We have a Winner! (and More Elective Surgery)

Fred, the envelope please...

Mary Rajotte is the winner of my 50/50 split of In the Memory House profits for November, thus continuing a fine tradition of Canadians winning my contests. Congrats, Mary. I'll be in touch to share the bounty.

Which might (or might not, who knows?) have been a bigger bounty had I started with this:

Instead of In the Memory House. Sometimes I need a little more market research. I tend to be too much of a gut guy. You see, In the Memory House is also the title of Howard Mansfield's book of essays about New England culture and history.

Yeah. Not my book at all. Mine features a living house which tries to make friends by killing people. Think of it as a house with Asperger's on steroids.

So maybe Echoes of the Dead has a little more zip. The word "Dead" lands hard, at least. It does deliver the message directly, and I've found that is a key piece of marketing any book. And yes, the paperback is still coming.

And then I've nixed Smoke and replaced it with Vengeful Spirits. Again, I think the new title lands harder and sends a little more of a direct message about the book's content.  I've also tweaked the cover with new font and image:

This poor puppy has been through a number of changes, originally starting as Borrowed Saints. Like I said, I'm a gut guy. My heart and mind need to arm wrestle before the next book skitters into the wild.

Congrats again, Mary.  And good luck, my dear books.  I will try to do you better in the future.

Don't Self-Publish Your Novel (Yet)

Go ahead, shout hypocrite at your computer screen.

Aaron, you say, you've self-published a pile of books (if e-books can be piled). Why shouldn't I self-publish my novel?

Let me start with this: I've killed Borrowed Saints. It was a weak book. I kind of knew it was weak, but I was lured in by the ever-present siren song: a ton of weak books sell, sell, sell. When I read through it the last time, just before publishing, I thought--yes, maybe. There's some good writing here, and some fun characters.

But really, is it the best I can do?

No. No, it's not. It needs work. Another ten-thousand words, at least. The ending, while attempting to be "cliff-hanger-eque" fell flat. I can do better. I know I can.

So I pulled it. One of the beauties of e-publishing. *zip* Gone.

It's easy to e-publish, for better or worse. In the case of Borrowed Saints, I think it might have been worse.

Last fall, I mentioned an e-publisher made an offer for my first novel. That poor book has been through the proverbial wringer, battered and abused and edited to death. I picked it up again, planning to give it one more pass before self-publishing. Hey, if a publisher liked it...

But it stinks. The ideas, characters, and plot don't stink (much), but the writing?

Phew.

So I'm starting a rewrite (along with my other WIP, a supernatural thriller). I'm keeping the characters, plot, and general idea, but killing all the over-wrought prose. I can see the writer I was five years ago in that book. That writer is dead. Without the failure and success of the last five years, without the struggle to sneak into a few prestigious short story markets and find publishers for my books, I wouldn't have become the writer I am now.

Thank God for bad books. Thank God for the hours I've spent writing, editing, revising, and deleting. Thank God for failure and the willingness to do it again. And again.

That novel you've written? Is it the best you can do?

Just because e-publishing is easy, it doesn't mean you should.

WIP Wednesday: Hopes and Dreams

I'm on "tour" promoting Borrowed Saints (and writing in general) this week. Yesterday, I popped in to visit Cate Gardner and wrote about what was "Behind the Door". Today, I'm visiting Belinda Frisch's blog with a post about creating conflict and suspense. Stop in and say "hi". Tomorrow, I'll be leaning on Robert Swartwood with a little post about patience. God knows I need some.

More stops to follow.

So about this WIP Wednesday...

I'm writing a vampire-esque novella. I'm brainstorming for a middle grade (holy-sh*t, MG?) sci-fi, slipstreamy adventure book. My dear wife inspired me to write it, saying: "Why don't you write something Owen can read?" Yeah, why don't I?

And then there's the sequel to Borrowed Saints. Yes, I've already started writing that...

Sheesh. I'm starting to sound like Barry Napier with all this WIPing (love you, Barry).

