Phobia noun pho∙bia \ foe-bee-a

Actually, I’m okay with bees but those wasps, yellow jackets, mud daubers—whatever they’re called—freak me out.

Speaking of fears, take Steven King—but don’t keep him—that guy writes horrors few humans can possibly survive, let alone think of: Carrie, The Secret Window, The Shining...

Now that I think about it, I have an irrational fear of science fiction writers too. What if I sit by such a warped genius in say, an airplane? Yikes! (Yes, Ken. I know you write sci-fi.)

Why in the world is that movie, The Time Machine so popular? Bad movies, a whole different level of anxiety.

What about those people who write literary fiction and those who are professional poets? How in the world can I face them, let alone actually engage in a conversation?  Smile, nod, “Beautiful,” repeat. Smile, nod, “Beautiful,” will certainly show my lack of knowledge of the genre. Never mind the obvious inexperience with a thesaurus.

Two crows, Pete and Repeat were sitting on a fence. Pete fell off, who was left? Consequently my phobia of bad jokes.

Then there’s—Holy eight legs, Batman!  That’s a huge…found a big boot to stomp it, but lost track of the hairy, speedy little devil.

Now, where was I?

Then there are snakes. As a child, I loved being around gardener snakes here in Colorado. No lie. Then one day, deep in the Ozarks as friends and I sat on a river bank a long, thin thing rapidly sashayed across the water, showing off the inside of its mouth. My so-called friends ran off and left me captive in the life-threatening situation. That cottonmouth snake pretty much did in my love of reptiles.

Oh sure, then there’s the fear of failure. Fear of success. What?

What happens if I write and sell a good book? Good books? (Success and self-defeating behavior often travel side by side, at least in my world.)

Having actually finished THREE manuscripts, stories, possible books, future fame and fortune endeavors, I then thought about edits and rewrites followed by my critique group. (Insert uncanny music.)

Abruptly, I rediscovered false safety also known as putting off today what can wait until tomorrow, trepidation, apprehension…. My mind immediately puts out an SOS to my body in such situations.

What the…?

Dang spider. Where’d I put the boot? Hairy thing is fast.

Which brings me to thinking about that carnival ride, the spider? Octopus? Yuck.

Moving on. But now I can’t get roller-coasters off the brain. Oh, gee whiz…s l o w l y going up that big hill…DOWN! The stinking bar that’s supposed to keep me in sure feels loose. Crap, more height. A loop, who the, what the, WHY incorporate that in a ride? A loop. I don’t want to be sick in public.

Great! There’s one stall available in the women’s bathroom. An OUT OF ORDER sign is duct-taped across the seat. And there’s no TP.

So, returning to the fear of failure, the fear of success thing. When my mind puts out an SOS to my body regarding such situations, I am entangled in the fear that I’ll never eat chocolate again. I don’t know the correlation between the two, but I rush to the store:

Candles and Diet Pepsi are optional

Now I have to worry about a diet again. If…dang spider. Where’d it go now? Oh, my head itches.

Harry has escaped repeated efforts of photos and the bottom of my boot again.

 

 

The Drive-in Movies

There I was at Sam’s Club on 52nd near Wadsworth yesterday and that’s when the memory surfaced. This is where the drive-in used to be. (One of those places where families, friends and dating couples went to watch movies on a humongous screen while sitting in their car, one speaker hanging on a window.)

Ahhhh…

After our parents found the best in-the-middle-of-the-dirt-lot-parking-place, where we experienced the first surround sound system ever, (one speaker per car x 100+/- cars), us kids trotted to the playground in front of the gigantic screen. We played as far into the darkness as possible, until horns beeped, demanding children return to their respective car.
After the first seconds into the cartoon just about every mom, trailed by kids, walked for what seemed like miles to potty. Often the trip was on false pretenses because some kids just wanted to see the vast variety of available treats.

A friend of mine and her four sisters seemed to always walk in front of our car on their way to the restroom/refreshment bar and disrupted my concentration of Woody Woodpecker—until that night. They never showed.

Worried until I saw my friend at school the next day, she explained her mom was never taking anybody to the bathroom again, at least at the drive-in. If anyone in their family had to go, the only container available was an empty coffee can (in or behind the car) or the dirt parking lot because her mom was tired of missing over half of most movies.
Oh, the horror!

