service, see how easy it is to get lost in the crowd?

The publishing world now is aroused by the idea of AI (artificial intelligence) books. There are programs that let you do that, and some publishers are including in their contracts a clause that the author’s work can be used for AI training (no author ever should sign away that right!). But if people start publishing AI books, that's just more into that mix. I read recently of a magazine (sci fi, I think) that had to close to submissions because they were flooded with AI manuscripts.

Milliken say some of those millions of books published every year are really good, some not so much. Some really good books never make it onto anyone's radar. Some mediocre ones become big sellers. You can't worry about it when you're writing. The only thing you should worry about is your own stuff and making it the book you want it to be. I think that’s wonderful advice—but problematic if you’re young and trying to support yourself by writing. Years ago, when I used to do school lectures, I knew the statistics, but now I’m sure they’ve changed. Still to give you a picture: fewer than a hundred authors in this country support themselves solely by their writing. Others depend on a working spouse, a day job, or an inheritance.

Makes you wonder why anyone writes, but there it is again, at least for me: the classic answer is that I write because I cannot not write. A friend said to me last night that he, now a consultant, had worked about thirty minutes that day, and he was happy (he was volunteering if we need him because we have an ongoing family crisis that makes scheduling difficult—specifically I don’t always know when someone will be around to give Sophie her insulin shot). But I heard him loud and clear—I work far more than half an hour—probably six hours a day and eight sometimes—but I am most happy with my life.

On another less happy note, did you know that tomorrow, Saturday, is National Day of Hate? No President Biden didn’t make the declaration. It comes from neo-Nazi and fascist groups throughout the country. Their goal is to intimidate Jewish communities and spread fear. Police departments, anti-terrorist groups, Jewish organizations, and watchdog groups are on alert.

I am appalled that there are people in our country so twisted by hate, so miserable that they want to cause misery to others. As someone said tonight, “this country has more than one wheel in the ditch.” (Does that remind you of Ann Richards who said, “The ox is in the ditch”?) I am unabashedly a person of prayer, and so I pray that these tortured souls may find peace and stop sharing their destruction. But on a more practical level, I pray for safety tomorrow for all.

Some hints for helpers: If you see someone being assaulted, stand between them and the terrorist; if you see someone being harassed, sit or walk with them and try to have a normal conversation. Do what you can to divert the anger and defuse the situation. We must not let ourselves be bullied. And if you’re the praying kind, pray for an America where this happens.

Did you know there have been more mass shootings in the last twelve years than in the previous forty? And last year, every mass shooting event was linked to right-wing extremism. So you can stop worrying about Muslims—Middle Eastern terrorists are not a threat in this country (sorry, Donald trump). Our terrorists are home grown. And Republicans are lining their pockets and not batting an eye over the proliferation of gun deaths. In Texas, for instance, you can carry a concealed weapon without any training and without a permit.

On a local note: in Fort Worth, this is the weekend of Cowtown Marathon, with several “lesser” runs on Saturday and the marathon on Sunday. The other runs are only “lesser” if you aren’t running in them. But traffic is liable to be snarled, especially in the southwest part of the city all weekend. Sunday morning will find me watching the runners go by and cheering especially for the last ones, those who are going on sheer determination. They all go right by our house, so cheering is easy. A lot easier than running.

Be safe, my friends, and be kind to others. Like writing, kindness is a way of life.

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.

 

Napping after a frustrating morning

When I napped this afternoon, I had the clear sense that I was in my childhood bedroom in the house in Chicago. My mom and brother were talking softly downstairs, because sound carried in that small row house. Downstairs were living, dining, and kitchen; upstairs, three bedrooms and the house’s lone bath. The house was only sixteen feet wide, though as a kid I thought it large. Delicious feeling to be back there again, even in my dreams. I’m sure Mom had cookies waiting downstairs.

