Category Archives: Culture

The Kiss Is Here! Get Your Free Copy!

TheKiss_Cover_sm

The Kiss: thirty-one stories in a multitude of genres, each revolving around the idea of a kiss. I can’t decide which I like best. Ben Cassidy’s farcical fairy-tale kiss? JL Jarvis’ encounter with a hunky, out-of-time Highlander? Jason Deas’ wrenching tale of a returning Vietnam vet? Colleen Hoover’s depiction of family life for her first family, Layken and Will? Jess Mountifield’s sci-fi novella about a resourceful slave who longs for safety?

I could go on and on. But I’ll just give you the links. You can get the Kindle version on Amazon for $3.99, if you are so inclined. Or you can go the Smashwords and get The Kiss in a variety of formats for free. And if you are so inclined, feel free to report a lower price to Amazon, we’d love them to price match.

Whatever you do, be sure to read my story, Kiss No. 43, it’s my best short ever.

Gotta Brag! A Shot in the Bark is #1!

ShotKindle1-131121

Doing the happy dance here! I never thought I’d see #1 in the Free Kindle Store. Shot is free through Monday. If you don’t have your copy yet, click the cover in the sidebar to get yours.

BONUS: Shot is part of the whispersync program with Audible. If you own the Kindle edition, you can get the audio, with Jane Boyer’s wonderful narration, for $1.99. How cool is that?

Tempering Those Great Expectations

I was talking to Jessica today about everything I’ve been doing for the past week, preparing to launch Maximum Security – as I spoke, this familiar tide of excitement rose up in me along with visions resulting from the thought, “I could get a gazillion guests at my launch party, and . . . .”

And I squashed it. Like a cockroach.

Why? I’ve been doing this a long time. I’ve only been writing for 3 years, but I’ve been painting for 40, and put on countless art exhibitions. I’ve learned one thing: God rains down sudden abundance on people like Colleen Hoover mostly to test the faith and commitment of everyone else (Okay, maybe Colleen being really talented and nice and totally awesome and deserving had a little, teeny bit to do with it).

My progress comes in inches and any big leap is followed by a setback. I feel like I’m doing the Cha-Cha-Cha. This is typical. Jack Canfield, author of Chicken Soup for the Soul, talks about the many obstacles he had to overcome to get the book published (144 rejections? A gross of rejections? Sheesh!) and then get it noticed.

The excitement I was talking about is that lottery ticket moment, when they call out the numbers and the first one matches your ticket. Then number two matches. All of a sudden, all things become possible and you feel like you might burst.

Then the third number doesn’t match.

When I buy lottery tickets, I put them in my wallet and forget about them until the next week. When it’s time to buy a new ticket, I pull out the old one and let the machine scan it. That way the anticipation is minimized and the let down is miniscule.

I try to approach launches the same way. Do the best I can to promote the book and don’t think about the results. Today it snuck up on me. Why did I squash it? It’s fun to think about having a runaway best seller and having the Big Six duking it out over you, and movie rights, and, and . . . .

Save your fantasies for your books. Fantasizing about personal success is like a drug. It sets you up for a crash when things don’t play out the way you imagined, and it keeps you from appreciating the results you do get. And like any drug, you always want more.

I read something many years ago that always stuck with me. You know how Van Halen (remember them?) got their record contract? One day this record producer (I think it was a record producer. It was someone important, anyway) wandered into an almost empty bar. There was this band playing their hearts out like they were in front of 1,000 people instead of 3. He knew right then and there that they were the real deal and he had to have them.

Imagine if the band had been focused on how they wanted a big crowd? Then nobody shows up and they get bummed, and their playing shows it, and the VIP isn’t impressed and heads out the door, leaving a half-full beer on the bar. Instead, they had an attitude that was something like, “Hey, this is so cool because we’re musicians and we’ve got a stage and we get to play music,and we love playing music.”

What if someone told them someone who could make their careers was in the audience? Ever blow something because you were putting too much importance on it? Ever focus so hard on winning big that you couldn’t enjoy what you were doing or the success you did have?