At age 16, the same friend and I enjoyed our first trip alone to the drive-in movie theatre. However, we missed the movie because of the romantic antics of the couple in the car in front of us.
The next thing I recalled was my friends and me were short of money for the drive-in, so we pooled our finances. Still short on funds, I volunteered to hide in the trunk of the car just until the driver found a place to park. That lasted about thirty seconds. I pounded and kicked and yelled to be let out. The attendant who took our money, (sort of like a person at a toll road booth), ran to the car and demanded the trunk be open. We were kicked out and told never to return.

However, at the prime age of almost 18, a (new) friend and I arrived at the same drive-in, in style—I drove a 1968 GTO with Hurst automatic racing gears. Oh yeah. We pulled next to the speaker pole—but too far from in front, and then I reversed—too far back. That’s when my car died. Not to worry, remember every car had a speaker. Besides, the show was Mel Brooks’ Silent Movie. You remember the one. Only the mime spoke.

To quote Skipper, the head penguin from the Madagascar gang, “Kowalski, analysis?”

You gotta love irony.

Oh #Murphy! Thank Goodness for #Erma.

I’m usually a “the glass is half full” kind of a gal. However, I finally washed my car, (inside and outside), and then I waxed my Buddy.  Buddy is just past five years old. He’s blue with a high ground clearance for vehicles in his class.

Oh, hail! The frozen balls crashed into him without warning. What the…?  The apocalypse? Why not before I washed and waxed him? (I now endearingly refer to Buddy as, Dimples.)

 

Buddy takes a direct hit.

 

 

 

Yeah, we were all surprised.

 

 

Next, my cousin stopped by to show me the damage on her car. Wow. Looked like the metal had been ripped by ammunition—big bullets.  Of course, standing right next to me, she then informed me of her current health status. “I’ve got the worse flu I’ve had in years. Really stirring the outhouse, (elbow jab) if you know what I mean.” Then she sneezed—unexpectedly like the arrival of the hail. “Worry not. You shouldn’t get sick.”

(I realize people all over the Denver Metro area had far worse damage to their homes, themselves, their vehicles and pets than my family. I am truly sorry for the disheartening and frustrating events and hope you find a bit of humor to help you cope.)

~*~

 

Really needing new, professional clothing, I hesitate to go shopping. One pair of pants says I’m one size, another pair=another size and so on.

 

 

 

~*~

Back in the old days—before internet and cell phones—a friend and I went to San Francisco for the day. He didn’t know tickets had to be purchased weeks in advance for a tour of Alcatraz. Foiled, we decided to be happy and get our picture taken on a beach; the setting sun was to our backs. The person we asked to photograph us took off with the camera. A few jogs away the would-be thief thrust my camera into the sand. No film. Well, irony and happy endings are in the eye of the beholder.

~*~

My sister-on-laws first roses of the year bloomed on Sunday.

~*~

 

 

I can’t imagine how the architect and construction crews felt when building the Bell Tower of Pisa. The construction was not only interrupted by a war, but the building had a definite lean to it. Still does. On the bright side, built in 1173 the edifice still stands.

 

 

~*~

 

Honestly, I’m a little reluctant to visit the Eiffel Tower. What if the elevator gets stuck?  On the other hand, what if the lift doesn’t work at all? There’d be fewer tourists. Besides, after that long flight and being at sea level, the stairs shouldn’t be that difficult….

 

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Colorado native, Rainey, (writing as L. Treloar), has been a RMFW member since 2012 (or so), and is happy to belong to one of the best critique groups ever: The 93rd Street Irregulars. She has self-published The Frozen Moose, is currently re-editing the first manuscript in a political thriller series, and has entered two contests with her 2016 NaNoWriMo Historical Fiction novella. In her spare time, she enjoys organizing anything from closets, to military family retreats, to rodeos and parades. Along with teaching her cat to retrieve, she volunteers at church and The Horse Protection League. With an Associate degree in Applied Science/Land Surveying, she learned she far prefers words over math.

*The Frozen Moose, a short story is available on Barnes and Noble in e-book.

#April … by Rainey Hall

http://clipartall.com/img/clipart-6324.html

One year ago, I declared April 11, 2017 as “Write Any Way You Want and Forget about Bridging Paragraphs Day” aka “Babbling is Okay.”

