70 MIllion What?

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I saw this video last week and loved it. I posted it on The Naked Hero and I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to share it with The Stiletto Gang, too! It’s by a band called Hold Your Horses, and the song is called 70 Million (lyrics are below).

What I love about this video is the imagery. The were SO amazingly creative in how they used the artwork…how they became the artwork…and that alone makes it a standout to me.

But then they also talk about novels and heroes… and novels and heroes are two of my favorite things!

Hope you enjoy!!

70 Million by Hold Your Horses ! from L’Ogre on Vimeo.

Hold Your Horses! 70 Million lyrics

And it hardly looked like a novel at all,
I hardly look like a hero at all
And I’m sorry, you didn’t publish this
And you were white as snow; I was white as a sheet

When you came down in this black dress
In your mom’s black maternity dress
And so,
Though it hardly looked like a novel at all,
And the city treats me, it treats me to you
And a cup of coffee for you
I should learn it’s language and speak it to you

And 70 million should be in the know
And 70 million don’t go out at all
And 70 million wouldn’t walk this street
And 70 million would run to a hole
And 70 million would be wrong wrong wrong
And 70 million never see it at all
And 70 million haven’t tasted snow

And we dance dance dance like the children dance
Imply thought are we taking the chance?
With the light still on, and will we ever reach the tower

And after you came down in this black dress
I don’t know what took so very long
And this,
And this isn’t a war, we don’t have to ration
Now wave white flag, and you kept it at home
And words I wrote from a foreign land
You’re holding my no longer foreign hand

And 70 million should be in the know
And 70 million don’t go out at all
And 70 million wouldn’t walk this street
And 70 million would run to a hole
And 70 million would be wrong wrong wrong
And 70 million never see it at all
And 70 million haven’t tasted snow

So, how many paintings did you actually recognize in the video? Do you have a favorite?


Happy Thursday! Oh, and don’t forget to stop by Books on the House and Books on the House for Kids and Teens!


~ Misa

The Oscar “Curse”

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Sometimes I think that we haven’t come very far in the fight for equal rights women. Then, I see something like a high school production of Annie Get Your Gun, and I am reminded of just how much has been accomplished since 1946, when the play was first produced. Annie, however, was pretty prescient in its treatment of the celebrity marriage with all of its ups and downs.

For those of you who don’t know the story—and I didn’t before seeing the show—Annie is a girl from the country who is illiterate but can shoot a gnat off a pig’s nose without hurting the pig. She meets up with “show biz people” in the form of sharpshooter Frank Butler; his snotty sister and assistant, Dolly; and Buffalo Bill who produces and bankrolls the show. Naturally, she falls in love with Frank, but in order to get her man, must hide from him the fact that she is a way more talented sharpshooter than he’ll ever be. But what’s more important? Fame or love? Accolades for one’s accomplishments or the warm embrace of a guy in a white satin Western suit? You can only imagine which Annie chooses.

Throw in a bunch of politically-incorrect “Indians,” who sing monosyllabic songs of love and act as something of a Greek chorus and you have the makings of the most racist and sexist show I’ve ever seen. Annie makes last year’s production of South Pacific seem like “Do the Right Thing.”

Child #1 played in the orchestra pit, as she did last year. I asked her about the content of the show and she responded that all of the kids—from the actors to the orchestra members—were commenting on just how ridiculous the show’s plot was. How it was racist and sexist. At least the kids have the good sense to know what’s what.

Child #1 said that it was hard to believe that people actually believed that a woman should hide her talent to spare the feelings and ego of her partner. Although I’d like to think that this kind of behavior is no longer common place, consider the “Best Actress Oscar” curse, as it is called.

