Thanksgiving Memories

I'm a bit sad today, my favorite holiday, though I am thankful for the people in my life, family and friends I cherish. Due to the impending move, we aren't having dinner this year. No turkey or pie, no family get-together. No hum of conversation over the clinking of glasses. Today, I have only memories and thoughts of the future.

My son is twelve now, taller than I (and I ain't short!) His voice has begun to crack. And those broad shoulders and large hands are still growing....

So today, despite my melancholy, I smile as I pack dishes instead of serving on them. My grandfather and brother are far away, but my son's hugs will carry me through until next year.

I wish all of you a Happy Thanksgiving and much love and laughter among family and friends. But if you're among those who aren't able to gather around the table with loved ones today, I hope you have happy memories and much to be thankful for.

http://authorlaurengregory.blogspot.com/2014/08/generations.html

American Misogyny: Not Just Trumped Up Charges

My latest guest post is up on One Year of Letters, where I talk about why misogyny hasn't been "exposed." Give it a read.

https://oneyearofletters.com/2016/10/17/american-misogyny-not-just-trumped-up-charges-lauren-gregory-10172016/

When Doves Fly won an award!

I'm tickled pink to report When Doves Fly won an Honorable Mention in the genre category in Writer's Digest Self-Published book awards!

"Honorable Mention?" you say, with your mouth pulled askew and a feigned look of appreciation.

Yes, yes, I know. Honorable mention usually means:

 

 

 

 

But in this case, it really is an honor. This competition attracts thousands of applicants and only awards a few top places and honorable mentions. So it's actually kind of a big deal.

 

And I'm especially proud that my debut was considered high quality by the folks at Writer's Digest, who know a thing or two about books.

 

Thank you, Writer's Digest, for recognizing my work.

 

I'll be off celebrating. By painting the bathroom. (I'm weird, I know.)

Writing for Free: The New Pyramid Scheme

There's a storm brewin'--it's been brewing for a while, but maybe it's getting close to a boil, thanks to the tone-deaf benevolents at HuffPo. Since I sort of have a stake in the game, (I've never written for HuffPo...or anyone but myself, as far as blogging, but I'm a writer who'd like to make a living with it) I felt a need to add my spice to the pot.

Courtesy of http://weknowmemes.com/2012/04/there-be-a-shit-storm-a-brewin/

For anyone who hasn't heard, HuffPo doesn't pay their content creators. They expect anyone who writes for them or allows them to essentially appropriate the writer's content to do it for the millionaire-making wage of "FREE", while HuffPo makes hundreds of millions off of it. It's a great deal...for everyone but the writers. Recently, a big wig at the esteemed organization declared he was "PROUD" that they exploit their writers, 'cause, ya know, you can't trust anyone who actually gets paid for their services.




From Chuck Wendig's appropriately vulgar post
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2016/02/18/scream-it-until-their-ears-bleed-pay-the-fucking-writers/

That makes some of us writers...a bit peeved. So, there have been several pieces about it. I think most writers, and even those who aren't writers, can understand why a multi-billion dollar company that supposedly supports wage improvements and entrepreneurship but doesn't pay workers is a problem. But many still fall into the trap of making excuses for it and think that finding a way to eke a couple dollars out of it is a great thing--instead of actually condemning it. They are like abused spouses who don't realize they're in an abusive relationship.

On Kristen Lamb's great post, someone described how they'd worked with (or "partnered") a site who hosted blogs, which then let HuffPo and others reblog. The pay for that privilege was a $100 donation to the non-profit of the writer's choice, and of course the ever-popular exposure. This person sort of bragged about how they'd found a neat way to trick the behemoth into paying them.

So...I had to voice my opinion on that:

"I have to point out, first, YOU did not get paid to write. You were given money to give away. Which, I assume, still didn’t pay your mortgage or phone bill or even get you a meal deal at Taco Bell, in and of itself. And I assume it wasn’t a benevolent choice you were given–'You can choose to get a paycheck or give the money to charity.'

While I’m all for charity and mentoring–I do as much of it as I can–*that* kind of set up still plays into the idea that the WRITER doesn’t need to get paid. It still perpetuates the screw-the-creator paradigm. It says, 'Hey, we’re not going to actually compensate YOU for your work, but we’ll throw some chump change out in your name to salve the gash we opened in your backside when we bent you over. ‘Cause, well, it makes us look good when we charity.' I’m not saying your acceptance of the deal was wrong; I’m saying them presenting that deal was the same ol’ bullshit. It was a way for them to get (their rocks) off cheap."