March madness is over, the green jacket has been given away, sunlight before 8AM; Autism Awareness Day, Earth Day, Professional Administrator's Day, Passover, and of course after-Easter chocolate sales. No fooling, April is quite the month—which naturally brings me to rabbits.

Contrary to what many believe, rabbits do not lay eggs, they deliver them. Honest.

Have you ever seen the movies Hoodwinked or Wallace and Gromit? They’re good mysteries for children. However, both films portray bunnies as being very, very, very bad. The screenwriters totally thought big and out of the box.

One Easter, my dad brought home a huge cardboard box. In one corner hidden beneath brown and green grass lay a gift for us kids—a baby bunny. Turned out that rabbit was magic! No, she didn’t pull herself out of a hat. Somehow she turned into what, seven bunnies, and then twelve, and then… Hey, rabbits taught me practical math. Think about it.

Turns out Easter isn’t a hot item in fiction, but the books that mention the holiday have all done well. For instance the Nebula Award-nominated Black Easter by James Blish, or The Red and The Green by Iris Murdoch. The Easter Parade by Richard Yates is said to be one of his finest works. The Country Bunny was written in 1939 and to my knowledge, has never been out of print.

If a classic movie tickles your fancy, Irving Berlin’s Easter Parade, (comedy/romance/musical), originally released in 1940 is still a go-to film.

April is a popular vacation month too. My cousin’s kid and her family just took off for Hawaii. I volunteered to chicken sit for Silver, Penny, Anna, Scarlett and Gwenelsa. Either Gwen or Elsa died, but since they looked so similar nobody knew which was which so the names were combined to remember the innocent. Haunter, their cat—yeah, I’m a little intimidated by the name too—stays hidden in the pajama drawer. Worry not, she must be alive—well at least something is eating her food.

Many attention-worthy events happened this month in history like the birth of Maya Angelo, the blind and impoverished John Milton is said to have sold the copyright of Paradise Lost in 1667, and in 1992 Betty Boothroyd became the first woman to be elected Speaker of the British House of Commons in its 700-year history.

Which brings me to this month’s lesson, a quote by William James: “Let everything you do be done as if it makes a difference.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Colorado native, Rainey, (writing as L. Treloar), has been a RMFW member since 2012 (or so), and is happy to belong to one of the best critique groups ever: The 93rd Street Irregulars. She has self-published The Frozen Moose, is currently re-editing the first manuscript in a political thriller series, and has entered two contests with her 2016 NaNoWriMo Historical Fiction novella. In her spare time, she enjoys organizing anything from closets, to military family retreats, to rodeos and parades. Along with teaching her cat to retrieve, she volunteers at church and The Horse Protection League. With an Associate degree in Applied Science/Land Surveying, she learned she far prefers words over math.

*The Frozen Moose, a short story is available on Barnes and Noble in e-book.

Green … by Rainey Hall

In kindergarten, my teacher read the class Dr. Seuss’ Green Eggs and Ham. She then treated all of us to—you got it—ham, scrambled green eggs, fried green potatoes, green milk and green biscuits. Ah, those were the days.

That night after regurgitating green stuff, I swore off eating, touching and smelling anything that resembled mold. Ten years later, hunger summoned the courage to ingest green beans, lettuce and fresh peas.

Can you believe green-colored food and drink showed up again during my teen years? Do you know some people actually drink green beer? No. No, I don’t touch the stuff, green or otherwise. I’ve come to the conclusion people ingesting said color of beer must have had the same kindergarten teacher as me.

Here’s another thing about green: summer meadows with rainbows. I was actually at the end of a rainbow. No gold. No leprechauns. My big brothers finally noticed my disappointment and eagerly encouraged me to investigate the opposite end of the bow because, “You’re at the wrong end.” Bums! Foiled again by siblings, I learned two ends do not a pot of gold make.

Maybe that’s when I began writing as a form of therapy? But I digress.

Anyway, I was lucky enough to have been pinched only once when I accidentally-on purpose forgot to wear green to school on a bleak March 17th. Sort of an experiment gone haywire. Who made up that little gem of a game? With that one and only pinch and accompanying bruises, I promised myself, all my stuffed animals, and the family dog, Zipper, to wear green every day of the year. Since that day, I have never utilized pliers or wire cutters, or eaten crab and lobster. Of course being within close proximity of a Doberman is out of the question too. I can guess the capabilities of those K-9s.