Seems that almost every Best Actress winner from the past decade has seen her marriage or relationship break up shortly after receiving the highest award an actress can be given for her film work. There was Halle Berry who kicked sex addict Eric Benet to the curb after winning for “Monster’s Ball”; Julia Roberts, who broke up with hunk Benjamin Bratt shortly after winning her Oscar for “Erin Brockovich”; Charlize Theron who ended it with Stuart Townshend shortly after being recognized for playing serial killer Aileen Wuornos. And who could forget Hilary Swanks’ tearful acceptance speech where she thanked everyone from her cleaning lady to her dental hygienist and forgot poor Chad Lowe, her husband a talented actor in his own right? Had he not been such a talented actor, he never would have been able to stand by her side for one red carpet interview after another remarking about his wife’s talent and how it was really ok that she had forgotten to thank him at the Academy Awards. But a frozen smile and a clenched jaw are dead giveaways, and that was a man who cared.

The list goes on. Talented women with husbands who can stay in the shadows for just so long. Our most recent example, Jesse James, betrayed America’s sweetheart Sandra Bullock, revelations about his extracurricular activities (available in paperback at bookstores near you!) coming to light from a woman who can probably hear the clock ticking on her fifteen minutes of fame as I write this. According to the tabs, Sandra has moved out and if she has any sense, she won’t move back in. (Side note—saw a celebrity psychologist on television talking about the James-Bullock marriage and she said that the only way they could come back together is if he reestablishes trust with Sandra. To which I say a big, fat, “DUH.”)

Maybe we haven’t changed all that much since Annie Get Your Gun came out. Is it just show biz marriages? Because I know plenty of married couples who share in the excitement of one another’s accomplishments. Isn’t that part of the deal?

What do you think, Stiletto faithful?

Maggie Barbieri

Celebration of the Whales

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This past weekend, hubby and I were in Oxnard, CA–our old stomping ground. Yes, back in the day we did do quite a bit of stomping. Hubby was in the Seabees, stationed at Port Hueneme Navy Base for many years. We lived about two blocks from the main gate for over twenty years in the same neighborhood with many other servicemen, police officers, and firemen. (Most of us bought our homes for $100 down. Now you can figure out how many years ago this was.)

The occasion that brought us there was the Celebration of the Whales at Channel Islands Harbor. Every weekend there is a Farmer’s Market at the harbor, but on this particular weekend they had a craft fair, and that was why I came, to sell my books. We always jump at a chance to do any activity in or around Ventura County as we have two daughters who still live in the area with their families.

We arrived at our eldest daughter’s home on Friday afternoon. Had a great visit, Saturday morning we met youngest daughter and granddaughter at the movies, and all of us went out to dinner together that night.

Early Sunday morning we traipsed down to the harbor and the area where the Celebration of the Whales is held. The place bustled with cars and trucks and people putting up their tents and displays. We had the same spot as the year before and quickly set up. Actually, we’re not very good at the tent, but someone always comes and helps. The rest is easy, two chairs, a table, tablecloth and my books. I always do well with the Rocky Bluff P.D. series in Oxnard because the books actually came to life because of the Oxnard P.D. While we still lived in Oxnard, our son-in-law was an Oxnard police officer and always told me tales about what went on. And of course we were also friends with our neighbors who were on the Oxnard P.D. and their wives–all material for that series. The latest, of course, is An Axe to Grind.

Before the starting time of 10 a.m., people began strolling by. Hubby and I took turns asking people if they liked to read mysteries and handing out cards. For a good while, though it was an overcast day, it was fairly warm. We talked to many people and sold enough books to pay for the spot and then some.

Eldest daughter, hubby and Archie, their golden retriever, arrived to keep us company. Wasn’t long after that the wind came up and blew in off the ocean and it turned chilly. That was the end of people being interested in books–or much of anything else. We packed up about an hour early and headed back to our daughter’s.

Was it worth it? Of course. Hopefully I’ll have made new fans for both my series who will seek out the other books.

Besides, we had a great time while we were down there.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Some Basic Rules

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I know that my daughter (and yours) already understands these concepts, but apparently Rielle Hunter did not, so I’ll spell them out.