Speaking of my dear wife... I want to share a dream of mine. I'd love for her to be able to stop working. She has terrible nerve issues in her mouse hand and a job which requires a ridiculous amount of clicking. She has back trouble stemming from a car accident when she was twenty.

I've taken on e-book formatting and cover design on the side (www.simplekindleformatting.com) to try and supplement our income. I'm continuing to write and hopefully build an audience. I'd love to add enough to the communal pot that she could stop working, or at least cut back and only see clients part time.

That's the dream.

Now that I've written it down, I need to get to work.

The Going Price for Lawn Service (and E-books)

Read KV Taylor's brilliant post about pricing to understand my inspiration.

Back in the summer of 1988, my brother and I started a lawn service. He'd taken care of several lawns when he was in high school in the late '70s/early '80s, and figured I needed a job. I was fresh out of seventh grade and wanted a Nintendo (original 8-bit variety).

Our base price? $5 a lawn. The going rate at the time started at $10. Of course we charged more for bigger lawns, but never more than $15. We worked together. He mowed around trees and did the trimming; I tackled the big, wide-open spaces. It was hard work. By mid July, I had my Nintendo.

Why charge less than competitors?

Volume, I guess. At the apex of our business, we managed something like 35 lawns a week.

Here's the e-book connection: volume = more readers. More readers means more potential fans. More potential fans means more potential "built-in" sales for your next book.

I've just released Borrowed Saints at $2.99. It's a YA novel, right around 50,000 words, and I spent plenty of time polishing it. Sales have been weak. Very weak. Sure, I need to so some more promotion, etc. Whatever one wants to argue about value and how much a consumer should pay--I believe e-book readers have come to expect $0.99 books from Indies. I didn't start it, and I sure didn't make it happen by myself.

Let's look at the math:

One e-book at $2.99 nets the author around $2 at 70% royalty rate. An author would need to sell six times as many books at $0.99 cents (35% royalty) to make (roughly) the same amount of money.

The math seems to argue for the higher rate, right?

But I think something else is going on, something more important. Even if you only make four sales at $0.99 to each one at $2.99, you've quadrupled your readers (or potential fans). Yes, less money now, but more potential money in the future. Like an investment, right?

When VT managed The House Eaters I sold one e-book at $4.99 in two months. Since they folded, I've sold more than 30 in a month. And yes, I'm only selling it for $0.99.

Volume can work wonders, even at very low prices.

Victorine E. Lieske has sold more than 100,000 copies of Not What She Seems at $0.99. That's a success story I'd take all the way to the bank. Granted, I don't write in the same genre and Victorine has spent a good amount of time marketing her book. But wow.

So what will I do with Borrowed Saints? What do you think I should do?

(Well, I did redo the cover. It will take a while to show on Amazon.)

#samplesunday Borrowed Saints

From Chapter 1: Smoke and Mirrors of Borrowed Saints, available on Amazon Kindle and Barnes & Noble Nook (soon).

Phoebe Ellison hated mirrors, and mirrors shared the sentiment.

She stood before a mirror in one of the less-traveled ladies restrooms in Springdale High, exchanging a glare with the reflection. Tiny white lines on her forearms reached from the glass and shouted in her ears. Phoebe ran a finger across her skin, wondering if it was her imagination or the truth she felt in those little, rigid scars.

Muffled voices sounded in the hall. Phoebe’s hands worked without thought—her left turned the hot water tap, and her right reached for the soap dispenser. The bathroom door crashed open. Haley Garret and her entourage brushed behind her, close enough Phoebe could smell Haley’s perfume, sick and sweet and stinging her eyes like rubbing alcohol.

If she only had a match, they would all go up in flames.

“Lookie here,” Haley said. She positioned her well-tanned face over Phoebe’s shoulder in the mirror. “A piece of fresh meat. A newbie.”

Phoebe’s neck bristled. She could leave—walk out now and not look back.

“Whatcha doing, fresh meat?”

Haley’s clones giggled.

“Washing my hands.” Steam began to rise in the basin, distorting the faces in the mirror. “Going back to class.”