Was Saint Patrick even Irish? Did he ever wear green clothing?

Corned beef and cabbage? At the risk of sounding like a spoiled American, are you kidding? I’ll stick with grass fed beef and carrots—both dishes lacking green. Speaking of cabbage, my grandmother used to make sauerkraut in the basement, (around the same time I was pinched, discovered the truth about rainbows and learned how the Grinch stole Christmas.) Amazing I can smell anything now, let alone eat Brussels sprouts.

Okay, here’s the point: how about a new March holiday like “Don’t Fly a Kite Because the Wind Will Rip It to Shreds Day”, or “Take Time to Smell the Celestial Blooms of Spring Hyacinths Day”, or “Irish Soldiers in the Civil War Day”, or “Irish Soda Bread—even though it may not have originated in Ireland—Day”, or “The Best Irish Authors of the 20th Century Day”. I’ve got a million suggestions.

Here’s to just a few (20th century) Irish authors—get it out of your mind—I have never been green with envy over, but have admired and enjoyed the wonderfully varied talents of:

Oscar Wilde

Bram Stoker

CS Lewis

Anne Enright

Jonathan Swift

If you have the opportunity, please visit irishtimes.com and check out an article written in ‘The Guardian’ by Justine Jordan on Irish authors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Colorado native, Rainey, (writing as L. Treloar), has been a RMFW member since 2012 (or so), and is happy to belong to one of the best critique groups ever: The 93rd Street Irregulars. She has self-published The Frozen Moose, is currently re-editing the first manuscript in a political thriller series, and has entered two contests with her 2016 NaNoWriMo Historical Fiction novella. In her spare time, she enjoys organizing anything from closets, to military family retreats, to rodeos and parades. Along with teaching her cat to retrieve, she volunteers at church and The Horse Protection League. With an Associate degree in Applied Science/Land Surveying, she learned she far prefers words over math.

*The Frozen Moose, a short story is available on Barnes and Noble in e-book.

All you need is #love … by Rainey Hall

All you need is #love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.
Charles Schulz

How exciting. That time of year where I buy my own chocolate, and one exotic looking flower.

However, unlike my cousin who fancies a direct line to 1-800-SEXPERT, I am truly in love with a real man.

The MOST important definitions of romantic:

adjective

• stressing or appealing to the emotions or imagination

noun

someone who is not realistic or practical (ouch)
• a writer, musician, or artist…

I guess I’ve known my guy for almost 20 years now. We were introduced by a mutual friend.

But alas, he doesn’t really exist.

Estoy en amor con un hombre que no existe. Je suis en amour avec un homme qui n’existe pas. Jag är kär i en man som inte finns. No matter which syllable the accent is on, nothing changes.

Who is this tall, strong, stranger?

#Ranger. He’s “walking sex,” wears the best smelling cologne, great with electronics, and rich enough to buy Stephanie Plum a new car all the time. And yes, he’s concerned about Rex, Stephanie’s hamster becoming an orphan. Long live sensitivity! Plus, I always fall for a man in a uniform, even if said uniform consists of 1) a taut T-shirt worn over well-developed bicep and pec muscles, 2) black PDU (patrol duty uniform), and 3) guns. Real guns.

Oh sure, there’s Morelli and well, you know what they say about Italians. The down side to Morelli? His grandma is always giving people “the eye.” Frightening enough that I opt out on choosing him to love.

Anyway, thank you, Janet #Evanovich for the 23 fun reads in the #StephaniePlum series although you leave me with mere memories and rereads of Ranger.

Yeah, you figured right. I’ve moved on to other men.

Jack #Reacher. Even though he has no uniform, he used to wear one. Besides, Reacher can tell time without a watch or clock, lives by intuition and isn’t in a contest for the most materialistic possessions one man can collect. He’s a man’s man. And a woman’s man. My man.

Gabriel #Oak. I thought my imagination outdid itself when I read Hardy’s 1874 classic, Far from the Madding Crowd. Then I saw the 2015 movie version. BE. STILL. MY. HEART. Those eyes! That face! That voice! That honesty and humor. That…that manly, outdoorsy, confident way about him. Sheesh!

(Excuse me, I need to taste a pound or two of chocolate and get some fresh air, but mostly cool air. Or cold.)

Hey, sex sells.

Moving on...

Oh, the sensuous tension that writers like Diana #Gabaldon (thanks Judith) creates. OOOO!

