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 Pt 3: Life & Death of a Salesman

Kindle Countdown Deal & Promotion Sites

 

Last week, I talked about deciding which platforms to publish on and why I enrolled in KDP Select. Another reason I wanted to try Select was the promotional tools it offers exclusively to Select authors.

A sale is a great way to tempt readers into trying a new author. It’s a tricky proposition, though. Finding the right price point, timing, and promoting the sale are pieces of a puzzle which is missing the picture on the front of the box—and a four year old likely fed some of the pieces to the dog. Corner pieces. %*#&$! It’s a lot of trial and error.

KDP Select offers three promotional tools: Free Days, Kindle Countdown Deal, and Ads.
(I’ll address Ads next week, because they’re a whole other can of worms.)

Free days can be useful, because everyone likes free stuff, right? However, they’re not particularly useful for debut authors. For an author with a series or backlist, offering one book for free can entice readers to try it and then buy other books. But debut authors got nothin’. We’re standing there with our one pitiful book, saying, “Sorry, still working on the next one.” The reader probably won’t remember us by the time the next book comes out. We gave away our work for little to nothing in return. So I don’t recommend using free days unless you can point readers to another book they’ll pay for.

Kindle Countdown Deal, on the other hand, can be a great tool for debuts. A discount means less risk for readers with a new author, but you still get some royalties. And, if your regular price is 2.99+, a Deal still nets 70% royalties, instead of 35% (you only get 35% if you just drop the regular price under 2.99.)

You can only use it once during a 90 day Select enrollment. It can run from 1 to 7 days and have up to three price increments. Amazon shows the regular price so readers know it’s on sale and a countdown clock, which can create a sense of urgency. So it might look like this:
Regular Price: $2.99, 3 day sale

Day One: 99 cents and the clock shows 1 day, 12 hours until price increases to 1.99.
Day Two: 1.99 and the clock shows 1 d, 12 h until sale ends and price goes back to 2.99.

I tried a 7 day Deal the weekend after Thanksgiving, with hopes of catching some of the Black Friday/Cyber Weekend frenzy. It goes without saying my goal was a big bump during the sale. But I also hoped for residual sales over the holiday season, in part due to an expected increase in ranking (bestseller list) and better visibility.

I set up the sale, created ads on various outlets, and scheduled listings with several promotion sites in advance. In addition to my advertising of the sale, Amazon lists Deals in their own search category and promotes them—unfortunately, they don’t offer any analytics for sales that come from that specific page/promotion.

In the weeks leading up to the sale, I averaged a little over 1 sale/day and a little over 1 “sale”/day for KU (based on number of pages read, where the equivalent of one book read actually nets higher royalties than 1 regular sale for my price point and pages.) So I was at about 2.5 books per day. My ranking was hovering between #20k and 100k in overall Kindle sales and around #300-5000 in my genre categories (which isn’t bad, especially since my genres aren’t obscure ones.)

I used 2 increments, with the initial price at 99 cents and an increase to 1.99 halfway through the sale. Here’s what happened:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sale worked well, but not fantastic. I got a great bump in sales and ranking, but not quite as high as I expected. During the sale, I netted 232 sales. The KU benefit was more residual, since it’s based on when they read, not when they download. In the month after the sale, I ended up with no increase in sales over the previous month, but a slight increase in KU reads (1.2 books per day to 1.7). My ranking increased significantly, up to #1200 in Kindle sales and #12, 19, and 62 in each genre category. But I didn’t break the top 100 overall or top ten in genre, as I’d hoped.

I suspect timing was the issue. Because the sale ran over Black Friday/Cyber Monday, while Amazon put almost ALL books on sale, I was competing against other books on sale. It simply couldn’t compete against the big names that were also on sale and getting bumps in ranking. I’d failed to consider that competition. So when I do another Deal, I’ll try to schedule it for a quieter period when competition won’t be as strong. (Another tip is to not do a sale during a big event, like the Super Bowl, as people are occupied elsewhere and not shopping.)

