(self-published and small press)
What if you could promote your book at conventions, but not have to go yourself?
Here are my thoughts on why such a thing might benefit authors. For one, I've seen authors at conventions selling their books. Yet, I've also heard that most self-published authors' sales are very modest. I know from my experience selling jewelry at conventions that it can be touch-and-go as far as breaking even for the cost of the convention and a hotel. And that's with a popular, successful artisan. I can't help but wonder how many of the authors I see are actually losing money to promote their work. What if they didn't have to?
Additionally, I've learned from artisans that success often requires convention hopping. That means going to different states, to many different conventions, throughout the year. Similarly, many authors tour book stores in a flurry of promotion around the book's release date. These things require being able to travel - perhaps, not having a day job, or not having toddlers to look after. Touring represents significant expenses that might not be justified by actual sales.
Assuming that other authors have run into these problems, I think there might be a solution that we can work together on. I'd like to spearhead a non-profit organization that goes to conventions and sells several indie author's books, without each author having to go each time. Kind of like a mobile indie book store. If you live near DragonCon, you could run a table for us there, while other members run tables at other conventions you don't want to or can't go to.
Money wise, authors would provide the books. When those books sell, that author gets their overhead back plus some profit. Overhead might include having to ship the books between conventions, which could be a disadvantage of having multiple sellers. Also, personally, if I were running a table, I'd like to be compensated for either my badge or my time. Compensation would greatly expand what conventions I could go to for the group. But, that money would have to come out of the profits from the books, so we might have to start with that work being volunteer work. Once we've done several conventions and built up a reputation as an organization, hopefully we would have a more stable business model and be able to compensate our sellers, too. That way members don't have to worry about who is doing more, going to more conventions, and who is doing less.
Alternatively, sellers could buy books from the authors at a low price and keep any profit. I could see that working for sellers who plan to go to a couple of conventions every year and can hold on to unsold books between conventions. Or, the organization could represent the sellers by buying the books and organizing seller compensation and transfer of books between sellers.
Possibly, there could be a yearly membership fee that is waved for members who run tables that year. We would also ask for donations, of course.
These are all just ideas right now. What I need to hear from you, my fellow authors, is if you would be interested in participating, and what you think such an organization should look like.
Writing, reviewing speculative fiction, and other story telling misc.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Question for Writers: What Makes a Surprise too Big?
Let me lay out a scenario for you, one that you may have seen before. The heroes are flying their spaceship through enemy forces, far out numbered, dodging strikes left and right. With luck and the skill of their awesome pilot, they make it through and crash land on the planet below. It's near the end of the movie so you're sitting on the edge of your seat wondering if they're all going to make it through the crash - and they do, coming to a complete stop. But before they and you can finish cheering, the pilot is interrupted mid-sentence by a flying projectile. He's killed on impact, and he's one of the main characters.
Poor Wash. The Serenity crew didn't even realize that they were still in super immediate danger, and neither did I. In that moment I felt bewildered, perhaps a little betrayed, but I couldn't say that it wasn't realistic. It was a surprise, but was it too much?
What makes a surprise too big? Is it when it happens, who it happens to, how it effects the story, or a lack of forewarning? What's the biggest gotcha you'd be willing to pull on your readers, and what would you do to prepare or console them? Would you risk being the writer that the reader hates to love?
Feel free to answer/ramble in the comments. If the question inspires a Flash Friday or something similar, feel free to link to your story in the comments and please link back to here on the applicable webpage.
Ready. Set. GO.
Poor Wash. The Serenity crew didn't even realize that they were still in super immediate danger, and neither did I. In that moment I felt bewildered, perhaps a little betrayed, but I couldn't say that it wasn't realistic. It was a surprise, but was it too much?
What makes a surprise too big? Is it when it happens, who it happens to, how it effects the story, or a lack of forewarning? What's the biggest gotcha you'd be willing to pull on your readers, and what would you do to prepare or console them? Would you risk being the writer that the reader hates to love?
Feel free to answer/ramble in the comments. If the question inspires a Flash Friday or something similar, feel free to link to your story in the comments and please link back to here on the applicable webpage.