Remember Sarah Hughes? She won the Olympic Gold Medal in women’s figure skating the first time she competed. I’ll never forget her. Her performance was amazing. Why? Because she entered that competition in fourth place and thought she didn’t have a skating rink’s chance in you-know-where to win against her idols. She later said she decided to just appreciate skating in the Olympic finals and enjoy herself. I don’t think she was more talented than the other skaters. The three world-class veterans ahead of her were too grimly focused on winning. It showed in their tense and mistake-riddled performances. Sarah focused on skating and radiated pure joy during a perfect performance.

Pretending success isn’t important isn’t a tactic to get the money men knocking on your door. If Van Halen didn’t get the contract, if Sarah Hughes hadn’t won a medal, they would have still enjoyed that moment for all it was worth. It doesn’t hurt that being relaxed and in the moment is likely to result in better performance, and a better performance is more likely to attract attention.

Enjoy what you’re doing. Do the work, but focus on the process and leave the results to come as they will.

New Dog Portrait Contest

Shadda is sad because she can't enter the portrait contest
Shadda is sad because she can’t enter the portrait contest

I’m still getting the occasional hit on my Cover Dog Photo Contest posts from last summer. Thought I would let you know, I’m running another portrait contest. This one is a raffle to celebrate the launch of Maximum Security later this month.

It’s part of my online launch party on Facebook, Wednesday, November 20, from 7pm – 11 pm, EST. Participate in party activities to rack up entries. There will be lots of other prizes as well, but the grand prize is an oil painting of your dog from photos that you supply to me. No purchase is necessary to earn entries.

Go to the Maximum Security Launch Party Page to RSVP, and while you’re there, get your first entry by suggesting a caption for the photo of Buddy, a little troublemaker caught in the act of eating Grandma’s Christmas present.

If you’d like to study up for the trivia questions, half of these are from this sample of Maximum Security.   The rest come from A Shot in the Bark and Drool Baby. Other activities do not require any special knowledge to participate.

Please feel free to invite anyone who likes dogs and mysteries – but then, who doesn’t?

Book Sample: “Maximum Security”

My Girl, Max
My Girl, Max

I’m really excited about Maximum Security. It’s going to be another month before it comes out (November 21, Yikes!) and I can’t stand it, so I’m posting the first 10% here. This dog park mystery features my very own Max (yes, that’s her, above) as an escape artist (she’s playing to type). If you want to go straight to the dogs, skip the prologue and go to “Day 1.”

To get the PDF, click here > Maximum Security Sample

I hope you love it!

Here’s another picture, just because.

Max is playing "Stick" while BFF Shadda (AKA "Viola") pretends she doesn't care.
Max is playing “Stick” while BFF Shadda (AKA “Viola”) pretends she doesn’t care.

Storm Front: Not Your F-ing Flowers

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I’m having a hard time as a reader these days. Part of it has to do with becoming an author, giving me less time to read for pleasure and making me choosier as well as more critical of the books I read. Part of it has to do with reading the same series authors since the 90s.

For many of them, their story-lines have become preposterous, or they’ve gotten lazy and they’re phoning it in. I can tell because I still reread the stories that made me fall in love with them. James Patterson has become the McDonalds of popular fiction, farming out a dozen novels every year to a variety of short-order writers.

I was thrilled when the library phoned to say Storm Front was in. Thank God. John Sandford is still a reliable great read. I was in the middle of listening to Rough Country on audio, but happy to set it aside for the new installment in the Virgil (that F-ing) Flowers series.

I usually avoid reading the inside flap on authors I like because I want to be surprised every step of the way. This time I was riding in the car with a friend when I picked it up, so I took a peek. Turns out, Virgil is in pursuit of an artifact with calamitous religious implications smuggled out of Israel. A DaVinci Code knockoff? Not your typical Flowers fare, but what the hey, it’s John Sandford.

So I cracked the spine and turned the pages and found: “I wrote this novel with help from my partner, Michele Cook . . .” and she’s a journalist and screenwriter who never wrote a novel before.

Uh-oh.