As for the promotion sites I used, I booked promotions 2-3 weeks ahead of time.
Paid: Books Butterfly, Ereader News, Booktastik, BettyBookFreak
Free: eBookLister, Choosy Bookworm, and Fussy Librarian.

The only site that seemed to drive significant sales was Books Butterfly—it is expensive ($50* and up), but it did pay for itself. They guarantee a certain number of sales and offer a pro-rated refund if you don’t hit that threshold (there are restrictions on this, though--read the fine print.)  They also offer special analytics that are helpful. For me, they were well worth the investment.
*UPDATE: I went back to schedule a new promo with Books Butterfly and found, to my disappointment, they have raised their prices while lowering the number of guaranteed sales. I'm more luke-warm in my enthusiasm now. The ROI is much more iffy at their new prices, because unless the sales nearly triple their guarantee, the promo won't pay for itself. It's entirely possible for the sales to do that--overall mine were at least double--but it's a very thin line . There's also still the ranking benefit to consider, which is worth a lot if it hits the right level. But...where'd I leave my waders?

Ereader News is also expensive ($35 and up), but I saw little or no sales I could attribute to it. I wouldn’t use them again. Booktastik and Betty were inexpensive ($8-10); if they drove any sales, it was a small amount, but since they’re cheap, I might use them again. EBookLister had no appreciable impact, but since it’s free, no harm no foul. Again, any of the sites’ effectiveness may have been limited due to the timing of the sale, but I think that’s minimal. Some promotional sites do better in different genres, I believe, so do your research.

[Choosy Bookworm and Fussy Librarian didn’t have available slots during the sale, so CB didn’t run one, and FL ran it after the sale. FL had no impact when it did run. If you choose to use them, you’ll need to schedule well in advance (ie at least a month.)]

The overall ROI was around 60%, which is a very good ROI in absolute terms. That doesn’t include time invested, however, and I spent a lot of time on the sale, creating graphics and posting for the promotion on social media. And while I loved the sales, missing the goal for ranking and exposure was disappointing.

I think a more effective use of the Deal is shorter length and few increments (3-4 days, one increment) and better timing. I intend to use the Deal again shortly, and hope for even better results. We’ll see….

Next week, I’ll discuss a Goodreads Giveaway and the pay-per-click ad options on Goodreads, Amazon, and Facebook. Keep the waders handy and order an extra truckload of wine.

 

 

Marketing a Debut Novel, Part 2: Into the Jungle

Part 1 is here

Which Jungle?
One of the biggest decisions a debut author will make is which digital platforms to publish on. It seems simple—ALL THE CHANNELS—but there are some wrinkles to iron out. With myriad options, it’s easy to get lost. Most of us know we'll want to publish with Amazon (KDP), but what about the other outlets like Barnes & Noble or Kobo?

Rather than publishing individually on the smaller single-site publishers like Nook or Apple, it’s much easier to use an aggregator like Smashwords, Lulu, or IngramSpark that distributes to most of those. However, easy is relative, and none are user-friendly, in my opinion, so order a case of wine before you even turn on the computer.

Genre is a big consideration, because some do better with some outlets like Kobo or Apple—depends on your audience and where they shop. But for most authors, more than 90% of sales will come from Amazon. Conventional wisdom says the best strategy is to publish to KDP for Amazon, then if you want to add other sites, use one of the aggregators to distribute everywhere else. But hold on. You have a decision to make first and may not need the other platforms right away, at least for ebook.


KDP Select
The decision is about KDP’s optional program, KDP Select. It allows readers to loan books within the program for free through the Kindle Lending Library (KOLL), or download through Kindle Unlimited (KU) for a low monthly subscription, but you still get paid—with a catch. You must subscribe for 90 days (opt in at any time and no limits on how often,) and the ebook must be exclusive to KDP during that time. It cannot be available at any other retailer (just the ebook, not print.) So you have to put all your eggs in one basket. But you're saved from dealing with the other platforms, and that's a relief, trust me.