Ready. Set. GO.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Flash Friday #3: Hanging Pictures
Gertrude sliced the tape open with the letter opener she had specifically not packed in any of the neatly labeled boxes. It had rode in her pocket along with a sharpie and an extra roll of packing tape, all to find its purpose in this moment. That's why she first opened the box that held assorted counter-top objects, like the pen holder and the letter opener stand. Those were set up quickly, then the books, and her clothes - all the easy stuff. Nearly last were the purely decorative items that had to be arranged around the furniture and other things of every-day use.
For instance, the knick-knacks she'd gotten over so many Christmases and birthdays. The translucent elephant her grandmother gave her over a decade ago, the year before her death. The bright orange miniature vase that her little brother had given her when she moved out. The dancing fairy Richard had given her just two years ago, before he'd left her for someone thinner and cheerier. The glass tulip Shayne had given her just a month ago, for her birthday. These she had to chose from the plethora of gifts she considered sentimental. One from each person, and each had equal standing on the shelf above the couch.
The last box had been double-tapped and her lungs froze as she slit it open. She could never throw them away, not photographs, and once a photograph made it into a frame, it was forever sacred, and it had to go up on the wall. Gertrude pulled out the easy ones first, those of her immediate family, most of which she set aside to go up in the hall. The rest went above the TV across from the couch. Old classmates, pictures of herself alone, and a few co-workers. There almost wasn't any room for Shayne. She had to stretch and lean to put ones of him up to the left of the rest. To the right, above the vase of flowers Shayne had just had delivered to her, there was only room for one large picture or two smaller pictures of Richard.
Gertrude frowned down at the three in her hand. There was the largest, the both of them smiling with the Rocky Mountains as the backdrop. Their honeymoon. Two smaller ones might also fit side by side - Ricard holding her hand at the zoo, the both of them at her sister's wedding. Those she might be able to look at every day. She held them both up against the space available, stretching on the tips of her toes to hold them level. Technically they fit, but the gap looked to be less than the minimum one inch she allowed. She tried holding them slightly further apart, but then the one that came up against the other pictures overlapped the shelf below it by at least 1/8th of an inch. Carefully, she set those two down and picked up the larger picture.
His smile was so... genuine. She wanted to find something in it that might predict his betrayal, but there was no crookedness of the eyebrows, no evil glint in his eyes, and no tenseness around the corners of that wide grin. He looked happy. They had both been happy. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad remembering a time when she had been happy. She lifted the picture up and centered it above the shelf with the knick-knacks along with the pencil she would mark the wall with. She could already see that it was a perfect fit for the space, even if she'd rather leave the space empty. But this would balance her life. It would show the whole truth of it. It would hold nothing back. She had been married before, and divorced, and Shayne accepted that.
The wall, it seemed, did not accept that. Maybe it was because beside Shayne's pictures there was a gap about the same size as the one she was about to fill, making the whole collection off-center. Maybe it was because the chair had uneven legs and the living room had hard-wood floors and not the more traditional carpet. Maybe it was because in that moment Shayne turned the lock in the door, arriving home from work.
Gertrude slipped off the side of the chair and fell against the knick-knacks with her cheekbone, against the bookcase with her diaphram, and finally against the floor with her back and the back of her head. There was the loud clattering of her, and of the knick-knacks, and the picture, the pencil, and even of a few books. Then there was the loud stomping of Shayne's shoes arriving next to her head. He knelt over her, fussed over her, and helped her sit up. "What were you doing?" he started to ask as the panic of her well-being wore off. Then he saw the frame that had fallen and shattered its glass around them, and his tone grew harsh. "You were putting Richard on our wall?"
Gertrude put a hand to her forehead where she was sure there was an imprint of fairy wings. Her eyes darted over the glass, over the bent pages, and over the broken glass tuplip at her feet. "I'm sorry," she whispered as her vision blurred with tears. "Forgive me." She didn't know if she meant it for the tulip, or for the picture, or for so many little things that she hadn't yet told him.
For instance, the knick-knacks she'd gotten over so many Christmases and birthdays. The translucent elephant her grandmother gave her over a decade ago, the year before her death. The bright orange miniature vase that her little brother had given her when she moved out. The dancing fairy Richard had given her just two years ago, before he'd left her for someone thinner and cheerier. The glass tulip Shayne had given her just a month ago, for her birthday. These she had to chose from the plethora of gifts she considered sentimental. One from each person, and each had equal standing on the shelf above the couch.