I tried, I really did. I made it to page 60, but then I had to stop. It’s not a bad book, exactly. The writing is competent. If this were a college student, I’d give it an A. Not because I wanted to, because they did what they were supposed to. But it lacks the heart that makes a great book live.

I’m sure many people will be perfectly happy with the book. It’s just that it’s not John Sandford, whose ball-scratching masculinity sweats from the pores of every word. Sandford put the “F-ing” in Flowers. This Virgil is a paper doll in comparison.

I’m sure the rest of the book is competent as well. It’s just that I feel like someone gave me tickets to see Elvis and I got Taylor Hicks in a white jumpsuit instead.

Perhaps it’s not fair of me to judge a book I won’t finish, but my time is valuable and so is yours. If you aren’t picky, and you aren’t a rabid Sandford fan, you will probably enjoy this book. But I don’t think Sandford did Cook any favors by putting his name on the cover and setting expectations so high.

You’ve been warned.

Pulling for Gravity

Angie bought the large popcorn. I don’t know why, she only ate a few handfuls. I plowed through most of the rest of it during the movie and gained a pound and a half. Gravity is made for nervous munching.

I was exhausted when the it was over. This is no feel good movie full of cinematic manipulations that leave you exhilarated. Instead, I felt like I had struggled each graceless, torturous minute along with Sandra Bullock. At the end, all I wanted to do was sleep for a week. Which is why I’m writing this morning instead of last night.

Gravity is a what-if based on little things that become astronomical in space. There is no war. Only a botched disposal of a satellite that ends in a chain reaction that sends shrapnel blowing by the Hubble telescope at 20,000 miles per hour. There is no enemy except the environment and one’s own fears.

I lived and died by inches while watching Bullock, a scientist barely-competent in space, cope with the worst scenario possible: what do you do if your spaceship is destroyed and you’re running low on oxygen? As Bullock faces her own imminent death and struggles with each tiny mishap, she also struggles with her own will to live. As spectators we are confronted with larger questions about life.

Tragedies destroy. They also build, through gritty persistence of the human spirit.

Sandra Bullock give the performance of her life in Gavity, far outstripping her Oscar winning turn in The Blind Side. Geroge Clooney is her superb counterpoint. Both of them are sure for Oscar nods, and I find it hard to believe that they won’t win. Despite the exotic background, it is acting that carries Gravity.

Production values are excellent and the special effects seamless and believable. The photography is stunning. Their excellence is that of a good servant, working efficiently and silently so as not to distract from the story.

Go see Gravity. And be sure to take lots of popcorn. You’re going to need it.

Grade: A+

The 3 Faces of Creativity: Are You a Dilettante, Artist or Craftsman?

BranchwithLichen

Have you ever defended your lack of sales by saying, “I’m an Artist“? You may be right.

Yesterday morning, a deluge trapped me in the picnic shelter at the dog park with one of the other hard-core regulars. In talking about the house he was looking for, “Dave” said his fiance “Sue” had lusted after an inner-city building with one floor converted into a gallery.

I didn’t know Sue was an artist. Dave explained that she had always been too critical of her work and wound up giving it away, trashing it or painting over it. Then she went to NYC a few years ago and was disgusted with the art in the Museums. “She said, ‘my stuff was way better than this,’ and she was right.”

I began reflecting on my own creative journey with various mediums, and how attitude affects our chances for real world success. I decided there were three types of creative people. Dilettantes, Artists, and Craftsmen (or Crafts-women, or Crafts-people, or just plain Crafters).

THE DILETTANTE
I like to sing. I used to hold concerts in my car during long solo drives. On two memorable occasions, I sang back-up with friends. I used to indulge in fantasies about being onstage, singing in front of thousands of screaming fans. In my head, I auditioned for Simon Cowell and blew him away (yeah, right). Today I make up funny songs to sing to my dogs. They have multiple verses and everything. I imagine it would be fun to make a record of doggie songs one day. Meanwhile, I only sing them for my four-footers.

