Facebook and The New Author

I was thinking today, as I wished someone Happy Birthday on Facebook and then "poked" an old college friend, that it would be neat to have some of my favorite authors as Facebook friends.

Who would I choose, if I could choose anyone? Well, some of them are dead and the rest are really old. Mary Stewart, my all-time favorite, is alive and 92 years old. Ross MacDonald and Raymond Chandler died long ago, as did Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers. But they're people I would want to friend and occasionally chat with online (assuming that was the only way I could meet them), because they are great mystery writers. I would become their fans, assuming that they were online as writers who were looking for fans (as most writers do nowadays).

There's just one problem. From what I've read of these people, none of them would have any interest in joining Facebook. Mary Stewart would ask why people weren't out walking in the fresh air instead of sending flair or playing Lexulous. Ross MacDonald and Raymond Chandler would scoff at the idea of plying one's books online when one could be using the time to perfect one's craft. Write more, play less would be their mottos.

Agatha and Dorothy might be slightly more playful, but still, I think, reluctant to join Facebook. Christie wouldn't need the fans and would prefer watching some archeological dig; Sayers would prefer writing old-fashioned letters to a carefully selected group of friends over "friending" strangers.

Facebook and its ilk are a phenomenon of the new publishing world--one with which they would not be familiar. There are swarms of writers on Facebook, and only some of them are polite about PR. Many of them write to ME and ask me to become their fans. Huh. Seems like once it was the other way around.

But writers know that they're expected to promote that book and somehow raise those sales numbers. Writers are made to believe (either explicity or implicitly) that if they don't sell, they are somehow not worthwhile. And that makes for a whole bunch of desperate people using any online resource they can to keep their books in the public eye.

Facebook is one of many places that the new writer must try to sell. But a part of me yearns for the image I once had of writing: the mystique of the writer who had no website, but only a glamorous picture on the jacket of the book. If one wanted to contact this writer, he or she had to write to the publisher and ask that they pass along the message (and the message was generally "I love your books!"). The writer, in the meantime, could remain relatively anonymous.

I think Mary Stewart was able to do her writing without it really affecting her everyday university life. I doubt she had to do much touring, and I think she would bridle at the idea of putting any personal information on a website.

This is a new world, and Facebook is an example of the very visual requirements of the public.

But sometimes, when I'm reading the newsfeed or sending mythological virtual snowglobes to "friends" all over the world, I seem to channel Mary and wonder if I'd be better off walking the moors.

Feeling Better vs.Getting Better

Tom Schreck, author of the Duffy Series

I started teaching a college class in psychotherapy last night.

Before we got into Freud, Skinner, Rogers et al I asked them to think about whether someone could ever make an important change in their lives without the presence of pain.

Do we ever grow without discomfort?







In the last six months I started volunteering on the Samaritans Suicide Hotline. People in pain from all over the country call just to be listened to. I get the impression some will use their current crisis and come out of it as stronger more complete people.

I'm pretty sure others won't.

Getting better is vastly different than feeling better. I believe that getting better requires you to feel pain but human tendency is to do something as quick as possible to feel better.

Do you know the most efficient and reliable way to conquer a phobia? Implosion therapy.
That means doing what you fear, a lot and often until you become desensitized.Studies show it works better than other methods.

Phobics usually choose a less threatening method.

I think a lot of therapy is focused on helping people feel better and not get better.

I believe that often most therapeutic thing that you can say to someone is "That's sucks, now deal with it."

That would take about 10 seconds to say and wouldn't do much for a private practice. Most of human problems come from our addiction to immediate gratification and though we may have poor genes or neurotransmitters stopping self defeating behavior always involves one thing.

Not doing that behavior and dealing with the discomfort of denying immediate gratification.

Does it do anyone a service to make getting better more complicated than that?

So what if you were breast fed from falsies--you're 48 and getting better is up to you? Yes, dad and dad's dad drank too much. You shouldn't, so stop.

You're a compulsive gambler. Hey, when you missed the mortgage payment that was a sign to knock it off.

Smoking is bad for you. I don't smoke and am tired of seeing gross commercials to encourage smokers to stop. How much more info do thy need?

Is depression different? Schizophrenia? I think it sucks if your predisposed to them but ultimately work and patience ( and maybe medication) are going to be the answer.


Love, warmth and support feel good and maybe they lead to you taking the suggestions of a helper. Talking feels good, especially when someone listens intently.

In my 25 years in human services I've met lots of people (on both sides of the desk) who loved to talk. Some people say you gotta let it out.

But is letting it out curative? Could it just bolster irrational ways of thinking and acting, especially if a professional is agreeing how hard you had it?

Would people get better faster if you told them to quit complaining and blaming and stop doing shit that was self-defeating?

Getting Ready to Tour

Keith here.

My nephew flew in yesterday to begin grad school at Stanford, and he and his roommate came over for dinner last night. The roommate is an aspiring novelist and was asking about life as a writer. All he wanted to hear was how great it was. Of course, a lot of it’s not. I tried to explain. What I love best of all, I told him, is writing the first draft of a book. Part of it’s the challenge, the climbing up the rock face. An even bigger part is the chance to lead a life, have an adventure, as another person in another universe. I’m addicted to the rush those two elements provide. (How do I know I’m addicted? Because of the post-partum depression I feel when the draft is completed.)