The last box had been double-tapped and her lungs froze as she slit it open. She could never throw them away, not photographs, and once a photograph made it into a frame, it was forever sacred, and it had to go up on the wall. Gertrude pulled out the easy ones first, those of her immediate family, most of which she set aside to go up in the hall. The rest went above the TV across from the couch. Old classmates, pictures of herself alone, and a few co-workers. There almost wasn't any room for Shayne. She had to stretch and lean to put ones of him up to the left of the rest. To the right, above the vase of flowers Shayne had just had delivered to her, there was only room for one large picture or two smaller pictures of Richard.
Gertrude frowned down at the three in her hand. There was the largest, the both of them smiling with the Rocky Mountains as the backdrop. Their honeymoon. Two smaller ones might also fit side by side - Ricard holding her hand at the zoo, the both of them at her sister's wedding. Those she might be able to look at every day. She held them both up against the space available, stretching on the tips of her toes to hold them level. Technically they fit, but the gap looked to be less than the minimum one inch she allowed. She tried holding them slightly further apart, but then the one that came up against the other pictures overlapped the shelf below it by at least 1/8th of an inch. Carefully, she set those two down and picked up the larger picture.
His smile was so... genuine. She wanted to find something in it that might predict his betrayal, but there was no crookedness of the eyebrows, no evil glint in his eyes, and no tenseness around the corners of that wide grin. He looked happy. They had both been happy. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad remembering a time when she had been happy. She lifted the picture up and centered it above the shelf with the knick-knacks along with the pencil she would mark the wall with. She could already see that it was a perfect fit for the space, even if she'd rather leave the space empty. But this would balance her life. It would show the whole truth of it. It would hold nothing back. She had been married before, and divorced, and Shayne accepted that.
The wall, it seemed, did not accept that. Maybe it was because beside Shayne's pictures there was a gap about the same size as the one she was about to fill, making the whole collection off-center. Maybe it was because the chair had uneven legs and the living room had hard-wood floors and not the more traditional carpet. Maybe it was because in that moment Shayne turned the lock in the door, arriving home from work.
Gertrude slipped off the side of the chair and fell against the knick-knacks with her cheekbone, against the bookcase with her diaphram, and finally against the floor with her back and the back of her head. There was the loud clattering of her, and of the knick-knacks, and the picture, the pencil, and even of a few books. Then there was the loud stomping of Shayne's shoes arriving next to her head. He knelt over her, fussed over her, and helped her sit up. "What were you doing?" he started to ask as the panic of her well-being wore off. Then he saw the frame that had fallen and shattered its glass around them, and his tone grew harsh. "You were putting Richard on our wall?"
Gertrude put a hand to her forehead where she was sure there was an imprint of fairy wings. Her eyes darted over the glass, over the bent pages, and over the broken glass tuplip at her feet. "I'm sorry," she whispered as her vision blurred with tears. "Forgive me." She didn't know if she meant it for the tulip, or for the picture, or for so many little things that she hadn't yet told him.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
TNG Ep 5: The Last Outpost
Summary:
The mysterious Ferengi steal a T-9 energy converter From the Federation. The Enterprise follows in pursuit, but they'd like to avoid starting a war. Both ships are then caught in a power drain above planet Gamma Tauri IV, and at first both believe that the other is draining their ship. Both send landing parties to investigate, and the landing parties battle each other until Portal appears to stop all that nonsense. Riker convinces Portal the humans aren't all bad, and not to kill the Ferengi even though they're not all that great. He also catches Portal up on the fact that the Tkon Empire were wiped out by a supernova forever ago. Portal offhandedly releases the ships just before life support gives out, the Ferengi return their stolen property, and everyone goes their separate ways.
Ok, I have a problem with the ancient advanced civilization being killed by a supernova. Supernovas are when giant G stars explode, and yes they do wipe out a huge area, but they're a surprise like a jack in the box is a surprise. You get to the end of the song and Pop! You'd think the ? Would have started some colonies out of the reach of good ole jack. The home base of their empire would still be wiped out and it would be tremendously difficult to evacuate everyone from there, but for goodness sakes, there would be some descendants who might retain some of their knowledge and technology. And yes, a lot of time has passed, and maybe those descendants would dwindle and die off anyway... But the episode makes it sound like the supernova took care of it all, like everyone decided that if they couldn't be the biggest and the best any more, they'd just let themselves be killed. Maybe that fits Portal's attitude after all.