Writers deserve to be paid for producing stuff that earns money for someone else. Real money. In their own bank account. Not with exposure. Not with free stuff. Not with charitable donations.

We shouldn’t have to devise creative schemes to be paid for our services, to get an actual paycheck. We aren't tricking them. Really, it's the opposite. This–the HuffPo ridiculousness, the “we’ll donate in your name” scams, the literary booty calls (as Kristen calls it, which I love)–is the pyramid scheme of the literary world. It looks shiny and new, and they promise it'll transform your life, because it’s (trumpets blaring)…
DIGITAL CONTENT…FREE for EVERYONE, AND it will make EVERYONE RICH! (cue infomercial oohs and ahhs.)
But it ain’t (read: shouldn’t be) free, and it’s still the same carnival bait-and-switch. It's only making those who ride the peons into the ground rich.

Seen another way, they’re the ultimate vanity publisher.

We writers are paying THEM to get used. We pay with our time, skill, and dignity, and all we get in return is supposed exposure and validation.

We’re the prostitute groveling on the curb, and–this is fucking rich–we actually THANK THE JOHN for beating us up and stiffing us and handing him a twenty, after he tells us he’ll etch our name on the bathroom wall at Denny’s. And when he shows up next Friday night, we’ll hop in the car again, grateful to have a good way to kill a few hours.

What we do is important. We present ideas and stories in a coherent way to inform, educate, and entertain. That isn't as easy as some people think it is, and not everyone can do it well. Quality writing is hard work. Our work comes from years of education (whether formal or self) and requires time, skill, and knowledge. It is a craft–one of the most important and valuable ones in the world. When we allow others to use our assets and services for profit without compensating us appropriately, we cheapen that craft and ourselves. We have to stop thinking squeezing a few pennies–or NONE–from the machine is a good deal. We have to stop accepting our own devaluation and exploitation as the status quo. We have to demand payment. They'll never buy the cow when they can get the milk for free.

#BoycottHuffPo and others who make bank from the toil of the lowly writers.

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When Readers Return

I'm up to my eyeballs this week and had to delay the planned marketing post. But I came across an angry post about Amazon's return policy and the issue of "serial returners" (those who buy, read, and return so they get a free read.) A tiny comment sprouted from my fingers and grew.

My take on returns is similar to Neil Gaiman's views on piracy (in fact, he helped my view on these subjects evolve.)

I'm an author. Obviously, I don't support piracy or serial-returners, but perspective is everything.

First, we can't assume all returners have read the entire book. We can't assume every return is a scammer. Amazon doesn't tell us if they read one page or 300 for sales. Literature, like all art, is wonderfully, woefully subjective. They may have read half and decided it was awful. Maybe a scene they hated ruined the whole book for them. Maybe, just maybe, the book sucks on an objective level for one reason or another. Yeah that hurts, but it happens. And if an author has a high percentage of returns, something ain't right. It's not normal. Perhaps they need to offer samples so readers have a sense of what they're getting. Perhaps they've targeted the wrong audience or misrepresented the work. Or perhaps the list price is too high for the quantity or quality of work. $2.99 for a book under 20 pages? I'd be ticked. Lots of errors, either in the writing or formatting? It's like going out for breakfast and getting a plate of burnt eggs and raw bacon. I'd send it back. It's possible some are abusing the return system, but a high percentage of returns is a huge sign the author needs to take a look at their work and their business model because something they're doing isn't working.

Is it ethical to return it at after a full or even half read? Probably not. Amazon does punish those they find abusing the system. However, returns are within Amazon's policies, and their policy of easy, universal returns is part of what's made them so powerful. If they refused to allow returns, they wouldn't be who they are and we (indie authors) wouldn't exist as we do now. That policy is a huge part of their--and our--success.

The ability to return makes the process less risky for readers. Indie authors had better appreciate that, because an unknown indie is a huge risk for a reader. There are a lot of crappy (subjectively and objectively) books out there, and a heck of a lot of them are indies. Indie publishing has opened the world of authorship to people who never would have published a word, and overall, that's a great thing. It's also lowered the bar for what's acceptable to publish. It's the bane of those of us who work extra hard to produce quality because it's often hard for readers to distinguish good from bad before they buy. We have to accept that we must give readers incentives to try us and reduce the risk, and allowing returns is a way to do that.