The most frustrating morning today. I decided I could do advance reading copies through Amazon’s Create Space program without hiring an expensive designer or formatter. But I ran into problems, which I thought I could solve with a quick call to Amazon. Hah! There is no such thing as a quick call to Amazon, though their support service is willing and hepful. Still, I spent almost the entire morning on the phone, being bounced between techs at Kindle Direct Publishing and Create Space. By eleven, still in my pajamas, I reluctantly cancelled my lunch arrangements. I finally got it done and ordered the copies that were really needed last week, but it’s not a lovely professional job, good enough I hope for advance copies.

The market for mysteries these days is heavily skewed toward ebooks, and I honestly don’t sell many print. I’m old-fashioned enough that I want a print copy in my hands, but I’m also a realist—and today I made myself be a financial realist, balancing the advantages of print against the cost. When the book, Murder at the Bus Depot, comes out in May, it will be available in print, but I might advise for the ebook, which will be available on several platforms, not just Amazon.

I’ve been accomplishing a lot this week, and my other triumph for the day is that I finished the novel I’m editing for friend and fellow author Cindy Bonner. Cindy published several good novels in the nineties, until life called her to other occupations. Now she’s back to writing, and I’m delighted. The novel follows a Texas boy to England where he flies for the RAF in WWII, meets a Canadian female pilot, eventually flies for the USAAF. It’s compelling well done, accurate and convincing about the business of flying and life in England at the time. I look forward to seeing it in print. Meantime, though, Cindy’s agent advises it’s too long, and I’m charged with the task of helping her cut a whole lot of words. Yikes!

Tonight I’m allowing myself the fun of playing with recipes. French onion panade, anyone? Perhaps Fettucine Alfredo is a bit more accessible.

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 writer’s crossroads

I’m at a crossroads tonight and thinking of Robert Frost’s poem about the road not taken. I don’t have an active work-in-progress right now, though I have several thoughts and possibilities. It would seem the holidays would be a good time to be “between projects,” but I’ve done most of what I’ll do for the holidays—a small amount of entertaining, packages wrapped, plans made. Now it’s a question of waiting.

Like the narrator of Frost's poem, I have two roads open to me. The first would be to continue the two series I’ve started—Kelly O’Connell Mysteries and Blue Plate Murder Mysteries. A Blue Plate book would be next, and I have the opening catastrophic incident in mind but I’m not sure where to go from there. I don't have the answers to those old questions—Who? Why? I guess I’m waiting for inspiration to strike. It may be that inspiration hasn’t struck because I’ve been busy, but I’m not the sort to sit and think it out. I either get a bolt out of the blue or I don’t. Sometimes if I start writing it all becomes clear to me, but that’s a dangerous path.  And my publisher wants a synopsis before issuing a contract.

There are advantages to continuing the series. I get wonderful comments about them, though not an abundance of reviews. Maybe people who review aren’t the people I’m writing for. As books from a small publisher, they sell relatively well—I was after all the best-selling mystery author for Turquoise Morning Press for 2012. Not sure I’ll make it again this year, and I may have fallen behind on promotion in frustration over the gap between e-book and print (my July title has still not appeared in print). Other than that I’m settled into a comfortable relationship with a publishing company I like. The familiar always beckons.

But then there’s the thought that if you don’t branch out and try a new road, you stagnate. I have two new projects in mind—an academic murder mystery, which is in draft form, and a series featuring a dog rescue person. I think each has possibilities, but it’s like taking a big step into Frost's deep undergrowth. Would I pitch them to my publisher or would I self publish?

Self publishing as an indie is beginning to look a little less rosy these days, with stronger, lower-priced competition from the big houses. I read an article today that suggested Darwinian theory is about to hit independent publishing. Would I be foolish to give up the comfortable berth I have (I think it’s secure—hope so).

Fortunately, I don’t depend on my writing for living expenses—it’s “walk-around money plus”—so the decision is not crucial in that sense. Nor am I trying to build a huge career. But it is crucial in that I want to find projects that challenge me, keep me engaged, and keep me young at heart. And, egotistically, I like the satisfaction of people telling me how much they like my books. All writers are egocentric to one degree or another.

I have pondered this a long time and find my thoughts going in circles. Your thoughts and comments will be appreciated. Dare I take the road less traveled?