Author payment for KDP Select has been controversial (and there are some very harebrained conspiracy theories about it … something about aliens and anal probes.) They recently changed the pay schedule; it used to be a flat fee per download, now it is based on a per-page-read schedule (number of pages is standardized to account for different font size, etc,) and the money comes from a monthly fund from which all authors draw. So far, it’s worked out to an average of around $ .005-6 per page. This was implemented to combat a sneaky trend of authors flooding Select with 20 page books and getting the same payout as a 400 page book. This means shorter works like short stories or novellas won’t earn as much as a novel—which is perfectly reasonable, in my opinion—and likely won’t benefit from the program as much. It also means a book people don’t read all the way through will suffer. My answer to the critics: Write longer, better books.

However, like many, I was quite skeptical of Select. My book debuted just after the payment overhaul, with the rumblings of mutiny at a fever pitch. After I investigated the critics’ claims and found them exaggerated or blatantly untrue, I took the leap.

Here’s why:
There are over 2.5 million books published every year now, around 500k of them in the U.S. Readers have a lot of choices, but limited money. When we look at reader habits, we have to recognize various levels of budget and willingness to try new authors--and recognize that those two things are directly related. We also need to get paid. Select is a way to straddle that divide. We still get paid and may gain a fan for future works, while the reader can take a chance at a lower cost, without feeling burned if they don’t like the book.

The next issue to consider is payout. As I said, shorter works suffer a bit in Select. The longer a book is (to a point,) the more reasonable the payout. Mine is 87k words. At the average payout over the last few months—$ .005—I earn around $2.60 if they read the whole thing. With my book priced at $2.99, that’s a higher royalty than if they bought it. Until and unless the payout rate changes a lot, I’m way ahead there. I’ll likely bump my price up in the next few months. Even if I price at $4.99 (the highest I’d go even once the second book is out,) I’m still losing less than a dollar on the sale…or not losing anything.

There are a lot of KOLL/KU readers, and they’re often the ones most likely to give an unknown a chance because their budget within Select is unlimited—so they’re less likely to buy at retail. They probably won’t stumble on my book and buy it for $2.99 when there are tens of thousands of books they can choose from in Select. So I’m gaining readers and royalties I wouldn’t otherwise have.

Finally, the biggest concern a lot of folks—and I—had about Select is the exclusivity. We’re aghast at the idea of cutting off other channels and “losing so many sales.” As I pointed out earlier, genre and audience are a big factor here, but the majority of debut authors won’t have a lot of sales on the other channels. A generous estimate is around 90 to 10 in favor of Amazon vs all other sites combined.

In a little less than 90 days in KU, I had over 45,000 pages read, equating to about 87 books. That’s 1/5th of the sales I had in that period. If we compare numbers, I might have lost around 35 sales from other channels (but that’s likely a huge overestimation,) while gaining 87—at a higher royalty rate than any platform—from Select. Select had probably triple the sales I might have had on other outlets. I’ll take those numbers any day.

Obviously, your mileage may vary. But Select has been great for me, and I believe it’s worth a try for most. If it doesn't work, you can quit in 90 days and put the book on the other platforms and see how it plays out, after getting a boost from Select.

In my next post, I’ll cover the Kindle Countdown Deal and the promotion sites I used during the sale. While the Countdown Deal is only available for those enrolled in Select, promo sites can be valuable for any sale, so there’ll be something for everyone. Rest up and stock up on liquor. The swamp gets worse from here.


Part 3: Kindle Countdown Deals & Promo Sites

Image courtesy of mapichai 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

What to do While You Wait for that Other Bird

Great news! When Doves Fly will be on a Kindle Countdown Deal starting on Turkey Day. So while the bird cooks--the other bird!--or during those long drives over the river and through the woods to Grandma's house, you can read a book reviewers are calling "gritty, complex storytelling" and both "timeless and fresh." Works on planes, trains, automobiles, wagons, and even horses.


Amazon:
http://amzn.to/1Vtd7ZF
Amazon UK
http://amzn.to/1hMaMX6
Print
http://amzn.to/1Lr7B3p
https://www.createspace.com/5754093

To request a signed print copy, use the contact form here:
http://www.authorlaurengregory.com/Contact.html

 

 

Excerpt from When Doves Fly by Lauren Gregory

 

Two horses occupied the pen, and both looked used up.