Also, the fact is that it gains fans. There will be some who like it and go to find more of my books, and they may buy those or recommend them to friends who buy. These are people who may not have heard of me otherwise, or wouldn't have realized they like my work without getting deep into it. I'm willing to accept some marginal "losses" (but as mentioned, it's not a loss if they wouldn't/couldn't buy it outright) if it gains fans.

I fully believe I should be paid for my work, even if it's just a small amount (okay, it's always a small amount.) I want people to value my work enough to pay for it, and most of my readers do. I appreciate that beyond words. I'm not for a second saying I want to give license to those who try to rip authors off.  As authors, we often struggle to get paid. It's frustrating when people don't value our work, but while I dislike piracy or serial returns due to the sneaky nature of it, I think we have to keep it in perspective.

I believe in the power of literature and that people need to read. It's imperative for society. But billions (yes, billions) of people can't afford to buy ALLTHEBOOKS or don't have access to them. Not everyone can afford ten books a week or a even a KU subscription, and not everyone has a library down the street. People have loaned books to their friends for centuries, and that's the purpose of libraries--people understood that few can afford to buy or have access to tons of books, but they wanted people to READ. So if I accept Aunt Gertrude loaning my book to her friend from church and I support libraries--which is essentially free books--how can I get up in arms about a few people essentially borrowing a book? It's really the same thing. They borrowed it. Just because it shows up on my sales report doesn't change the nature of what happened. Would I be that mad if I saw how many times Gertie loaned my book to her friends or how many times it was checked out of the library? Nah. I'd appreciate the fact that people are reading. I'd be pretty happy that Gertie bought it in the first place and liked it enough to recommend it. And I'd accept that one or two of those friends hated it, rolled their eyes when they returned it to her, and thought she has awful taste in books...and might have asked for their money back if they'd paid for it.

The world isn't perfect. I think I should get paid millions for what I do. I think everyone should love my work. And I think all the ice cream and chocolate should be free. But that ain't reality. The reality is there are benefits and downsides to everything. Return policies have them, too. But allowing returns is overall far more beneficial--or companies the world over wouldn't do it. It allows customers to try something without risk. The vast majority keep it if you've done a good job, a tiny fraction return it due to dissatisfaction (whether objective or subjective,) and an even tinier fraction abuse the system. Amazon punishes the "abusers." It's the cost of doing business, and a small price to pay in the big scheme of things. We need to keep it in perspective.


When Doves Fly is just $2.99--pick up the ebook. If you do, I hope you love it. (Please don't return it.)



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Image courtesy of  lekkyjustdoit at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Marketing a Debut Novel: Bring Wine, Waders, and an Iron Will

The launch of When Doves Fly, my debut Historical Fiction/Western, has been a whirlwind, and I’m still a bit dizzy. I discovered that authors, especially indie authors, are no longer just writers. We must wear many hats to ensure success, and my most recent chapeau is that of Book Marketer Extraordinaire. I’m certainly no expert, but I have gained some knowledge, and I’ll explain the different options I've tried and detail my experiences (and mistakes) through a series of posts. I hope it sheds light on the process and makes it a little less overwhelming for those learning how to pimp their wares.
 

 

I immersed myself in research about how to sell books. It’s involved a great deal of time, frustration, and strong cocktails. The first thing I learned is there’s little reliable information available for newbie authors. Few authors are willing to let others in on what’s worked for them—or if they are, they write a ten page book, charge $10 for it, and proceed to tell you that you need to invest in a sandwich board and a bell. Take any advice you glean from some random “bestselling” author who “sold” eight million books in a day with a huge block of salt (chances are their rank lasted for 5 minutes on Amazon in an obscure subgenre that contains 5 books, and the "sales" were free downloads.)

Much of the advice bandied about is contradictory; use Facebook, Facebook sucks; offer a giveaway, giveaways don’t work; make your book free, free books are bad. There’s also a lot of downright false information and a good number of people advocating unethical practices contrary to various platforms’ rules, either due to ignorance or lack of integrity. Familiarize yourself with the guidelines for each platform and follow them. Don’t take shortcuts or shoot yourself in the foot by breaking the rules—it’s not worth it. Wading through all of this is exhausting, and it often feels like you’re no further ahead than when you started. But if you educate yourself, you’ll be in a position to take advantage of opportunity.