Notice how I’ve never had lessons, never submitted my singing to scrutiny, never worked at it, and my main value in singing is fun. I don’t do it on a regular basis. I’m easily distracted from it and have no true commitment to it. I fantasize that I’m fabulous without doing anything to get that way.

When it comes to singing, I’m a dilettante. And that’s okay as long as you know that’s what you are. The problem comes in when someone deludes themselves into thinking they will actually accomplish something of value someday. It has nothing to do with talent, of which the dilettante may have much or little.

The dilettante may actually be talented in so many things that they can’t make up their mind what they want to do. They may be serial monogamists, taking on one passion after another and dropping them when it gets tough or boring, or they may be polygamists, doing so many things at once that they never get beyond amateur status with any of it.

Being a Dilettante has everything to do with attitude, which with the Dilettante is an unwillingness to commit to one thing; to work at their medium, evaluate it with a critical eye and stick with it despite obstacles.

WinterFlame

THE ARTIST
I’ve been an artist all my life. I knew I was going to be a painter when I was in grade school. I totally identified with being a painter. I sold my first painting at the age of fifteen and had my first art show when I was nineteen. I went to college to study art. While I was in grad school, I told one of the other TA’s, “If I only had enough money to either eat or buy art supplies, I would by the supplies because someone will always feed me, but they won’t necessarily buy me bronze.” (I was casting statuettes at the time). I was in the studio every day and wrapped my entire life around art.

The Artist has a voice that must express itself. Sometimes it feels like channeling, with unexpected results. Always, the work justifies itself and must manifest as it must be, according to the inner urging of the artist. They rail against limitations imposed on their creativity by outside sources, such as size requirements for submission to shows, or the necessity to work according to someone else’s deadline.

The Artist is usually compelled to share their work somewhere, somehow, and is willing to accept criticism. Despite the validity of the criticism, their inner voice is their god, and their work is more precious than life.

Nothing pissed me off more than someone else picking up a paintbrush and doing something to one of my pieces. I take that back. there is one thing. While I may occasionally destroy something as not good enough, you’d better not. It’s the one way guaranteed to end our relationship. Just ask my ex-husband.

The Artist constantly strives to transcend their limitations and conversely, may stop producing in a popular body of work because they “have nothing more to say” about that particular subject. The object serves as a vehicle for a higher purpose. They often define themselves as a “process person.” They literally get high off their work and if they go too long without being creative, they become depressed.

The Artist desires recognition and often deserves it, but usually rebels against the necessity of marketing and of compromising their work to suit the market place. They find it impossible to put a price tag on it. Artists are often offended that someone would buy a painting to have “something pretty that matches the sofa.” Discussing your decorating scheme with an Artist is likely to result in fisticuffs.

THE CRAFTSMAN
A Craftsman loves what they do, but they are able to balance their work with external realities and the market place. The things they create have a purpose, whether is it to hold their coffee, look pretty on someone’s neck or entertain. Their mantra is “form follows function” and they use external limitations, such as the size of a room or its color scheme (or genre norms such as page length and themes) as springboards for their creativity. Their pleasure comes from creating a fine thing that goes out into the world and serves its purpose.

While an Artist serves their work, the Craftsman’s work serves him/her. They understand that people only buy what they want, and if you want to sell to them, you need to provide what they’re willing to buy. They expect to profit from their work and budget their investment into each project accordingly. They know when their work is “good enough” and are willing to let it go out into the world without being absolutely perfect.

They have a professional attitude about selling the output of their creative impulses and dealing with the marketplace does not make them feel dirty. They understand the concept of branding and providing a consistent product. Business people find them easy to deal with and will choose to partner with them over more talented individuals for that reason.

Craftsmen also have the healthiest response to criticism. Their assessment of their abilities is realistic and they do not identify with their work the way the Artist does. Like anyone else, they may get nervous when they put their creative efforts out before the public, but it’s not their guts hanging on display.

Most of the successful artists in the high art world have at least some Craftsman in them. It’s a dirty little secret, but the people who sell art rarely have the patience to deal with a total Artist, such as DeKooning or Van Gogh (or more recently, Basquiat). It’s their gallery and they like being the temperamental ones. The danger with the Craftsman type is that of capitalizing on one’s popularity to the point of turning out cookie-cutter creations to satisfy the market.