Since Ranger and Gabriel are reruns now, I’ve decided to invent yet another gentleman. My own guy. But to do so, I plan on attending the Colorado Gold Conference (September 8-10, 2017) to learn a thing or two from Diana!

Come on, pleeeeease share the names on your list of fictional hotties.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Colorado native, Rainey, (writing as L. Treloar), has been a RMFW member since 2012 (or so), and is happy to belong to one of the best critique groups ever: The 93rd Street Irregulars. She has self-published The Frozen Moose, is currently re-editing the first manuscript in a political thriller series, and has entered two contests with her 2016 NaNoWriMo Historical Fiction novella. In her spare time, she enjoys organizing anything from closets, to military family retreats, to rodeos and parades. Along with teaching her cat to retrieve, she volunteers at church and The Horse Protection League. With an Associate degree in Applied Science/Land Surveying, she learned she far prefers words over math.

*The Frozen Moose, a short story is available on Barnes and Noble in e-book.

A special thanks to #LindaHoward wherever you are. I hope all your designs were built.

Give Your Characters a Sense of #Humor … by Rainey Hall

Just like a well-delivered one-liner, writers must have great timing and dynamics when their characters produce a sentence—or word—meant to be funny.

timing

noun
the ability to select the precise moment for doing something for optimum effect

Don’t forget—to show your character’s sense of humor—readers need to know the character’s usual personality, and/or the situation, that to most people, is serious.

In the following excerpts from my attempt at historical fiction, readers can see and feel the seriousness of the situation: (Please note, the passive voice is supposed to be passive.)

Today is the 23rd of October, 1861. My daughter and I are standing inside our home waiting for the preacher and his missus to arrive in their carriage to take us to the cemetery. Through the window, I study clouds surrounding the mountains, both which are practically a step away. The clouds seem as sorcerers brewing a storm, the first of the season. Several yellow and orange leaves cling to branches of aspen trees as if begging nature to stay the arctic frost, and let them live if for only one day more.

Then readers learn more about our protagonist and what is normal for her:

“She’s going to San Francisco,” I tell the elderly woman. (on the train) “Will you help her? Please?” I have never begged for anything, but as I kneel between my daughter and the woman, I clasp my hands together, searching the old woman’s eyes. The feeling, the situation is so very odd.

The set up:

Some moments later, I realize I am sitting on the ground. If more of my tears were to fall, they would practically create their own puddle.

The joke and in this case, the lesson:

A miner and his wife, new to the area…help me to my feet…Then he steps backward into a fairly fresh pile of horse manure. His wife holds her handkerchief over her nose. And then she giggles, almost unperceptively. Trying to hide his laughter, the miner snorts, steps out of the pile, and then wipes his boots in the dirt. He and his wife are now laughing quite loudly because, instead of cleaning his boots, the dry dirt only sticks to them, making an even bigger mess.

…I cannot help but chuckle. …But then laughter leaves my mouth before I can stop it. Perhaps I should be ashamed, but the moment reminds me what is the best medicine.

Okay, maybe you’re not busting a gut over this, but when the miner steps into manure and creates a bigger mess, all three characters laugh—allowing readers to laugh—thus lending a respite from grief.

dynamics

noun plural but singular or plural in construction
a pattern or process of change, growth, or activity; variation and contrast in force or intensity

The protagonist in my debut, *The Frozen Moose, a short story is a mess; such a mess she has planned her suicide.

The below scene shows her mindset, as well as a bit of her normal thought process:

My plan of self-elimination was simple. Winter was in full swing— International Skeptics Day, January, 13. The valley near the riverbed was coldest. I would simply freeze myself. Unsophisticated but effective….

…Then the phone rang.

Now we get a glimpse of our protagonist’s normal world and the set up:

The caller’s monotone worked well either as a sleeping aid or entertainment, dependent upon the subject matter. Halley, my social worker friend, “Hey, my dear…. “I’ve got a foster child. She’s been in eight homes in the last six years. I need you to care for her.”