1. If you take off your pants in front of a photographer, he’s not shooting a headshot. It makes you look even dumber than dirt when you then complain that his focus was elsewhere.

2. If you have an affair with a married man and get pregnant, don’t then tell the world in an interview that he wanted you to have an abortion. It makes you heartless when you consider that an already rocky, if not impossible, father-daughter relationship will forever be tainted by the information you provided. (Corollary Rules: anything put in print is in print forever; if it has ever been on the Internet, it can always be found. Kids, stop sharing stupid photos on Facebook).

3. If you have a child, and this applies to homewreckers and politicians alike, don’t photograph her for a magazine spread as part of a campaign to “humanize” you. That’s not your kid’s job. Bad enough she has to grow up with the craziness of two self-centered parents.

4. If the man is still married, don’t describe your love affair as “till death do you part.” It’s just tacky (although you may not have a clear grasp of what’s tacky).

Since I’m in a judgmental, but helpful mood, I’ll add the following: if the rumors about Jesse James, husband of recent Oscar winner Sandra Bullock are true, here’s a tip: if your intended extramarital love object has more tattoos on her face than eyes, don’t expect her to be discreet. Corollary Rule: If she is featured on an adult web site, don’t be surprised if nothing is “sacred” between the two of you.

And last rule for the day for those who stray: If your annual income has more than six figures (or you’re married to someone who earns that much), and you troll in bars for company, here’s the bottom line: money talks, fast and loud. Are you listening, Tiger? There may only be fifteen minutes of fame allotted to those who have sex and tell, but they can be a lucrative 900 seconds if you play your cards right. Ugh.

Judgmentally yours,
Marian (the Northern half of Evelyn David)

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Why Life Should Be More Like Hockey

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by Susan McBride

I’ve been going to hockey games ever since my first date with Ed, which was five years ago this November. I used to think of the sport the same way Carla Moss does in The Cougar Club:

“You’re equating hockey with fun?” Carla looked at Kat like she’d lost her mind. “Watching a bunch of overgrown boys pummel each other with sticks? Do any of them still have their own teeth? How does that saying go, ‘I went to a fight and a hockey game broke out’?”

Since Ed has season tickets to the St. Louis Blues games and since he plays in a local league, I’ve seen more hockey than I ever thought I’d experience in a lifetime. I still don’t understand all the rules completely, but I do get why so many love the sport. And the better I grasp the finesse involved, the more I think the world would be a saner place if it borrowed a few rules from ice hockey. I know, I know, that sounds bizarre, but stick with me. Listen to my suggestions, and I think you’ll see the logic, too.

First off, dealing with other human beings can be tough as not everyone’s on the up and up. Life is a giant playground where bullies thrive on ruining everyone else’s fun and plenty of folks try to skirt the rules. The older I get, the more I’m convinced that most adults aren’t grown-ups any more than Alexander Ovechkin is a choir boy (he plays for the Washington Capitals and got a two game suspension for smashing a Chicago Blackhawk against the boards, breaking the dude’s rib and his collar bone). Two politicians from opposing parties can’t stand within spitting distance without name-calling these days. I’ve watched parents fight over hard to come by Christmas gifts in Target. I’ve seen grown women cry after board meetings where finger pointing has replaced honest debate.

At least hockey players are outfitted for the rough stuff, unlike the rest of us who don’t suit up before we leave the safety of our homes to interact with society. We’d be smart to put on pads and helmets before we get in our cars and deal with idiots on cell-phones behind the wheel who seem determined to run us off the road. Or to confront the “ladies” in the supermarket who learned cart etiquette from the demolition derby and seem intent on running over our feet or banging into us, no matter if we’re sticking to our side of the aisle. Wouldn’t it be nice if there was a ref on the road or in the produce department who could blow a whistle and call a foul when appropriate?