The livery operator, even harder used than his horses, eyed Lily with an arched brow. He wore chaps molded to his legs and a cowboy hat with holes. Tanned rifts covered his face and shifted in strange patterns as he talked.

“Where ya headed?”

“Cheyenne,” she lied.

“Where’s yer men folk?”

“I’ll be making this trip alone.”

“Missy, that’s a long ride. Oughtta at least wait for a party goin’ out.”

Lily set her jaw. “I’ll worry about that. How much for that one?” She pointed to the less-swaybacked roan.

“That’s Charlie. Let you have him for $50.00. Can you even heft a saddle on yer own?”

Her lips pursed, and she walked to a rack loaded with saddles. Struggling, she lifted one over her head. “Satisfied?”

The horseman shrugged. “All right. But ain’t no way you can make it all the way to Cheyenne on yer lonesome. Bandits roamin’ all over now, even if the ride don’t kill ya.”

“Will you sell me the horse or not?”

He opened a packet from his vest and stuffed a plug of tobacco in his cheek. “I reckon.”

“Do you have any mules?”

“For what?” His eyes narrowed.

She tossed him a withering look. “A pack mule, of course.”

His gaze wandered. “Nope. No mules.”

Lily followed his glance and walked to the corner of the building. Several mules munched hay at a paddock trough. She rounded on the man.

“Just what are those? Pigs?”

“Bad enough if I sell you the horse, but that’ll only getcha in so much trouble. I ain’t sendin’ you out on the trail with two animals you can’t handle.”

“Then I’ll have to find someone who wants to make money. Thank you and good day.”

He stuck his leg out, blocking her attempt at a huffing exit. “Listen, missy. You don’t look as if you been doin’ much trail ridin’. I’ll allow you might handle the horse on yer own, mostly ‘cause he’s too old and tired to do much but eat. But a jack’s a different animal, and tryin’ to lead one while you ride ain’t easy, even for trail men with some miles under their belts. What do you need to pack, anyhow?”

Lily pressed her lips together to stop their trembling. She wanted to tell him to mind his business but lifted her chin. “Goods.”

“Er … you can buy goods in Cheyenne, reckon? It’s a bonafide city these days. Stores and everything.”

“Cheyenne isn’t my final destination. Will you sell me a mule, or are you going to spend all day asking questions?” Her nails dug into her palms.

He looked her up and down. “I can’t do it. Take my advice: don’t try it.”

She fumed but changed her tack and offered a sweet smile. “What if I take a hired man? Can I, please, have a mule then?”

“Do I look that brainless?”

“No, truly, I promise. You’re right; I shouldn’t do it on my own. I’ll hire someone. Do you know where I can find a reliable hand?”

The horseman considered her and wagged a finger. “I’ll give ya the address. And I’ll check up on it, too.”

She paid him $95.00 for the horse, mule, and a saddle. As he saddled the horse, he looked at her skirt.

“You know how to ride a western?”

She didn’t meet his gaze. “Of course.”

When he finished, she led the animals away, with no intention of hiring anyone.

 

 

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.

.
Image courtesy of Victor Habbick at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I'm Goin' Away

*trigger warning--child sexual abuse
 

 

 

I reckoned Daddy would be mad.

I sat in the bathroom on the edge of the tub, lookin’ at the shiny door handle. The little ridge in the middle pointed sideways. That made me feel funny, weak-like and soggy. My fingers itched to turn it back upright. I just stared and kept my hands in my lap. The old house creaked while it settled, and I thought how thankful I’d be not to hear those sounds no more. I reckoned there was a heap of things I’d be thankful to miss.

***

We lived on Apple Lane, and our creaky house set down by the tracks. That was silly, ‘cause there weren’t no apple trees on our street, only peaches. I lay in bed at night, listenin’ to the trains. They’d scream afore they got to the crossin’. They’d chug and clang past the house, rattlin’ the wavy glass in the window frames. It took them forever to get by, car after car filled with black dusty coal. Teacher said coal turns into diamonds, but I didn’t believe her. I never found no diamonds.