“Right.” Haley pushed her shoulder into Phoebe’s back as she turned. “Don’t be late, fresh meat. Bad things happen to newbies who are late. Bad things.” Haley’s breath was close enough for Phoebe to taste.

The giggling trio disappeared through the door. Water vapor condensed on the mirror, blurring it to a white haze. The steam began to tease Phoebe’s dark hair. She smelled fire—felt it burn her nose. Smoke and ash. Voices crying. The voices always blended into a memory of her parents’ final cries. How long had it been—three months? Only three months. Pain radiated through Phoebe’s forearm, to her shoulder, across her back, and into her lips. Sweet pain. When she pulled back her hand, the hot water had seared a red mark on her skin.

She wanted to smash the mirror. She wanted to crush it into a million pieces and grind the pieces beneath her sneakers. Her right hand balled into a fist. Maybe she’d cut her knuckles on the shards. There’d be blood. Blood and pain. Phoebe fought the smile at the thought, and the bell rang, forcing her out of the bathroom, right hand clutched over the left to hide the burn.

Borrowed Saints for Kindle

Borrowed Saints for Nook (soon)

WIP Wednesday: Tales of WIPs Past, Present, and Future

Hellnotes posted a great review of Shock Totem #3, and I'm thrilled to say the reviewer liked my story. "Wanting It" had a long and winding road before acceptance. For example: Ken Wood (editorial genius) and I exchanged several emails about what the narrator would call his butt. Anyway, the reviewer (Dave) had this to say:

"Facing facts leads to an emotional hurt that lyrically lingers in this lovely and haunting story."

Read the rest, here.

I'm working on Borrowed Saints (letting Sons of Chaos and the Desert of the Dead cool before another editing round). Parts of the book are much better than I remember:

She held the razor up to the mirror. The black mouth of the mirror girl opened, anticipating.

Phoebe blinked.

Make it pretty.

So, yes, there's a fair bit of cutting in the book. And voices. And ghosts. Oh my.

What I Should Have Done Six Months Ago

Fair warning: It's one of those "Big Experiment" posts.

I should have started this "indie publishing" thing six months ago. Am I going to retire soon? No, not at $0.35 a book, but my sales are definitely growing month to month. And when I write "sales" what I really mean is "potential readers". This week alone, I've seen more sales than the entire month of March. The Bottom Feeders continues to be my bestselling book, with 22 copies and counting out the virtual door. Notice: I'm not selling a ridiculous amount of any one book, but several are selling modestly well. Each book is a potential reader--note I use the word potential. Do you read everything you buy?

Will the trend continue? I hope so. It's a pretty steep curve.

Scott Nicholson, an indie author who has traveled the "traditionally-published path" and man for whom I have a great deal of respect, recently posted a blog entry Marketing is Not Selling. Read it and the companion piece on IndieReader. My favorite bit: "...I am not screaming "Buy my book." I'd rather you feed your family, or buy some seeds, or donate to your favorite local charity. That's what I do when you buy my book."

Feed your family.

For the first time I feel like I might be able to actually contribute to my family through writing rather than taking away. Think about it: years spent banging at the keyboard when I could have been doing something else. I've taken myself away from my family for my fictional worlds. It isn't as simple as that, but the kernel of truth is there.

Look in the mirror, Aaron: You are not evil because you want to be compensated for your time and effort. Got it? Good.

Yes, I've been releasing e-books faster than Jerry puts the smack-down on Tom. I have a pool of over 100 published short stories, some of them smelly as last week's garbage (don't worry about seeing them again) and several unpublished shorts which were "that close". Why let them fester on my hard drive? It's taken me years to arrive at this point. Years and thousands upon thousands of words.

After my current round of edits on The Sons of Chaos and the Desert of the Dead, I'm going to put the finishing touches on Borrowed Saints for a May release. I'm toying with the idea of writing a House Eaters sequel this summer.

The bottom line: I want to be read. I might be able to spread some good fortune to my family. Sounds like goals are meeting reality, right?