Instead of hearing that so-and-so lied about you or whispered nasty gossip behind your back, wouldn’t it be great to just throw down your gloves and start pummeling each other until there’s blood drawn or someone ends up on the ice…er, the floor? It would feel so much more sincere to just man-up and take care of business face to face; then, once you’re finished, you get up, shake it off, and go back to the rat race. No harm, no foul (unless one of you is uber-nasty, then it’s five for fighting in the penalty box).

And for times when folks are just taking the game of life too danged seriously and need to lighten up, how about a little intermission, like in hockey when the Pee Wees appear on the ice and skate around to “Peanuts” music? Maybe we should all be forced to take a break and run around with pre-school kids who haven’t realized how stressful their lives are going to get once they graduate, get jobs, get married, have kids, get fired, lose their house, et al. A couple quick games of hopscotch or a few times across the monkey bars, and perhaps we’ll remember that life should be FUN sometimes. It isn’t all about working and struggling and trying to prove ourselves. We can listen to their laughter and remind ourselves what joy and passion feel like and vow never to lose them.

See what I mean? If the real world were more like a hockey game, we might all have less angst to carry around in our over-sized purses. Just remember to dress appropriately and, if you break any rules or just plain don’t cooperate, you will be tied to the middle of the ice and flattened by the Zamboni.

Happy Friday!

Sleeping on the Job

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Do you ever get so overwhelmed that you can barely see straight ahead of you? Mountains of laundry, kids home for spring break, taxes, bills, family visiting, a disaster of a house, yard work, teaching a new class, and, oh yeah, writing! These are the things filling my days. And nights.

Sometimes I can remember what was for dinner the night before, or what we even did that morning! Time seems to blur and the days pass and there’s nothing significant that is accomplished.
I hate that feeling! I like to check things off my lists. Of course, I have lists scattered all over the house, so I can’t always find the one I’m looking for, but you get the idea. I like to accomplish things. Concrete things that show I’ve done something productive, made strides toward a goal, or at least put in the effort.
I’ve been lagging in the accomplishment arena lately. Organization is a big issue for me. I try. I envy those who are super organized. I have organization envy. But no matter what, I just can’t seem to orchestrate my life or my house in the organized way I’d like. It’s like it’s not in my genes, only it IS in my genes. My dad is super organized. That’s the only way he knows how to be. Why, oh why, didn’t a smidgeon of that rub off on me?!
So that’s my goal for the summer. Get my house, and my life, organized.
If you have any tips, I’d love to hear them!
~Misa

Tales from the Crypt: I’m a Ghost Writer

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Alison Hendrie is co-author of the non-fiction book, LOOKING FOR A FEW GOOD MOMS (Rodale 2004), the story of the Million Mom March, and ghost writer most recently for the non-fiction lifestyle book, THE CR WAY (HarperCollins 2008), already in its fifth printing. As a freelance writer, her articles and essays have appeared in The New York Times and The New York Post as well as national magazines. She has also written several children’s books for the Trumpet Club imprint of Scholastic.

I’m used to being invisible. After all, I’m a mother of four active, social children who have somehow managed to reverse the old adage: it is now moms who should be seen and not heard. And preferably not seen, either, at least in front of their friends.

This may explain why I love ghost writing. One of the most valuable tools at a writer’s disposal is the power of observation. And what better way to soak in the color and language and vibe of your surroundings than from behind the cloak of invisibility? From this vantage point, the view is unobstructed and incredibly honest. Just as my ability to fade behind the steering wheel of the big, red mini-van allows me to catch up on all the middle-school gossip from my oblivious passengers, I find it easy, and even satisfying, to loosen my grip on my own, opinionated self in order to gain access to whatever project I ghost. Not quite as juicy as 7th Grade social Darwinism, but rewarding nonetheless.

It’s not that I don’t have an ego, don’t get me wrong. In fact, it takes a pretty strong, secure self-image to immerse oneself completely in someone else’s story, to literally get inside their heads and tease out just the right voice, exactly the correct phrasing. When Meryl Streep dons a wig and accent, she is no longer Meryl Streep but Julia Child or Anna Wintour (oh come on, we all know it was her). And so it is for the ghost, tapping into the author as character and writing from that perspective. See – told you I had an ego!