The one-liner:

...“Pretend I’m Catholic, and it’s Lent.”

funny

adjective
affording light mirth and laughter; seeking or intended to amuse; differing from the ordinary in a suspicious, perplexing, quaint, or eccentric way

tundracomics.com

Check these sites for additional advice on writing funny:

Humor Writing for People Who Aren't Funny by Jeff Goins at The Write Practice.
The Secret of Writing Funny by Ghulam at Write to Done.
Comedy Writing: How to Be Funny -- an interview of humor writers by Scott Simon on npr.org

Give the gift of humor to your characters, but remember one man’s humor is another man’s white elephant gift.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Colorado native, Rainey, (writing as L. Treloar), has been a RMFW member since 2012 (or so), and is happy to belong to one of the best critique groups ever: The 93rd Street Irregulars. She has self-published The Frozen Moose, is currently re-editing the first manuscript in a political thriller series, and has entered two contests with her 2016 NaNoWriMo Historical Fiction novella. In her spare time, she enjoys organizing anything from closets, to military family retreats, to rodeos and parades. Along with teaching her cat to retrieve, she volunteers at church and The Horse Protection League. With an Associate degree in Applied Science/Land Surveying, she learned she far prefers words over math.

*The Frozen Moose, a short story is available on Barnes and Noble in e-book.

The Absolute, Total, No Doubt about It, Guide to Writing … by Richard Keller

Rich-KellerTake a look at the Internet – without stopping for cute puppy videos – and you’ll find dozens, if not hundreds, of blog posts and news items labeling themselves as the be-all, end-all guides to writing. Compare them to each other and I bet you’ll find large similarities between them all. There’s a finite amount of material these people provide, and most of it comes from sites other people have put together from other people on the web have put together that –. Well, you see what I mean.

Now come back here, because I have tremendous news. I am now going to provide the absolute, total, no-doubt-about-it guide to writing. Regardless if you’re a seasoned author or someone sharpening the last pencil in their vast collection, the following is the definitive guide to become a galactically-successful author. You no longer need to go to any other site for writing advice.

1. Don’t write what you know. Let me clarify. You can write what you know if you’re a space alien ready to invade Earth, a superhero, or a super spy with a whole bunch of cool gadgets. You can also write what you know if you’re a musician/actor/artist who had a horrible childhood, gained humongous success, burned out on drugs, got clean, burned out again, got clean again, found God, and was probed by aliens. Should you be someone who’s greatest achievement is getting free premium channels when you didn’t pay for them, think about writing about space aliens, or a superhero, or –.

2. Be a snoop. Do you know how Weird Al Yankovic came up with the hit parody “Like a Surgeon?” He heard Madonna had asked her friend when Weird Al would parody “Like a Virgin” with “Like a Surgeon.” You know how J.K. Rowling came up with the idea for the Harry Potter series? She watched wizards and witches run through a column on Platform 9 of Kings Cross Station. Authors need to have their eyes and ears open at all times in order to absorb a potential story idea. Just don’t put together a book of stories inspired by overheard conversations at the coffee shop. I have that gig in the bag.

3. Admit Writer’s Block is just an excuse to watch Real Housewives. Please, you’re a creative talent! Story ideas and words should be flowing through your mind from the time you wake up to the time you to bed. And, as long as strange inner voices aren’t interrupting those ideas and words, there’s no limit to what you can put down on paper. Can’t think of the next chapter for your manuscript, switch to a short story, a poem, or a letter to Bravo asking them to start a Real Housewives of Hoboken series.

4. Copy current trends. Let’s see … that means you should imitate the following themes: dystopian futures; apocalyptic futures; dystopian, apocalyptic futures; teen angst; dystopian teen angst; apocalyptic teen angst; dystopian, apocalyptic teen angst; futuristic, dystopian, apocalyptic teen angst; and cookbooks.

Finally,

5. Well, maybe you should go to other sites.

A version of this post was first published on Patricia Stoltey's blog in November 2014.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers member Richard Keller is the founder of Wooden Pants Publishing and the Associate Director of Northern Colorado Writers. Richard has written over two thousand articles over the last three decades for various media outlets, including USA Today, RM Parent, Fort Collins Magazine, BellaSpark, The Coloradoan, and AOL TV. Richard resides in Northern Colorado with his wife and five children. In his spare time, Richard likes to read, travel, perform Improv, and sleep in a sensory deprivation chamber to get at least one minute of peace.

To learn more about Richard and his publishing company, visit the Wooden Pants Publishing website. He can also be found on Facebook.