When it comes to my writing, I’m a craftsman. I enjoy it, but I don’t feel driven by it they way I have been driven by painting. It’s a job to me. The very best of jobs, but still a job.

Each of these types has their place and their value. The Dilettante is playful and willing to try new things. They learn from each of their creative flirtations and may be able to apply what they learn when they settle on a direction, giving them a very rich perspective. The Artist is passionately committed and unwilling to settle for mediocrity. The Craftsman is a realist and is able to manage their creative life so it supports him/her, rather than the other way around.

These three aspects of creativity function best when they are combined in one person. If you’re feeling a bit lopsided, try on a different style for a while.

BluffMountain

How to Be a Better Beta Reader

Beta-2A

“Tell me, honestly, do these pants make me look fat?”

How many times have you wanted to answer that question with a resounding “YES! THEY HAVE ‘HINDENBURG’ WRITTEN ACROSS THE ASS! IN NEON!”

We don’t ever say it. Not if we want to keep our friends and loved ones. Our jobs. Peace with the neighbors. Tell the truth and you will be shunned. The closest we can come is a very tactful, “That’s not your best look. I like (fill in the blank) on you so much better.”

But that’s exactly what I want, need, prize in a beta reader.

What exactly is a beta reader you ask? Only the most important support person in that village it takes to get an indie book published. Indie authors cultivate a group of beta readers. These are the first people who see a manuscript, often at a point in development where it is nearly finished but not totally polished. They serve as a consumer focus group to give feedback about a book before it is published.

This is critically important to indie writer/publishers. Traditional publishing houses suffer from a huge deficit. They have a long food chain to support and they have to nurture projects that they know will sell. This results in slick, cookie-cutter books by big name authors that often play to the lowest common denominator, at the direction of their editors.

An indie author/publisher has a food chain of 1. He/she may farm out aspects of the publishing process, or an indie author may do it all themselves, editing, proof-reading, cover design and formatting. There is one thing an indie author cannot do. An indie author cannot experience their book the way a reader will.

One nifty thing about being an indie author is being able to take risks. Be different. Pursue a niche category. I don’t have to convince an editor that my book will sell. I only have to please myself and my readers. I value the beta readers who give me feedback on my books because they help me do a better job of serving my audience.

It’s hard to find good beta readers. Why? Social conditioning. The fear of hurting someone’s feelings, of offending, of damaging a relationship. So often a newbie beta reader will respond with some typo corrections and a vague “I liked it, it was good.”

Beta-1

While we really, really want you to love it, that response is always vaguely unsatisfying. I know I’m not perfect. I want to be better. In order to be better I need your raw, unfiltered, unvarnished response (okay, you can use a little tact and I won’t mind). I’ll pull on my big girl panties when I review your feedback and take care of my own ego.

My favorite beta reader once decided I was using a certain word too many times. She began numbering the instances in red pen, with the numbers getting larger with each instance. She added exclamation marks, first one, then two, then three. She circled and underlined. It let me know how annoying it was. I cut most of them out and we are still valued friends.

My usual method of working with a local beta reader is to supply them with a paper copy of the manuscript. If they don’t have a red pen, I will supply one. My fondest wish is that the reader use the red pen to scribble commentary as they go along.

I supply computer files for remote readers. In the best of all instances, they have full Word functionality on their device so they can add comments as they go along and return it to me with the comments included. Otherwise, they just take notes and send those back.

Go ahead, scrawl “BORING” right across that four page info dump. Lose track of who’s talking in a conversation? Let me know. Like something? You can put little hearts on it, I won’t mind. Did I put the bullet in his left arm in chapter 3 and bandage the bullet hole on the right arm in chapter 4? Point that out. If I say Lia rode west, into the sunrise, for heaven’s sake, correct me!

Beta-2B

Does it drag? I really, really want to know that. If it drags for you, it’ll drag for other people, too, and they won’t bother to finish the book.