Like fiction, finding the right voice is perhaps the most important element in ghost writing. But unlike fiction, the voice already exists; instead of tinkering with a character’s motivation or background to uncover it, the ghost simply tunes her already sensitive ear to the author’s voice. This can be frustrating when you want to take the story in one direction and the author veers off in another. I mean, you are the writer, after all. You know how to string beautiful words together, to breathe life into a dull or arcane subject. Alas, it is not your story, no matter how closely attached you become.

What I find to be the most fun is the chance to explore and write about a topic I may never have imagined. It’s like getting paid to go to grad school. And by placing myself in the author’s shoes, the topic suddenly takes on new meaning, becoming interesting, important, urgent. For example, I would hardly call myself a health-nut and I certainly like my wine and pasta and dessert. But when I ghosted a book about calorie restriction, a controversial and still experimental method for extending life beyond the norm, I was suddenly fascinated with the way the body adapts to near-starvation. Images of cells and glucose and SIR2 genes danced in my head and if I had the will power to just say no to pizza, I might have jumped aboard. As it is, I think I gained weight while writing that book. But I never could have achieved this level of interest, never mind translate it into consumer-friendly copy, if I hadn’t adopted the persona of the authors.

A collaboration of this nature requires trust – both on the part of the author, and the ghost writer. Honesty, facts, and clarity are what I ask of an author. In return, I give insight, language and, I hope, a manuscript that connects a reader with an author in a personal and genuinely exciting way.

Ghost driver, aka mom, on the other hand, requires only my patience, silence and superb driving record. But then again, I get to be a part of my children’s lives. Even if they don’t know it.

Alison Hendrie

The Ins and Outs of a Blog Tour

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I’m on a blog tour right now for my latest Rocky Bluff P.D. crime novel, An Axe to Grind.The book was supposed to be out in January and I knew that there might be problems, so I set up the blog tour for March. Guess what? The book just became available last week.

As I’ve done before, I hired Pump Up Your Promotions to do the tour and the quickly arranged for the blogs to appear appear weekday during the month of March–and some of the blogs required books to review. All of them have different requirements for what they want for the blog–though all ask for a photo and a book cover. Most want a bio and a blurb about the book, others want more information about me as the author, why I wrote the book, what inspired me, that sort of thing.

A few blogs are more interested in the writing process and ask for advice for aspiring authors.

Though all this writing must be done ahead of time, I find it’s a lot of fun to come up with new ways to talk about my book. After all, if someone actually follows along on the tour I don’t want them to be bored with the same information over and over.

Every day when a new blog is up, I make a point to go visit and offer my thanks. I also go back two or three times during the day to read comments people have left–if there are any. Sometimes people make such nice comments, I leave another of my own.

Another requisite is to promote where you are visiting each day by letting people know. I’ll put the blog’s URL on all the listserves I’m on as well as Facebook, Twitter and the like.

Sounds like a lot of work, doesn’t it? Yes, it is, but it’s work I can do from home and then get back to my writing.

Does it result in sales? I’m not sure, but I do know my Amazon numbers go down when I’m on a blog tour, and that’s a good thing.

I also do a lot of in-person appearances. Since I’m usually selling my own stock, I know right then how that works out. The big difference is that when I have to leave home, I can’t do much of anything else, and often I have to stay overnight somewhere. I do enjoy talking with readers and about writing, so that has a plus side too.