Three Rules for Writing a Novel by Leod Fitz

According to W. Somerset Maugham, “There are three rules for writing a novel.  Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”

I have no idea who W. Somerset Maugham is, or what he wrote, but clearly he was a man of intellect and discernment.Screen Shot 2015-06-02 at 6.24.46 AM

No, I know what you’re thinking:  You’re thinking, “Leod, you’re a visionary genius, surely you’ve sorted out what one of these rules is?”

Yes.  Yes I have.  But I’m not going to tell you, and it isn’t because I don’t know, it’s because of… other reasons.  Totally legitimate reasons.

But I’m getting off topic.  What I wanted to discuss today are the three rules of promotion.  Unlike the rules of writing, the three rules of promotion were figured out years and years ago, presumably by the guy who invented the toga and then convinced the entire Roman world that not only was wearing a sheet a perfectly legitimate ‘style,’ but that they should pay him for his specially made sheets.

Or her specially made sheets.  I don’t actually know who it was selling the sheets.

This sacred knowledge has been handed down, generation after generation, century after century, hidden, lost, found again, then lost again, and finally found again.  Now, after years of secrecy, I have discovered it and am prepared to share it with the world.

Of course, those of you who’ve taken the time to look me up on google are probably asking yourself, ‘hey, if this Leod guy has figured out the secrets to marketing, why is it that the internet has never heard of him?’

Well, maybe the internet is just stupid.  Huh?  Did you consider that, smart guy?

Anyway, where was I?  Okay, the secrets of marketing and promotion.

I should explain: years ago I embarked on a sacred quest.  I scoured the earth interviewing hundreds of people, spending a small fortune searching for the hidden truths that would guide us all into a bright new world, a world where great works wouldn’t lie unread, because nobody wanted to read a book with that few reviews, and there was no way to get it enough reviews until people started to read it.  A world where a bad book cover wouldn’t spell the end for a brilliant new novel.  A world where you didn’t need to tell people the cool twist at the end of your story just to get them to start reading it.

It took years, but I found the ancient secrets in a small bodega in a middle-eastern country, owned by an ancient woman with skin so wrinkled I thought she was a bag that somebody had deflated.

I took the parchment she gave me back to home and had it translated, and here they are.  The three sacred rules for marketing.

  1. Focus your attention on the people who end up buying your product.  You’ll find that your other efforts are largely wasted.
  2. Try to make advertisements that people will notice.  The best way to do this is to avoid making advertisements that people don’t notice.
  3. While some might argue that all publicity is good, in most cases you will find that good publicity is better.

I have since learned that the woman in the bodega makes most of her money selling scraps of parchment to treasure hunters.  I wonder if I can convince her include one of my promotional bookmarks in each sale?

 

Alpha group 2Leod D. Fitzless has been a writer for nearly as long has he has been a reader.  Absurdly fascinated by the power of the written word, he realized at a young age that the only career which held any interest for him was that of an author.  When he isn’t pouring his blood, sweat, and tears onto the page, he’s selling his blood to plasma clinics, his sweat to a variety of employers, and his tears to pretty much anyone who'll buy them.  He’s worked as an animal caretaker, a shelf stocker, a farmhand and warehouse employee, but he’s always been a writer at heart.

TOP TEN LIST: Things Overheard At A Book Release Party

By Kevin Paul Tracy

Caricature of David Letterman

Here is a list of the top ten things overheard at a book release party.

10. "My wife loves your books! Can you sign it to her: Roger Smith?"

9. "Is the author someone famous, or just a writer?"

8. "Yes, the author signed it, we couldn't stop him. If you can find an unsigned copy, it's worth an absolute fortune." (A nod to the movie "Notting Hill")

7. "I have the best idea for a book...maybe you could write it!"

6. "Wake up, honey, he's done reading out loud."

5. "You mean I have to pay for it?"

4. "I've written a book, too. It's a 500 page memoir of my grandfather's struggles with gout. I happened to bring it with me. Would you mind reading it and telling me what you think of it?"

3. "I always come to these things. You never know what's going to turn out to be priceless...after the writer is dead."

2. "I've heard of door prizes, but the book's cover imprinted on a butane lighter? Doesn't bode well for the book itself."

And the #1 thing overheard at a book signing party:

1. "Is this the line for the restroom?"


Check out Kevin’s latest releases, the wonderfully entertaining espionage thriller, “Rogue Agenda” and a startling and engrossing gothic thriller “Bloodflow.”

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