Anyway, the episode was mostly about the Ferengi. They're mentioned in the first episode, and in case you didn't guess it then, captain Picard clarifies that hardly anything is known about them. Seriously, the Federation knew more about those Code of Honor dudes. Even seeing a Ferengi is a big deal, and boy are they ugly. They also think that we're barbarians for making our women wear clothes. Heh heh.
The Ferengi are kinda jumpy and believe strongly in "buyer beware," which is why the encounter doesn't go very well. Luckily they're not very good at lying to Portal. They don't seem like very promising acquaintances, but they at least don't manage to kill anyone. I'm sure we'll see more of them in later episodes, seeing as how prominently they've been mentioned.
What I hope we don't see is much more of the politics expressed in this episode. If you're thinking of captain Picard's unexplainable obsession with the French, you're close, but not quite. I'm talking about all the boo-hooing about capitalism in the form of the admittedly dastardly Ferengi. Buyer beware? In a truly free market, with the kind of cheap mass communication we have today, "buyer beware" companies tend to get blacklisted by consumers. Some dishonesty will always manage to thrive, but only just as it does in any market, either because the dishonesty is low level and mostly harmless, or because it takes time to get caught. A free market isn't necessarily free of morals as this episode strongly implies. It would be true, though, that a free market likely would not share a value such as the prime directive.
I've never thought of the Federation as an exemplar of Libertarianism, but it was annoying to have limited market values shoved in my face as an oh-so-advanced civilization. He Ferengi are so bad that they're almost a parody of themselves, for goodness sake. Our one ray of hope for them, where we can see a glimpse of Deep Space Nine Ferengi, is Captain Picard's exchange with their captain.
"all civilized societies agree..."
"are you calling us uncivilized?"
"du'oh."
Way to go, Ferengi. Even if humans are advanced in many ways, that's no reason to let them belittle you without at least calling them out. Also? Captain Picard totally lied to you because he was too chicken to be honest from the get-go. They're not perfect, either.
The mysterious Ferengi steal a T-9 energy converter From the Federation. The Enterprise follows in pursuit, but they'd like to avoid starting a war. Both ships are then caught in a power drain above planet Gamma Tauri IV, and at first both believe that the other is draining their ship. Both send landing parties to investigate, and the landing parties battle each other until Portal appears to stop all that nonsense. Riker convinces Portal the humans aren't all bad, and not to kill the Ferengi even though they're not all that great. He also catches Portal up on the fact that the Tkon Empire were wiped out by a supernova forever ago. Portal offhandedly releases the ships just before life support gives out, the Ferengi return their stolen property, and everyone goes their separate ways.
Ok, I have a problem with the ancient advanced civilization being killed by a supernova. Supernovas are when giant G stars explode, and yes they do wipe out a huge area, but they're a surprise like a jack in the box is a surprise. You get to the end of the song and Pop! You'd think the ? Would have started some colonies out of the reach of good ole jack. The home base of their empire would still be wiped out and it would be tremendously difficult to evacuate everyone from there, but for goodness sakes, there would be some descendants who might retain some of their knowledge and technology. And yes, a lot of time has passed, and maybe those descendants would dwindle and die off anyway... But the episode makes it sound like the supernova took care of it all, like everyone decided that if they couldn't be the biggest and the best any more, they'd just let themselves be killed. Maybe that fits Portal's attitude after all.
Anyway, the episode was mostly about the Ferengi. They're mentioned in the first episode, and in case you didn't guess it then, captain Picard clarifies that hardly anything is known about them. Seriously, the Federation knew more about those Code of Honor dudes. Even seeing a Ferengi is a big deal, and boy are they ugly. They also think that we're barbarians for making our women wear clothes. Heh heh.
The Ferengi are kinda jumpy and believe strongly in "buyer beware," which is why the encounter doesn't go very well. Luckily they're not very good at lying to Portal. They don't seem like very promising acquaintances, but they at least don't manage to kill anyone. I'm sure we'll see more of them in later episodes, seeing as how prominently they've been mentioned.