Oh, I also have a video about An Axe to Grind http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BdrZA6B7iFI

If that doesn’t work, you can go to my website and watch it.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

My Common Cold Diary

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Friday – March 5, 2010
The world gave me several signs that I should never have gotten out of bed. A dropped contact lens, a broken glass … One of a set I purchased at Overstock.com and have had to buy a replacement set. Love the way they look, but if you even tap them with disrespect, they shatter. I hate to give up on a relationship, but … Skipping ahead to my drive to work – four blocks from my destination, the radio went dead. I thought it was probably the radio station. NPR always has transformer problems and it seems like it’s time for a pledge drive. I hate that week. I always feel really guilty for listening without making a donation. But it wasn’t the radio station that was the problem. Only seconds after the radio stopped, so did my turn signals, my power windows, and my fuel gauge did a happy dance. I avoided my usual stop at McDonalds for coffee and headed straight into the office parking lot. So in summary, by noon my day was less than stellar. A highlight was my Dad who came and fixed my car (needed a new alternator). Thanks, Dad. During the afternoon I worked on a powerpoint presentation I was giving the following Wednesday. Little did I know that the secretary helping me, the secretary that everyone thought was recovering from a mild case of the sniffles, was really “Typhoid Mary” in disguise. Cue ominous music.

Saturday – March 6, 2010
The term “post nasal drip” didn’t really describe the drowning sensation I was experiencing. Raiding my medicine cabinet I brought out my supply of Mucinex, Sudafed (the good stuff they keep behind the pharmacy counter so the meth-heads can’t get at it. I understand the “protect the stupid” principle but it seems totally unfair to regular sinusitis sufferers), and Afrin nosedrops. I also had a new bottle of Robitussin. Early implementation of this anti-cold arsenal should have been enough to fend off the “common cold.” It wasn’t. By the time I’d made my weekly grocery store run and my regular 6-week root touchup at the salon, I knew I was in trouble.

Sunday – March 7, 2010
I woke up every two hours all night long – sneezing, coughing and filling up two trash cans with Kleenex. (Soon I’d used all the Kleenex and moved on to rolls of Charmin – even the “squeezable-ly soft” kind rubs your nose raw after a few hundred yards are swiped past it.) My throat was sore, my lungs were filling, and if I were anything but vertical, I risked instant death. I warned my co-author via a virus checked email that when someone came to search for my body, they should look under the pile of used tissues. She was more worried about where my notes were for the third Sullivan Investigation mystery.

Monday – March 8, 2010 I needed to go into the office to practice my powerpoint presentation. I was schedule to speak for an hour on Wednesday to representatives of two federal agencies and several of my staff – you never want to embarrass yourself in front of your own staff. But besides the fact that my voice was now gone, I just didn’t care that much anymore about my career. I just wanted to make it until Tuesday – a scheduled appointment with a new G.P. I hoped to talk him into an antibiotic for the sinus infection, tonsillitis, or ear infection that I knew was headed my way like an out-of-control Prius.

Tuesday – March 9, 2010
My new doctor doesn’t have a great office. (My HMO suggested him – he was close to my house and accepting new patients). The waiting room needed a good vacuuming and I might have been his only non-Medicare patient, but the doctor was unexpectedly nice. He took my medical history himself. He listened to what I was saying without any hint that I was taking up too much of his time. He prescribed a “Z pack” and advised me to stop chasing the Sudafed with Robitussin. I went home, took my first dose of “Z” and tried to rest. My co-author warned me that I probably shouldn’t be considering leaving my house on Wednesday.

Wednesday – March 10, 2010
I got no sleep. There wasn’t enough makeup in the world to disguise my Rudolph red nose or dark circles, but my hair did look nice. As one of my last acts, the trip to the salon was well worth it. Baptists have open caskets and good hair is important. But back to my powerpoint presentation – I did it. The audience was attentive even if everyone kept their distance. I managed not to sneeze too much. I had a big roll of Charmin in my purse and I used most of it in the first four hours. But later in the afternoon, I could tell I’d started running a temperature and I was doing a lot of mouth-breathing. At about 3:30 pm, I called it a day and made the 45 minute drive home from Tulsa and crawled into bed, ignoring the phone calls from people wanting to know how sick I was. I was plenty sick – and no, there was nothing anyone could do for me. It was just the common cold, after all.

