Reasons to write

You want to write the Great American Novel? Good for you, because I don't. I just want to tell my stories. It's nice to get them published, but, truth be told, I'd write even if they didn't. And if you're a writer, you know what I'm talking about. It's what you have to do. Something happens when you get published, though. You start to compare yourself with other authors. You worry that others sell more than you, are more popular than you. Goodness knows I have. You look at Facebook posts and you think "Why don't I have a fan base like that?" And then you sit yourself down and take stock. Reasons you don't write: To be the next J.K. Rowling. If you're hoping for this, good luck to you. For money. Which, if you do become the next J.K., you'll get. Otherwise, you'll be like the rest of us, and get a little. Which is nice. I like that little. It could always be more, but I'm happy with anything. To win everyone's love. Forget it. It's the Internet age. There are haters out there, and you're going to hear from them if you put yourself out there. The real reason to write (and don't forget it): the people, whether it's 6 or 600 or 6000, who read your stuff and like it. They're the reason to write. Yeah, not everyone's going to love your stuff, but those that do...cherish them. Write for them. They're your audience. They're your reason for being.

Vote Robbie!

I was very pleased to see that Robbie from The Scarlet Tide has been nominated as Best Secondary character in a reader's poll. Normally, I'd just say "How nice" and let it go at that. I don't feel comfortable asking people to vote for me or a character I've created, so I tend to just let these things go. This time, though, I'd like to see Robbie at least advance to the next level. If any of you have read the Duncan Andrews series, you know that Robbie's gone through a hell of a lot, and I'd like to see him get some recognition. I get a lot of people (well, a few...let me dream!) telling me they love Robbie. I do, too. He's a sweetie. So, if you feel inclined, go to the SidLove site and vote Robbie as best secondary character. He'll be glad you did. http://sidlove.com/2014/02/01/readers-appreciation-awards-voting-polls-eliminations-part-4/

Reviews, rambling, and characters that won't go away

I chanced upon a very nice review for The Scarlet Tide last night, from Nina at Gay List Book Reviews. I was kind of busy at the time, but everything had to stop while I read it. And read it again. Authors are strange creatures, and every now and then we need to have our egos stroked. Like anyone, we need encouragement. Yes, we get the negative comments as well and learn to live with them (in a fashion) but we're human. And when you read something nice about one of your works, it does give you a lift. Sometimes, though, you have to say "Really?" Recently a young woman said that Pale As a Ghost was her favorite book. My first reaction was "How nice!" My second was a "Really?" I mean, really? Favorite? Of all time? What the hell else has she read, if anything? Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered. But favorite of all time? Surely an exaggeration. Hell, I wrote it and it's not my favorite of all time! But it's lovely that those characters seem to have some fans. I've sent the 4th book in the Duncan Andrews series to the publisher, and it was to have been the last of Duncan and crew. If it gets published and you read it, you'll see why. It wraps everything up nice and neat. So what else would there be in Duncan's tale? But sometimes the people you create have other ideas. A scene came into my tiny little mind last night and I thought, "Wow. That's got to go into a book." Just when I think I'm done with Duncan, Robbie, and crew, they creep back into my consciousness....

Haven't blogged lately because I've been super busy. So a quick update. THE Scarlet Tide came out Friday and so far people seem to like it. I've just about hit the halfway point in book 4, called Dead End. Thursday I'll be at Lake Villa Library talking about Ghosts of Northern Illinois. And Matt is planning something for my birthday. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Rat Bastard

Well, the contract is all signed and sent and it's official...there will be a sequel to Pop Goes the Weasel! Yes, Patrick Carrington Weasley, better known as Weasel, will return around March in a little volume entitled Rat Bastard. This time around, Weasel has to not only deal with his stepfather, who hates his guts, but also with a new job. The job is at a country Inn that does little business, so it's right up Weasel's alley, as he can read mysteries most of the day. If only the local deputy sheriff didn't think Weasel was the arsonist that's been setting fires right and left. The job also takes away time that Weasel could spend with his boyfriend, Tony, but money has to come first. Other problems: Tony's ex-boyfriend wants to beat the crap out of Weasel. And there's still Cicely Talbot, who has decided she wants to marry Weasel even if he is gay. So when Weasel isn't dodging his stepfather, Cicely, and Tony's ex or pretending to be the legendary ghost in the area, he's trying to convince the local law that he's not a firebug...which would be easier if he didn't seem to keep setting things on fire.

Looks a bit like Weasel...or maybe vice versa.

Beware! Deflating ego ahead!

I was thinking about this anyway, but reading S.H. Allen's marvelous story Reboot in the Dreamspinner Press anthology Cuddling really made me ponder about writers and their egos (mine included). In my opinion, you have to have a pretty good ego to put a story out there and have people either love it or hate it. All "artists" have big egos. Joan Baez once said something about a person who gets up on a stage has a bigger ego than the person sitting and watching. Now, I agree with that...to a point. Big egos, yes...but very, very fragile ones. In Allen's story, a rock singer is enraged when a friend says that rockers don't really have to be able to sing well. The singer, Flynn, reacts in a very real manner. Rather than calmly explaining that the friend's supposition is full of shit, he throws a temper tantrum. Big ego, but prick it and WHOOSH! It's gone. What follows is in parts childish sulking and a "I'll show them!" attitude that is understandable but painful to read about. Writers don't get the instant gratification of applause that stage performers get. We get reviews, reader comments on Goodreads, and maybe, if we're lucky, someone will send us an email or post a comment on Facebook or something similar. And the nice comments make us all warm and fuzzy inside. The snarky comments on Goodreads get to some authors. We've all seen the Facebook posts. Some reader gives their book one star and they're ready to kick the cat, slit their wrists, and immerse their computer in a vat of acid. And let's face it--that's just the reaction the reader wanted. They say (whoever they are) that you should pay just as much attention to the negative comments as the good one so that you can grow and learn. Great advice...but I've never seen ANY constructive criticism on Goodreads. It's always "This book sucks!" or they seem to have expected something else, despite the blurb telling them what the book was about, and decide to take it out on the writer. I've been there. I've been plunged into depression due to a snarky comment on Goodreads. Why? Do I really expect everyone to like what I write? Of course not. Especially as I write humor. You either think it's funny or you don't. Gotta expect that. So, why do I get upset? Ego. Big fat ego. But then someone else says how much they loved the book, and I'm back to "Yeah! I'm good! Take that, world!" I'm such an ass. Another writer said, "You read what readers think about your stuff? That's the literary equivalent of cutting yourself!" Oh, so true. But I can't stop. But it doesn't bother me much any more. Some even make me laugh. Like the one that began, "I admit it. I read this shit..." Don't hold back, honey! Tell us how you really feel! Where am I going with this? Hell if I know. I'm a happy, jovial type. Love people, love the world. But if you come around my ego with a sharp pin, ready to deflate it, just watch out. I fall to pieces so fast that people get hit by the shrapnel. (The above joke about shrapnel was stolen from the brilliant Douglas Adams.)