What I hope we don't see is much more of the politics expressed in this episode. If you're thinking of captain Picard's unexplainable obsession with the French, you're close, but not quite. I'm talking about all the boo-hooing about capitalism in the form of the admittedly dastardly Ferengi. Buyer beware? In a truly free market, with the kind of cheap mass communication we have today, "buyer beware" companies tend to get blacklisted by consumers. Some dishonesty will always manage to thrive, but only just as it does in any market, either because the dishonesty is low level and mostly harmless, or because it takes time to get caught. A free market isn't necessarily free of morals as this episode strongly implies. It would be true, though, that a free market likely would not share a value such as the prime directive.
I've never thought of the Federation as an exemplar of Libertarianism, but it was annoying to have limited market values shoved in my face as an oh-so-advanced civilization. He Ferengi are so bad that they're almost a parody of themselves, for goodness sake. Our one ray of hope for them, where we can see a glimpse of Deep Space Nine Ferengi, is Captain Picard's exchange with their captain.
"all civilized societies agree..."
"are you calling us uncivilized?"
"du'oh."
Way to go, Ferengi. Even if humans are advanced in many ways, that's no reason to let them belittle you without at least calling them out. Also? Captain Picard totally lied to you because he was too chicken to be honest from the get-go. They're not perfect, either.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Why I Love My Toddler... In His Crib.
On my new years post, I mentioned my toddler, C, I and warned you that you would at least see pictures of him. Here it is, not even February yet, and you're seeing an entire post about him.
The other night I came home late from writers group, just in time for my husband to leave for nightshift. I don't usually come home late from anything because of the whole waking up at dawn thing my toddler does, but hey, there are friends there that I rarely get to see in any other capacity and I wrote a long scene that you might see as a #flashfriday post soon.
Anyway, when I walked in I saw that C had woken up and somehow, magically, ended up sleeping in our bed. For those of you who don't know, many families sleep with all the young children in the same bed as the parents. It's called a family bed, and I'm all for that because babies love to be near you and I've read some research that says it can help kids develop better sleeping patterns. We were happy to have a family bed until sometime after 12 months, when C had learned not only how to walk, but how to run, climb, and poke us in the face until we woke up in the middle of the night. In comparison, C now asks to get in his crib at bed time, falls asleep with nary a peep, and usually if he wakes up and doesn't actually need anything, he'll play with his stuffed animals until either he falls back asleep or the sun and I wake up.
I like sleeping, so when I saw the baby sleeping in the bed, I decided I would move him back once my husband went to work. The only problem with that plan was that my husband's alarm wasn't scheduled to go off for another 15 minutes, and I was tired. I lay down. I cuddled my baby and smiled to myself to hold him in my arms. Then C tried to turn 90 degrees and kicked me in the stomach.
That was ok. I would absolutely, positively move him back to the crib after my husband was done waking up and making noise getting ready for work. In the meantime, I rolled unto my stomach to protect my vital organs. After that, I remember my husband's alarm and all the bustle that accompanies it, but by then I was so comfortable, and C was so comfortable, and I hadn't been kicked recently.
Much later, I woke up to a poke. C was sitting up, poking my ribs and grinning widely. I told him to go to sleep, which is what I always do if he's playing in his crib. Poke. I try cuddling him again, but like a flopping fish figting for its life, he elbows me in the chest and sits up again. Poke. This time he giggles maniacly. I see that it's dark outside, but I think to myself that maybe it's close to his allowed wake-up time. After all, he didn't sleep well, or else he'd still be in his crib, right? So he should be tired. He should sleep in.
I check the time. Two hours before dawn. Poke. I might have grumbled some words that toddlers aren't supposed to hear as I got up out of bed and carried him to his crib. I pat his head, put a blanket around his shoulders, and showed him that his favorite stuffed toy was in there with him. He whined a little, but two hours is two hours, and I went back to sleep.
Half an hour before dawn. I think he slept, but now he is really whining because he is awake and knows it's almost time to get up. I tell him to play with his toys, and I formulate a plan to grill my husband on exactly what crisis led to C leaving the crib in the first place. At this point it is not just me being a stickler for the wake-up time rule. I feel morning sickness threatening to rear its head if I even move, and I know that if I can sleep until my regular wake up time, it might reduce itself to a minor grumbling.
