Almost Normal

It’s been more than a year since I visited Third Place Books in person. Over the past few months, I’ve ordered online and had books mailed to me. But after attending a webinar yesterday with Lisa Cron about her new book, Story or Die, I ordered a copy. Instead of opting to have it snail mailed, I clicked on ‘pick up at store.'

For the occasion of venturing to the bookstore, I dressed more carefully than I had in months, choosing my favorite jeans, an olive-green sweater, a necklace and a bracelet. The morning was bright and sunny, which I took as a good omen.

Entering the freeway felt like a strange city, partly because of construction of the light rail which blocked the right lane, and partly because this is only my second trip on I-5 since the pandemic broke out. I hadn’t forgotten how to merge with the thick swell of cars and trucks, all moving far below the 60 MPH speed limit. The addition of rail lines and concrete barriers has changed the landscape, but the heavy Seattle traffic remains the same.

After I exited on Ballenger Way, I passed several office buildings bearing ‘For Lease. Signs. The Mexican restaurant is still there, likely surviving on carry-out orders by a loyal clientele. As I drove east, the familiar canopy of trees cast blinking shadows in and out of the sunlight. It had been more than a year, yet I still recalled how to get to the store. The parking lot was nearly vacant, and after I parked, I double glanced at the shop to ensure I was open.

The first change since I was last here were the signs on the two double door entries.  Inside the building the next change I noted was there was no line at the adjoining cafe.

Clearly marked exit and entry only with reminders for customers they must wear masks and maintain social distances. The entrance side is blocked off with crime tape and the signs with arrows lead to the information desk. An individual stood at the entry and asked my business. I could have taken my prepaid book and left, but since the store was empty, and I’d already fulfilled a couple of hours early morning writing, I decided to use the allotted 30-minute time limit to browse.

Where once there stood leather and wooden chairs throughout the store where one could sit and skim through a stack of books is now open space. 

The staff is enthusiastic and industrious, filling shelves and moving displays, and the selection of books, cards, and other goods remains abundant, but the shopping experience definitely felt altered. One of the things I’ve missed most since the pandemic outbreak is browsing the shelves at libraries and bookstores. Where I once may have spent two hours (and much more money) wandering through the aisles, I’m grateful to have the option for this in-person visit. The short visit to familiar territory made life feel more like normal and less like science fiction.

How are you emerging back to nearly normal?

When Your Imaginary Friends Take Control

You may be wondering why I haven't posted in a couple of months. As you can see from the photo I've been busy writing the sequel to BREAKFAST WITH NERUDA. Since my publisher was not interested in this book, I'm opting to Independently publish it (and its sequel.) 

This means I'm now a "hybrid author." Two of my critique partners are also hybrids, and they coaxed me to give it a go.

After weighing the pros and cons, I reluctantly decided to journey down the self publishing path.

Pros:
I choose my own cover designer and title, and have control over the book's content. I also manage the price points and decide when to put it on sale. Plus, any royalties come directly to me. In addition, I can update the book's content any time and own all the rights. No more sending out query after query to hear "not right for our list, we just published a similar title, we like the writing but didn't relate to the characters..." Yes, I could have continued to query, but I had two strikes against me:

One, while BREAKFAST WITH NERUDA is highly praised and was shortlisted for a major award, it didn't sell enough copies to set the world on fire. 'Writing is an art, publishing is a business' is a mantra we authors often hear at writer's conferences. You can craft beautiful sentences and well create developed characters in an engaging story, but if your book doesn't produce great sales figures in a short window of time, your next book is a harder sell.   

Two, the characters aged up a year. YA characters tend to max at age eighteen, but the protagonist Michael is now nineteen. Technically, they are New Adult, which is a dying (Maybe already dead) category.

Perhaps the third strike is Contemporary YA is a super crowded market. My characters aren't diverse enough to compete with filling the much needed gaps in the YA canon. So, the odds were ever not in my favor to go traditional this time.


Cons: 
I'm responsible for all the costs of cover design, formatting, editing, and advertising. In addition, I pay for all proofs and author copies and other marketing materials. I now have to pay attention to sales rankings, hone my subject categories, and fret over my pending obscurity.