The second thing I learned is that there’s no magic bullet or formula that will work for every author or book. We must tailor our approaches to genre, audience, platform, budget, time, moon phases, and planetary alignment. A debut author with no backlist will need a different approach than an author with ten books. Marketing plans need to be individualized and flexible. I adapted strategies to meet my needs, and you should do the same. My novel is a debut that straddles genres, and it’s not in a “hot” genre, so I’ve had to find ways around those hurdles. A YA author will typically have more options and need to use different platforms, or an obscure genre will need to target much tighter and be able to focus resources rather than spreading them around. You’ll need to analyze your genre and audience to find the best ways to reach them. Your readers’ habits will determine which strategies work best for your book. So your first task is to figure out who your readers are, where they hang out and look for books, their spending habits, and their underwear sizes. Some of the answers may surprise you.

Then, decide your goal before implementing your marketing plan. Some marketing will focus on long term results, and some is more about short term. One strategy might gain exposure, while another will produce sales. Some tools require more time or money, or both; figure out which resources you have and focus on the methods that utilize those.

In the three months since the launch, I’ve worked on both exposure and sales, and found methods that work and ones that don’t. In short, Amazon ads produced the most sales; Goodreads ads and a giveaway produced good exposure and some reviews. Book bloggers, especially a team of reviewers, are excellent advocates, but finding the right ones is tricky. Enrollment in KindleUnlimited was a good decision; the Kindle Countdown deal, while not as successful as I hoped, did give a good bump in sales. Some promotion sites I used during the Countdown deal had a good ROI (Return On Investment,) some did not. Facebook ads were a miserable failure—but I concede that for certain genres, with a lot of work, they could be successful. However, I don’t believe they offer a good ROI overall. Of course, all of these require a strong presence on social media, and it goes without saying that your success will depend a lot on the quality of your book, cover, and blurb.

Stay tuned over the next month for the nitty gritty and feel free to ask questions.


ON TO PART 2

 

Find Lauren's book on Amazon:

US 

http://amzn.to/1Vtd7ZF

UK

http://amzn.to/1VrD0E0

Tampons and Dildos: Facebook Censorship

I got a bit miffed today, and I think this needs as wide a reach as possible, so it deserves its own post.

Facebook apparently considers tampons to be "sex toys" and refuses to allow Alaurra Weaver at www.mommybloggerforhire.com/badassmotherblogger to promote her work because she talks about *gasp* menstruation.

In my work as a historical fiction author, one of the hardest and most maddening research tasks is trying to find information on women's health. It has always been, and STILL is, such a taboo topic that we don't dare speak of it. The lack of information on key aspects of the lives of half the world's population is outrageous.

The ridiculousness of sexism and outlandish prudery of some definitions of obscenity are a couple of the very few things that truly offend me. The attitude that female bodily functions are obscene or pornographic is one of the reasons that women the world over are kept locked in a metaphorical (and sometimes all-too-real) back shed to shield the world from their impure existence.

Without menstruation, not a one of us would be here. Without women struggling to deal with the daily realities of sexism, misogyny, and body-shaming throughout history, none of the small-minded who wish to label women as unclean would exist.

Fuck you, and the tampon you rode in on, Facebook.

Please help spread some great history articles and support a woman writer.

Part 1: www.mommybloggerforhire.com/badassmotherblogger/2015/10/21/a-history-of-menstrual-hygiene-from-free-bleeding-to-flow-tracking-apps

Part 2: http://www.mommybloggerforhire.com/badassmotherblogger/on-the-rag-menstrual-products-from-ancient-greece-to-the-Americas

The Buzzfeed Article: http://www.buzzfeed.com/alauraweaver/does-facebook-really-think-tampons-are-sex-toys-1ylb2





 Image courtesy of stockimages at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Liar, Liar

The flashing lights sprayed blue and red bruises around our living room. I huddled behind the couch in my nightgown. A man and woman in crisp blue uniforms hefted a black bag onto a stretcher, pushed levers, and lifted the bed like Mom did with her ironing board. Blood smeared the lady’s name tag, but I’d seen it when she came in. It said Glenda. The name of the good witch. The good witch come to clean up after the bad.