Thursday – March 11, 2010
The meeting I was attending was a two day event. But not for me. I had moved into the “coughing up my toes” stage of my “common cold.” I stayed home and proceeded to do just that – in private and to my heart’s content.

Friday – March 12, 2010
I’m still on sick leave from work, but I can breathe again through my nose. Okay, I’m holding a heating pad to my chest when I cough now (can people really break ribs from coughing?) but I feel so much better. No fever. No headache. The one thing that really worries me is that tomorrow, Saturday, is my last day for “Z.” My antibiotic pack will be emptied. Sunday could be the first healthy day of the rest of my life or the day the sun went black. Either way I’m uploading this blog on Saturday for a Monday posting date.

Leave me a comment and I’ll let you know how I’m doing Monday – if I can.

Rhonda
The Southern “overly dramatic” half of Evelyn David

p.s. – I know this blog entry is way too long. But, hey, be grateful I cut out most of the really gross descriptions of my illness. There is nothing pretty about the “common cold.”

p.p.s – Just when are scientists going to spend some time developing a cure for the common cold? I’m just saying … Maybe that’s a health care change we could all believe in.

At Witt’s End

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Mayhem is on the rise at the Witt’s End Resort, especially Cabin 14, where no guest ever leaves alive. To make matters worse, Sadie Witt must untangle a murderous web while struggling to prevent an unscrupulous sheriff’s deputy from shutting down her lakeside resort.

When guests arrive at Cabin 14, they’re stunned to learn Sadie is their conduit to the hereafter. Clad in outlandish outfits—clothing typically reserved for those without sagging body parts—and sporting hairdos that make bystanders want to look away but can’t, Sadie realizes one of the guests has been murdered and works against the clock to prevent further chaos.

Beth Solheim is the author of the Sadie Witt Mysteries Series. At Witt’s End is the first in the series.

“To market, to market to buy a new book
Whether mysteries or romance, I must take a look.”

That’s what a book reader utters on their way to make the perfect book selection.

“You expect me to do WHAT?”

That’s what an author says when they realize writing the book is only the first step. It’s not just going to the market, it’s creating the market. Most authors understand this before they submit their manuscript. It’s a business venture. Not a hobby. Authors are expected to be professional, build credibility and promote, promote, promote.

With that said, I repeat, “You expect me to do WHAT?”

Gone are the days of the high-end book tours and endless promotional dollars. So, as the ink dried on my book contract, I knew I had to get my hiney in gear and determine a plan of action.

My schedule is tight because I work full time, so I divided my evenings and weekends into segments. Thank goodness the man living with me, aka husband, took this flurry in stride and offered encouragement. The noun ‘book’ quickly became a verb. I learned how to book a blog tour, a book launch, television and radio interviews, library speaking engagements, book fair and book store appearances, newspaper and journal interviews, book club discussion sessions and time to work on the next book in the series. I developed a website, joined Twitter and Facebook and designed a bookmark and brochure for my book and ebook promotion. At Witt’s End launched in February and I plan to be running strong right through Christmas.

“You expect me to do WHAT?”

“To market, to market!

PROMOTE – Push Rip-roaringly Outstanding Material of Tremendous Entertainment

What’s your description of PROMOTE?

Thanks to Rhonda, the Southern half of Evelyn David, and the Stiletto Gang for inviting me.

Beth Solheim
http://www.bsolheim.com/
_____________

Like the main character in her Sadie Witt mystery series, Beth Solheim was born with a healthy dose of imagination and a hankering to solve a puzzle. She learned her reverence for reading from her mother, who was never without a book in her hand.

By day, Beth works in Human Resources. By night she morphs into a writer who frequents lake resorts and mortuaries and hosts a ghost or two in her humorous paranormal mysteries

Raised and still living in Northern Minnesota, she resides in lake country with her husband and a menagerie of wildlife critters.

http://mysteriesandchitchat.blogspot.com/
http://readingminnesota.blogspot.com/