I hated them trains. Their screams reminded me of the orange cat Daddy caught shittin’ under the porch.

“Cats is about as handy as a woman. All they’s good at is naggin’ and shittin’ and fuckin’,” he said. Daddy had lots of ideas ‘bout women.

He took its tail and swung it round and round, laughin’ at the way its hair puffed up. It screamed, the sound windin’ up and fadin’ out. Just like them trains. Acourse, they wasn’t that much alike, specially not when the cat stopped sudden-like against the tree. The bones are still out back, behind Daddy’s old Ford. They turned white and then gray, and I checked every week to make sure they was still there.

After that, I always pictured that cat wailin’ and swingin’ when the trains screamed. It gave me goose pimples, and I had to shut my hands over my ears.

***

As I sat in the bathroom, another creak killed the quiet, and I closed my eyes. Mayhap the wind was comin’ up. I held my breath, so’s I could hear the wind, but it wasn’t howlin’. I opened my eyes and checked the door handle again. It still pointed sideways. I reached out and tried to turn it, real gentle-like. Smooth, cold, slippery. It wouldn’t turn. Down on the floor, the strip of light under the door stayed solid, no shadows breakin’ it up.

Creak. I shut my hands over my ears, closed my eyes again.

***

We wasn’t allowed to lock doors. I don’t mean the front door—that one we locked, acourse. But unless you wanted Daddy to tell you to fetch a switch, and make your butt burn and throb and turn red, you sure didn’t lock no other doors.

Daddy said, “Locked doors mean you don’t trust folks. I reckon you ought trust your family.” He talked ‘bout family a lot.

So we left ‘em open. That’s how Sugarman got in.

At night, after the train screamed, the door swung open real slow. I lay in bed with my ears shut but my eyes open, tryin’ to see who it was. I couldn’t see nothin’ but dark, just like I had my eyes closed. Then a weight come down, makin’ the mattress sag so’s I’d start slidin’ to the edge. Sugarman’s hands caught me, holdin’ me round my belly. I tried to lock my legs together and stayed real still. Acourse, that didn’t help none. Sugarman was real strong.

“Gimme some sugar,” he said. He always wanted sugar.

His breath covered me, sour and sweet, like when the peaches fell off the tree in the backyard and rotted into the black dirt. I hated that smell almost as much as I hated them trains. When the wind was just right, it came in my window with the screamin’ of the trains, so thick I could almost see it.

Sugarman put his slick lips on my mouth. I tried my best to keep my lips shut, but he squeezed my cheeks hard. It made my teeth dig into ‘em, and I had to open. His fat tongue filled my mouth, and it tasted even worse than the peaches smelled. I wished my mind would go away. I wanted to shut my ears and my eyes and everything else. I didn’t want to taste that tongue, or feel the draft on my legs when he pushed my nightdress up. If my mind could’ve gone away, it wouldn’t have mattered what Sugarman did.

***

Mama died a year ago. She stayed in bed for months afore she went. She said she had the cancer. It made her get real skinny. I wanted to sit with her but hated lookin’ at her, so I scrunched my eyes into little slits so only a strip of light come through my eyelashes. She was just a pale blur against the blue flowered sheets. It reminded me of the time we went on a picnic, and she chased me through the field until we fell down and lay on the blossoms, laughin’ in the sun ‘til we couldn’t breathe. But she wasn’t laughin’ in her bed. She hadn’t laughed in a real long time.

“I’m gonna die, Punkin,” she said.

“What’s that like, Mama? What happens when you die?”

“Your mind just goes away, like sleepin’, but you don’t wake up. It makes the pain go away.” She smiled, a blurry, tired smile.

I wanted to know more but was scared to ask. I hoped the goin’ away was like when I turned the TV off and the light shrunk to a bright dot and winked out. Or maybe like water swirlin’ down a drain, without the creepy gurgle sound. I hoped it wasn’t a slow thing, like the peaches rottin’ in the yard, wrinkled and crawlin’ with bugs. Anything but that.