I know it’s hard. It’s like telling someone their fly is down. If your fly was down, and you were about to enter a room full of people, wouldn’t you want to know?

Some Hints:

1. Be a good match. Only beta books in genres and styles you like. I stopped using one beta reader because she kept pointing me at John Grisham, her favorite writer. I am very lukewarm about John Grisham and I absolutely don’t want to be him!

2. Be yourself. Don’t try to give me the “correct” response. Give me yours. I want to now what did and didn’t work for you.

3. Read for pleasure. Make comments when you notice something, but don’t feel like you have to comment on everything.

4. Don’t rewrite my book for me. That’s my job. Stick with feedback. “Too gory” “more mushy stuff,” (or “too mushy” “more gore”).

5. We want you to be totally immersed in the world we’ve created. If anything catches your attention and jars you out of that world, point it out. It could be an obvious error, weird word usage, an overwrought metaphor or something else.

6. Don’t assume I meant to do something. When I first wrote Drool Baby, I wasn’t sure if I was going to stick with the mystery format or go for a thriller format that revealed the killer early in the book. After I decided to stick with the mystery format, I failed to erase all instances of my murderers name. None of my betas mentioned it. It was published with the killer revealed a good sixty pages before the final confrontation. (It was corrected soon after, thankfully)

7. If you happen to catch a typo, sure, go ahead and mark it, but don’t search for them. I’d rather you were in the flow of the book instead. I’ve got someone else who proofreads. It’s a different mindset.

8. I may agree with you or I may not. Your opinion still provides valuable information to me.

Authors – Do you have any tips/hints for beta readers you’d like to add?

Mud in Your Eye

Mud is the one movie I wanted to see this spring, and of course I missed it. Which is why this review is several months too late.

Fourteen year-old Ellis is a romantic in a hard-scrabble life that offers him none. He lives on a houseboat on a river in Arkansas, his family supported by the the fish his father catches, that he and Ellis sell in town. When we meet Ellis, the impending breakup of his parent’s marriage threatens his way of life.

Ellis is not concerned. While pursuing his first kiss, Ellis and his friend, Neckbone, stumble across a fugitive (Mud) who needs their help. Like Pip in Great Expectations, Ellis obliges. With the reluctant assistance of Neckbone, he staves off disillusionment by devoting himself to Mud’s reunion with the love of his life.

Director Jeff Nichols is understated and matter-of-fact in the way he portrays a small town that prosperity has passed by. He neither ennobles nor dramatizes the lower-class denizens, humanizing them as people pursuing life the best they can and allowing the story to shine through. He errs in creating a tone that is suitable for a Disney adventure, presumably to assure a family friendly offering. Mud is an engaging film. With a little more grit, it would be compelling.

Tye Sheridan as Ellis is a heart-felt knight errant and Jacob Lofland is utterly convincing as Ellis’s loyal and pragmatic follower, Neckbone. I would not be surprised to see both Lofland and Ray McKinnon (as Ellis’s Father) receive Oscar nods for supporting actor.

Sam Shepard is a bit too affable for a man who has never spoken to his neighbors. This I lay on Nichol’s direction. Shepard has been brilliant in the past as tough, lonely men. He could have easily shined here. As it is, we are more afraid of Ellis’s taciturn dad than we are of the hermit marine sniper or the fugitive.

Matthew McConaughey is competent playing himself. The rough, uneducated, river rat poetry of Mud’s dialogue is lost in McConaughey’s slick elocution. We would better understand Juniper’s dilemma if we could see Mud as he was surely intended: a simple man who thinks no more than three days ahead, and whose whole life’s ambition is to serve his love for Juniper. (I would have picked Christian Bale for this role)

Reece Witherspoon’s is spot-on as the beguiling and troubled Juniper, for whom Mud’s love is not quite enough enough even while she refuses to let it go. Her small part carries the heavy weight of convincing us that a man would ruin his life over her. Without this conviction, Mud’s dedication would be merely pathetic.

Ellis is navigating troubled waters in this coming of age story, in which no adult has a happy relationship. The real question is, who is going to grow up?

I give it a nice, solid “B”