I then spent some time recounting what’s the downside: the editing, the waiting for comments, the research, the deciding on topics, the finding an agent, the waiting to hear back from publishers, and much more. Oh, yes, then there’s the publicity. Setting things up for publicizing a new book isn’t fun. But the results of that work, being out on tour, definitely is for me. Probably the high point of my writing experience was seeing a long line of readers waiting for me to sign Dot Dead, my first book, at Book Expo America. (That's me at BEA to the left. Margery Flax of MWA likes to tell people she was there when I lost my signing virginity.)

I love meeting readers and coming across what I’ll immodestly call fans, people who tell you that they can’t wait till your next book is out or who buy an armful to give away as holiday presents. It’s not all sweetness and light though. Five minutes before my event at Kepler’s last time, my dear friend Barbara was shaking with nerves because there were fewer than a dozen people. Three hundred seconds later another 50 had poured in. Saved from humiliation by the cavalry. At another bookstore no one showed except for my in-laws. I guess a little humiliation keeps one humble.

As far as my next book, Smasher, goes, the work part of the publicity is mostly complete. The tour is set and begins next month. I’m chomping at the bit. Cynthia at Kepler’s challenged me to a bet on how many people would show there on October 20. (Help! It will be expensive to both wallet and ego to lose.) I’m trying something different, too. For half the tour, I’ve joined forces with the wonderful Libby Fischer Hellmann, whose newest, Doubleback, is out next month, too.

C’mon out. It should be fun. Help me win a bet and stave off humiliation.

Click here for the schedule or on the link below.

http://www.keithraffel.com/content/events.asp?id=tour

Paper, Scissors, Rock, Fence

 

by Felicia Donovan

I recently began planning a fence at my friend's house so I could bring my dogs during my visits. The process began with carefully drawn out plans on paper of a quintessential New England white picket fence. We imagined the flowers to be planted in front of it ala Yankee Magazine. The remaining fenced-in area would be green-colored mesh set back into the woods to not break the visual flow and blend carefully into the landscape.

With careful measurements and a diagram laying the whole area out, I proceeded to my favorite home improvement stores and quickly loaded the back of my van with posts and brackets, rolls of mesh fencing and stakes to support it. I gulped when the total came up, but it was a small price to pay knowing the dogs would be safe and separate from the other members of the animal kingdom who were known to visit including deer, porcupine, skunks, etc.

With much enthusiasm, I began to build the wire fence by driving the metal support posts into the ground. Bang, bang, ping. I felt an odd vibration in my hand as I struck the top of the metal post. Rocking it, I heard the sound of scratching as the metal hit rock. No problem, I thought, I'll just move it over a bit. Bang, bang, ping. Ten feet later, I still had the same results. Turns out, my friend's house was built on bedrock. One solid slab of bedrock that lies about four inches below the ground...consistently.

You know what they say about the best laid plans. The fence is now a dog run with plenty of area for them to exercise and do their business. No visits from Yankee Magazine, but life is full of compromises and this is one of them.

As I pounded away with muscles I'd forgotten existed (but painfully reminded me the next day), it occurred to me that trying to put up a fence is very much like trying to write a book. No matter how big or small the plot may be at the start of your project, sometimes stuff gets in the way. If finishing the job is important, be willing to compromise and keep pounding away. That's what authors do.

Inkspot News - September 5, 2009

Join G.M. Malliet and many local authors for a farewell event for Creatures 'n Crooks bookstore in Richmond, VA. Details below and at Examiner.com:

1:00 - 4:00 pm "Authors Galore" multi-author event! John J. Lamb, Ellen Crosby, Andrew Fox, G.M. Malliet, Ellen Byerrum, Tony Ruggiero, Dennis Danvers, Marcia Talley, Pamela K. Kinney, Andy Straka and Maggie Stiefvater will sign their works at Creatures and Crooks BookShoppe multi-author Book Signing Event, 3156 West Cary Street, Cary Court Park & Shop, Richmond, VA 23221
Bookstore Phone: 804-340-0277 or toll-free (888) 533-5303 www.cncbooks.com.

On the Agatha Christie Trail

by G.M. Malliet
I've just returned from two weeks in England. Not entirely by design, the trip turned, in part, into a pilgrimage to sites associated with Agatha Christie's life and works.

We began, however, with a few days in Cambridge, where I was not so much doing research as refreshing my memories for the third book in the St. Just series, which book is scheduled to appear early next year. The book's theme is rowing, and having been nowhere near good enough at rowing to be in a Blue Boat, I wanted to double-check some of the details surrounding the training for this fantastic sport.

From Cambridge, then, it was on to Oxford, a bus journey of well over three hours--a journey so tedious it reinforces the impression that the authorities don't want the members of Cambridge and Oxford to cross-pollinate in any way. But near Oxford is Wallingford, where Agatha Christie lived for several decades, and where we have friends who had kindly offered to drive us to her house and on to see her gravesite. (Wallingford, for Midsomer Murders fans out there, has also been the scene of filming for several episodes, and is used as a stand-in for DCI Barnaby's town of Causton.)