Two men in regular clothes stood in the kitchen doorway writing in little notebooks. One pointed to a dark stain on the recliner. His mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear what he said. The hoarse cackle still filled my head and drowned out everything.

A lady rushed in and scanned the room. She spotted me. Her jaw dropped before she caught herself and closed it. She started toward me, crouching down and holding out a hand while whispering hushing sounds—like when you’re trying to catch a scared animal. That’s how they always treated me. Like a scared, stupid animal.

She knelt and said some stuff I still couldn’t hear. Her hand took mine, and she tried to pull me up. My legs wouldn’t work. I tipped over. She wasn’t a big lady, but she scooped me up and carried me out to a car, still shushing.

I don’t remember much of the ride or being brought into the police station. They sat me in a gray little room with a table and a paper cup of apple juice. I felt a little better. Nothing could hide there.

One of the regular-clothes men came in and pulled a chair closer. He sat and bent down to catch my eye. The cackle had faded.

His voice was deep and soft. “Your name is Lizzie, right?”

I nodded.

“Can you tell me what happened, Lizzie?”

I swallowed. “The bad witch came again.”

His face turned mad, and he shook his head. “Lizzie, we don’t have time for games. You need to tell us what happened.”

“It’s not a game. She…she came again a-a-and killed my mom.”

The muscle in his jaw tensed. “Fine. I’ll play along. Who is the witch? How’d she kill her?”

“I-I don’t know who she is. She just comes…when I get mad. She has long talons on her hands. She,” I sniffled back a sob, “she stuck them in my mom’s neck.”

He sat back and sighed. “Lizzie, we know you did it. You’ll be in less trouble if you just tell the truth and explain what happened.”

Like it had before, my chest tightened as if someone gave me a big bear hug. I closed my eyes and tried to will it away, but my skin flushed hot. I told myself she wouldn’t come now—there was no way she could get in without everyone seeing. She only came when she couldn’t get caught.

Even the witch blames it all on me. After she killed Mom, I asked her why.

The witch cackled. “You wished she would die, didn’t you?”

I had…but I didn’t mean it. I couldn’t help being angry when Mom accused me of lying about what happened when Mrs. Jackson, my teacher, died. Mom said I had to quit making stuff up so they could catch the real killer. I told her I wasn’t making it up. Being mad just happens. I can’t help it.

The regular-clothes man slammed a hand on the table and made me jump.

“Listen, I have a lot of work to do. If you aren’t going to tell the truth, you’ll just go straight to jail.”

I wanted to yell but kept my voice quiet. “I’m not lying. Don’t call me a liar.”

“Don’t lie, and I won’t have to.”

My throat closed up. The anger went from calm to boiling. I shook my head and told it to go away…but it never listened anymore. Just like the witch.

The last thing I remember is her head rising behind the man, her hair covered in moss and green slime, wrinkled hands coming up, talons curling in toward his neck, slicing through the skin. The cackle had returned.

 

Now I sit in a cold room made of cushioned walls.

I shudder and scrunch my shoulders up over my ears as best I can with the jacket on, but the noise comes from inside me, and I can’t shut it out. How she makes me hear it when she’s not even around puzzles me—but then again, all of it does.

Dried blood covers my face and hair, and little pieces flake off when I move. I don’t know how so much blood got on me. I wasn’t close enough. Another puzzle.

More regular-clothes men had come into the little gray room. I huddled in the corner. The original regular-clothes man sprawled on the floor, a pool of red-black spreading under him. They had pointed guns at me and yelled and ran around acting crazy. A lady put a white jacket on me that wraps my arms around my back, and they led me down a bunch of hallways until we got to this room.

It’s not fair. They all keep calling me a liar.

The door opens, and a man in a white uniform starts in.

“Damn, I forgot the sedative.” He turns back, tells two men in white doctor coats he’ll return in a minute, and rushes off.

The white coats stand just outside the cushion room in a bare, gray hallway.

One of the white-coat men says to the other, “It’s a severe psychosis. She seems to really believe someone else is doing it. But all the evidence points to her.”

“Well,” the other says, “some kids are just great liars.”

The anger swells up faster every time. Now, it comes in an instant.

The thing with moss and green slime appears behind the white-coat men in the hallway. She slinks toward them.

I try to yell, to warn them, but only a hoarse cackle comes out.

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Image courtesy of Victor Habbick at FreeDigitalPhotos.net