She went to sleep after that, and I reckon her mind went away.

***

I thought a heap about makin’ my mind go away once Sugarman started comin’ in. I knew how to make it go away, ‘cause I saw ‘em do the hogs and chickens. They screamed, too, but without the fadin’. Their screams turned to hissin’ gurgles. I wondered if they had pain and if it went away. They didn’t have much mind, but I reckoned it went away just the same.

I'd took the butcher knife out the shed and went to the bathroom with it.

I'd locked the door and sat lookin’ at the knife for a spell. My reflection stared back at me. I didn’t like that—it made a big lump in my throat—so I stopped lookin’ and left the blade in my lap. Instead, I watched the door handle, listenin’ and waitin’, with the cold porcelain sendin’ chills deep into my bones. I thought about Daddy and everything looked red of a sudden. It got me awful riled up. I reckoned it was Daddy’s fault that Sugarman got in. If Daddy woulda let me lock the door, Sugarman wouldn’t have come, and I wouldn’t need to make my mind go away.

***

The strip of light under the door grew brighter as the sun fell. It was gettin’ to be time. Time’s a funny thing, too. It goes faster just when a body wants it to slow down.

I breathed deep, tryin’ to make my heart quit thumpin’. It sounded funny with my ears shut, like the wind got in my head while a horse thundered in my chest. I took my hands off my ears and picked up the knife. It was heavier and more real, like it might come alive. My fingers held it real tight as I slid down to the floor and waited.

***

When the front door slammed, I took the knife to my neck, just like they did with the hogs.

Everything turned red for real.

Daddy called my name. Footsteps rumbled down the hall. The strip of light under the door broke up and disappeared like when the sun goes behind clouds. The door handle jiggled. I dropped the knife.

“Why’s this damn door locked? You in there, Punkin?”

The red squirted and dripped. Daddy banged on the wood, but it sounded far-off, a rumble in my bones more than my ears. In between the poundin’, a train screamed. I wished my mind would go away afore Daddy got in. He hit the door harder, and it flew open. His eyes opened big, as if he seen a ghost.

“No more Sugarman, Daddy.” My voice sounded funny and made me want to laugh.

But when Daddy leaned over me, I smelled Sugarman’s breath. My laugh came out a whistlin’ scream, like the trains, windin’ up and fadin’ away.

*This piece is not intended to endorse or condone suicide. It was written as a cathartic, therapeutic piece of fiction. If you need someone to listen, please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-Talk (8255) or visit www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org.


Image courtesy of Sura Nualpradid at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Women Writers Coming Out

This is such an awesome post that I simply have to share. I want all women writers (and more than a few men) to read it, because I think it's the number one hurdle for us.

https://warriorwriters.wordpress.com/2015/10/06/good-girls-dont-become-best-sellers-channeling-your-inner-bad-girl-to-reach-your-dreams/#comment-224756

I wrote something relating to this a few weeks ago, regarding my own path to writing a novel, the fear, doubt, and lack of confidence I struggled with for years (and still battle,) and the way girls/women are trained not believe in our own value and skill. I've had to unlearn a lot of that to find my own bad girl. She's coming out. ;)

http://authorlaurengregory.blogspot.com/2015/09/learning-to-write.html

Women writers must learn to see their own worth outside of wife/mom/family/friend roles and speak up. We owe that to ourselves (and our families,) and we deserve that voice.

I Got Mine--Screw You

All. the. books. Always. For everyone.

That's the purpose of a free exchange of ideas, and it's the ideal upon which libraries are based. Allowing any person to limit that exchange is ALWAYS dangerous and backwards.

Slate offered an article this week that claims Banned Books Weeks is a "crock" because there's no such thing as banned books anymore. (http://www.donotlink.com/framed?785241)

"It's not as bad as it used to be."

As if that's a good stopping point in any fight against bad things.

There ARE still banned books, and many attempts to ban them, and we must continue the fight to keep all books available to those who want to read them. That's especially true for libraries because they often serve those who could not otherwise access them.