Half an hour later the morning sickness is gone and we get up for our regular eating routine, at which point my husband calls, and I'm trying really hard to be mad at him because I can't be mad at C and the only thing I did wrong was wait until 5am to put C back in his crib. But then my husband, perhaps sensing my annoyance, sings to me the ballad of how our wittle baby boy was crying, which in all fairness is different than whining, and his mommy wasn't here to comfort him so he clung to daddy and suckered him into being taken to the family bed. Daaaaaaw.
But still, no family bed for C! Maybe the next baby will wait longer before he or she starts poking us in the face. Like, 18 months. (Yeah, right.)
The other night I came home late from writers group, just in time for my husband to leave for nightshift. I don't usually come home late from anything because of the whole waking up at dawn thing my toddler does, but hey, there are friends there that I rarely get to see in any other capacity and I wrote a long scene that you might see as a #flashfriday post soon.
Anyway, when I walked in I saw that C had woken up and somehow, magically, ended up sleeping in our bed. For those of you who don't know, many families sleep with all the young children in the same bed as the parents. It's called a family bed, and I'm all for that because babies love to be near you and I've read some research that says it can help kids develop better sleeping patterns. We were happy to have a family bed until sometime after 12 months, when C had learned not only how to walk, but how to run, climb, and poke us in the face until we woke up in the middle of the night. In comparison, C now asks to get in his crib at bed time, falls asleep with nary a peep, and usually if he wakes up and doesn't actually need anything, he'll play with his stuffed animals until either he falls back asleep or the sun and I wake up.
I like sleeping, so when I saw the baby sleeping in the bed, I decided I would move him back once my husband went to work. The only problem with that plan was that my husband's alarm wasn't scheduled to go off for another 15 minutes, and I was tired. I lay down. I cuddled my baby and smiled to myself to hold him in my arms. Then C tried to turn 90 degrees and kicked me in the stomach.
That was ok. I would absolutely, positively move him back to the crib after my husband was done waking up and making noise getting ready for work. In the meantime, I rolled unto my stomach to protect my vital organs. After that, I remember my husband's alarm and all the bustle that accompanies it, but by then I was so comfortable, and C was so comfortable, and I hadn't been kicked recently.
Much later, I woke up to a poke. C was sitting up, poking my ribs and grinning widely. I told him to go to sleep, which is what I always do if he's playing in his crib. Poke. I try cuddling him again, but like a flopping fish figting for its life, he elbows me in the chest and sits up again. Poke. This time he giggles maniacly. I see that it's dark outside, but I think to myself that maybe it's close to his allowed wake-up time. After all, he didn't sleep well, or else he'd still be in his crib, right? So he should be tired. He should sleep in.
I check the time. Two hours before dawn. Poke. I might have grumbled some words that toddlers aren't supposed to hear as I got up out of bed and carried him to his crib. I pat his head, put a blanket around his shoulders, and showed him that his favorite stuffed toy was in there with him. He whined a little, but two hours is two hours, and I went back to sleep.
Half an hour before dawn. I think he slept, but now he is really whining because he is awake and knows it's almost time to get up. I tell him to play with his toys, and I formulate a plan to grill my husband on exactly what crisis led to C leaving the crib in the first place. At this point it is not just me being a stickler for the wake-up time rule. I feel morning sickness threatening to rear its head if I even move, and I know that if I can sleep until my regular wake up time, it might reduce itself to a minor grumbling.
Half an hour later the morning sickness is gone and we get up for our regular eating routine, at which point my husband calls, and I'm trying really hard to be mad at him because I can't be mad at C and the only thing I did wrong was wait until 5am to put C back in his crib. But then my husband, perhaps sensing my annoyance, sings to me the ballad of how our wittle baby boy was crying, which in all fairness is different than whining, and his mommy wasn't here to comfort him so he clung to daddy and suckered him into being taken to the family bed. Daaaaaaw.
But still, no family bed for C! Maybe the next baby will wait longer before he or she starts poking us in the face. Like, 18 months. (Yeah, right.)
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