Part of the reason BWN didn't sell is because I'm a terrible marketer. I want my clone to send out postcards and contact book bloggers to beg for reviews. There's a whole minefield of business practices indy writers must perform. By going rogue, I'm taking a huge risk because I don't have a clone, so it's all on me.

Having a big 5 publisher behind you gives you street cred in the trade. You're treated like a rock star at library and book conferences, and you make friends with other stars in the business. While it's waning somewhat, there's still a stigma against being "a self-published writer." 

So why am I doing this? 

Fans of BWN want to know what happens next with Michael and Shelly. I hadn't intended to write a series. My characters coerced me into it. I spent a lot of time with these people, and grew to love them. 

Also, I'm not prone to do the logical, practical thing. But I believe in these stories.

I'm also a fan of irony. While indy writers are relegated to a lower position on the pecking order compared to traditionally published writers, the irony is, a large percentage of indys make more money than their counterparts. The ones who make money and get great reviews go through the same careful process of creating a book. The difference is, we own all the stakes.  

The primary reason I'm indy publishing is I need these stories off my desk and out of my head so I can focus on my current (work in progress (WIP.) I'm 36,000 words into the next book (which will be a stand alone,) yet Michael and Shelly keep barking at me to get their story out there. These books are their fault.

The paperback of BLUE VALENTINES is out now, and the eBook is due out July 9, 2019.

The third and final book of the Michael/Shelly saga, THE LANGUAGE OF THE SON, will be coming in August. 

Happy Writing.

“Does it really have to be so be so difficult to kill yourself without being constantly disturbed?”

You know the type of book I’m talking about: one of those tales tempting you to call in sick so you can keep reading, but when you finish, you’re heartbroken because it’s over. A Man Called Ove by Fredrick Backman is one of those books.

Ove, a 59 year-old recent widower forced into early retirement has decided to join his dead wife rather than spend his days missing her. What could have been a dark exploration of grief turns into a lively tale in A Man Called Ove. In this novel, curmudgeonly Ove, the kind of man who inspects the neighborhood each day and takes down license plates numbers of cars parked for more than the allotted twenty four hours, displays great disdain for the “idiots” who cannot seem to read signs, and for the cat who starts hanging around outside his home. On the surface, Ove appears to be a grouchy old man who people avoid, and he likes it that way. All Ove wants is to kill himself and be done with it all.

His plans are thwarted by the arrival of new neighbors: an Iranian family consisting of a pregnant Parvaneh, her hapless husband Patrick, and seven and three year old girls. They meet when Patrick crashes into Ove’s mailbox with his moving truck. It does not go well, but Parvaneh recognizes a dormant charm on Ove, and she infiltrates his lonely life and provides the catalyst to force Ove to interact with his long feuding neighbor Rune, an odd kid from next door named Jimmy, a suspected bicycle thief, and a stray cat.

Alternating chapters reveal Ove as a youth and a young married man. He was never boisterous, but when his wife was alive she tempered any latent bitterness. The reader is privy to Ove’s one time happiness, series of disappointments, and his loyalty to Saab cars. (The feud with Rune was over Rune trading his own loyalty to Volvos for a BMW.)

Told in third person, the reader is privy to Ove’s distinctive voice with its subtle humor. On one of the days when he (unsuccessfully) tries to kills himself, he still performs his daily morning inspection. “Just because he’s dying today doesn't mean the vandals should be given free rein.”

This tale serves to remind us that each of us has a unique story. One can imagine Parvaneh lives by the creed, “everyone you met is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be Kind,” and she refuses to give up on mean old Ove.

I read an author profile by the Swedish author, Fredrick Backman, where he displays this same deadpan humor, claiming his motivation to write novels, other than “surely this must be better than working,”  is to feed his “major his interest in cheese-eating.” I wonder if Backman drives a Saab.

Recently I've been clearing out my bookshelves for my move to Seattle, paring them down to half. Most of my Advance Reader copies I've given away or donated to the Friends of the Library bookstore, but this one I’m keeping. It will be shelved with books I plan to reread.

Pick up a copy on  Tuesday, July 15, 2014.

Happy Reading.