The first picture on this blog entry, then, is of Winterbrook House, in the hamlet of Winterbrook near Wallingford. Agatha Christie purchased the property in 1934. Actually, as the house is currently occupied, and surrounded by a screen of trees, the best I can offer is a shot of the front door. The house sits very close to the street, but on an enormous tract of land that apparently stretches all the way to the Thames. (My friend and I skulked around the perimeter of the grounds as far as we could go, no doubt looking fairly mysterious ourselves in the process. I trust that the owners are used to this by now.)

The second picture is of the cottage (well, the roof of the cottage) just adjacent to Winterbrook House. Agatha is said to have used this as her office.

The next stop was at the Parish Church of St. Mary, Cholsey. Sunday services were in progress, so we didn't venture far into the building, but we stopped outside at Agatha's grave, where she was buried in 1976. Her second husband Max died less than two years after she did and is buried next to her. I paused and tried to say a prayer but could really only come up with a heartfelt "thank you" to her for providing me with so many hours of distraction and entertainment in my life, whether or not I needed them at the time. As I stood there, I could see and faintly hear a train going by in the distance. I think the author of Murder on the Orient Express and The Mystery of the Blue Train would have liked that.

In fact, anyone who doubts novelists and their wild, fanciful stories serve a useful and long-remembered purpose should have seen the crowds at the next stop on the pilgrimage, Agatha's vacation home at Greenway. From Oxfordshire we had traveled by train to Torquay (Agatha's birthplace), and from there by passenger ferry on the River Dart for a visit to the newly opened Greenway (last photo is of me, dwarfed by the front door). Now I truly was in heaven. The house tour is designed to allow the visitor as much time as needed to browse around. Nothing is roped off, although you are asked not to touch, and the house, comfortable and welcoming, is much as Agatha (and later, her daughter Rosalind and her husband Anthony) left it.

I'm out of time and space so for fellow Agatha fans I plan to blog more about Greenway next week as a guest at Writers Plot and/or to post photos of the Agatha Pilgrimage on my Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/g.m.malliet. Or maybe the public link will work this time). I took literally hundreds of photos of sites associated with Agatha, thanks to the wonder of digital technology, so imagine the self-discipline required today to winnow it down to these few. ;-)

Now What?

Having a book published is a lot like getting married or giving birth. Even if I don’t remember all the details, I know I was there. Important words were exchanged and actions taken, and in the end, it’s a done deal. But it’s a surreal experience in many ways. And at times a little nauseating.

When I saw my son for the first time, I remember looking at my husband. We were both thinking the same thing, “Now what?” All that waiting and anticipation had led to the big day, but we hadn’t thought too far beyond it.

This week, after months, years really, of anticipation, my debut novel For Better, For Murder is published and on the market. And again I’m thinking “Now what?”

I’m also thinking, “Will it sell?”

Good news, it did get positive reviews. CrimeSpree Magazine said, “Lovely book.” Kirkus Reviews said, “Bork juggles multiple puzzles deftly in her witty debut.”

My ten-year-old daughter read the Kirkus review. She said, “What does deftly mean?” I knew the answer—I’d already looked it up just to make sure.

“It means skillful.” She scrunched her forehead. “It means I’m a good writer.” She nodded.

Then she asked, “What does witty mean?” I knew the answer to that one, too. Yes, I looked it up, just to ensure I understood all the nuances.

“It means very clever and humorous. It means my book is funny. That’s what I wanted it to be.”

She smiled. All was good in her world. I could only hope the same for mine.

I know “Now what?” includes promotion. I’m doing my best. I don’t really like to toot my own horn, but it’s hard to stand out in the crowd of mystery writers without making the effort. I’ve sent email announcements to book clubs, flyers to independent mystery bookstores, and registered for Bouchercon. I’ve contacted my alma maters, the local press and booksellers as well as visited with my town librarian. I’ve written guest blogs, posted announcements on all my yahoo groups, and scheduled my first signing. Everyone has been very nice and receptive. I can only hope it pays off in book orders.

I do have a few other self-promotion ideas, all of which require me to be less reserved than usual.

Did I mention I’m a homebody, perfectly happy to be the solitary writer? Not so eager to be the worldly promoter? But I’m doing it nevertheless.

I’m doing it because I enjoyed writing For Better, For Murder, and I think people will enjoy reading it. It is a murder mystery. It’s also part romantic suspense, part family saga, part tourism, and part car trivia. It’s fast-paced, light-hearted and cozyish. The protagonist, Jolene Asdale, is interesting, smart, and capable, not to mention attractive and unwilling to suffer fools. Overnight, her life is filled with murder and mayhem, but she’s up to the task. Her almost-ex-husband is uncompromising, an honest deputy sheriff who takes his job seriously. Her sister, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. The three of them are a potent combination.

Now I can only hope skillful, clever, and humorous is an equally potent—and selling—combination.