It's a shame Slate writer Ruth Graham doesn't recognize or appreciate that.

It's a sign of being out of touch with the reality that not everyone has digital access and brick-and-mortar stores are disappearing. Many cannot afford to buy a book, and many cannot drive to the next town. And they certainly shouldn't have to just because self-righteous people want to impose their values and beliefs on everyone.

It's a sign of elitism. It's a sign of complacency despite glaring evidence that unless we maintain vigilance against censorship, it will gain ground--because there are still people who WANT books banned, even if they're the extremist minority. It's a sign of the gross tendency for people who have a right or privilege to ignore those who don't and not be willing to fight for them. "I got mine--screw you."
‪
#‎BannedBooksWeek‬ is a thing because it needs to be. Because even one banned book is too many. Because, sadly, it's one fight that will never be "over."

 

The Caskets -- When Doves Fly Excerpt

In case you missed it, here's one of my favorite scenes from When Doves Fly, my debut #histfic novel set in a Colorado gold rush town in the 1870s.

If you want more, it's available on Amazon in ebook and print!

*  *  *  *  *

 

The caskets lay side by side. Charlotte stood in the parlor doorway, a doll dangling from one hand. She had tried to make herself enter, but her feet wouldn’t move. The black crepe over the windows rippled like ghostly shadows. A glimpse of pallid skin peeked from each coffin.

 

What if they wake? Maggie, their cook, said people sometimes came back to life to claw their way out of their caskets.

 

Charlotte wanted to touch them, to check for life, but a vague fear stopped her. She stayed rooted, cold bare toes on the threshold, eyes fixed on the open boxes, waiting for the children to move.

 

If only Mother would come down. Then I could go in.

 

Charlotte had tried to rouse her mother, but her parents’ door remained locked, and no one answered. Only weak cries had come from the room in the two days since Peter and Cecilia died.

 

Mother had fallen sick, too, but the cholera kept her bedridden for just a day. She’d devoted the next two days to nursing Peter and Cecilia—Charlotte had felt fine. In her delirium, Mother blamed herself for taking the children to the fair, but Charlotte had been the one who pestered until she agreed.

 

If I hadn’t, Peter and Sissy wouldn’t be in caskets. Once a middle child, now an only.

 

After they died, Mother locked her door, and Charlotte hadn’t seen her since. Maggie had arranged the wake and the coming funeral but went home sick—was it only the day before?—after assuring Charlotte that Papa would return home from his business trip any time. Charlotte waited all night, but Papa hadn’t come.

 

Something moved in Peter’s coffin. Charlotte’s eyes widened, and she squeezed Dolly’s arm. A fly drifted from the casket and landed again. She relaxed and released her breath. And waited.

 

The back door banged open. Charlotte didn’t move—she couldn’t. Her limbs had turned to stone.

 

“Eliza!” Papa’s voice rang in the silence. “Maggie?” Footsteps clattered on the wood floor until he reached the hall rug. “Charlotte! Where’s your mother? Why are the drapes …?”

 

His hand fell on her shoulder.

 

She tried to speak, but her cracked lips only trembled.

 

A sick moan came from him, and he pushed past her into the room with the caskets and flies. He bent over the bodies and groaned.

 

“No, no, no,” he chanted. “Peter … Sissy … not both ….”

 

Tears stung Charlotte’s eyes.

 

Papa whirled on her. “Where is your mother?” More a roar than a question.

 

Her body shook. Why is he angry with me?

 

He ran past her and thundered up the stairs. Banging on a door. “Eliza … Eliza!” More heavy footsteps, and he jerked Charlotte by the arm. “Is your mother sick? Where is Maggie? Or Cooper?” He bent, eyes wild, and shook her until her teeth chattered. “Charlotte, answer me!”

 

Sound came from her mouth, but no words.

 

Shoving her aside, he raced upstairs. Yelling and rattling the door as Charlotte collapsed in the parlor doorway.

 

“Papa?”

 

The hall remained quiet. She fell asleep crying, clutching Dolly close.