I just wish I would have started six months ago.

What are you waiting for?

WIP Wednesday is Fraught with Absurdity

We have another snow day. Eight this year. I'm going a little batty, to tell the truth.

So I spent a good deal of my morning editing Borrowed Saints. This afternoon, I'll have another look at Anthony J. Rapino's Uprooted, the next chapbook for Strange Publications.

If you find yourself snowed in and need something to read (or just need something to read), might I steer you toward Jeremy Kelley's "This is Nathan Hall" (a serial short at his blog).

Innsmouth Free Press #6 is up and running, too, featuring several lovely pieces of weird fiction by writers such as Angela Slatter, Joshua M. Reynolds, Daniel José Older, and yours truly with "Drowning Old Milford". As always, it is a free read, and you can download the PDF issue for free, too.


Have a lovely day. No more snow, okay?

2011: A Writing Odyssey

Don't forget the review contest...entries aren't due until the end of the month, but plan ahead, 'kay? Right now, the entrants have a 1 in 3 chance of winning. Make it harder for them.

Okay...on to my goals for 2011...

What I can do:

1. Always have at least one story in front of a pro paying market. Right now, I have two. I plan on adding another by the end of the week.

2. Sub one new story each week (Write 1/Sub 1). I plan to submit "The Good Daughter" this week.

3. Finish Borrowed Saints. I aborted the weekly updates last fall because I needed more time to edit. Will this happen? I don't know. But it is a goal.

4. Finish How We Die in a Hungry Town. I need to edit, edit, edit. I have a self-imposed deadline for this.

5. Write one review each month for Skull Salad. Minimum.



What I'd like to happen in 2011:

1. Sell at least one more story to a pro paying market. I need one more sale of 1,800 words or more to make "active" level for the HWA. I'd like that.

2. I'd like to sell a book. Right now, I have How We Die in a Hungry Town...hmmm...

TGIF (The Ghosts Invade Friday)

I just finished Ghost Hunters by Deborah Blum, a non-fiction account of William James and his colleagues as they searched for verifiable evidence of various psychic phenomenon at the close of the 19th century and dawn of the 20th. The book shares a wealth of information, and I like Blum's direct approach. Many books on the subject of psychical research are either 1) silly or 2) condescending (like some of the opinions Williams and crew faced). Funny how some of the same questions are being argued about today...or not, according to hard-core skeptics who simply won't join the conversation on neutral terms. (Not much has changed in 100+ years, folks.)

Head over to Beyond Fiction for my review/insight into one of my favorite films of all time, Ghostbusters.

And hey, The Borrowed Saints might have a ghost or two...read this week's installment.

So Long, Thanks for all the __________

I'm out of town for the weekend, but leave you, dear readers, with the following debris:

Another installment of The Borrowed Saints and the rip-roaring conclusion of "Black Medicine Thunder and the Sons of Chaos".

Enjoy your weekend.

On Monuments

I took the family to Council Grove, Kansas, this weekend, a place I jokingly referred to as "the dark heart of Kansas". Council Grove has its fair share of history--for several years it was the last stop heading southwest on the Santa Fe Trail. Last stop before Santa Fe, that is...

The Kanza people used to live around Council Grove, and our fair state takes its name from their tribe. In an act of cruel, bitter, irony, the last Kanza were forced out of Kansas to "Indian Territory" (now Oklahoma). In 1925, a section of riverbank gave way south of town, spilling forth the remains of an anonymous Kanza warrior and his horse (they were often buried with a favorite mount for the "next world"). Local citizens erected the thirty-five-foot high monument seen in the picture, entombing the warrior and his burial paraphernalia in the base of the structure. The Kaw Nation, a self-governing native tribe, now owns the land around the monument. They've constructed the Kanza Heritage Trail through Allegawaho Memorial Heritage Park, a beautiful, 158 acre plot of the Flint Hills.

Being in the presence of such history stirs thoughts of one's own mortality. What monument, if any, do I want to leave behind?

My wife has suggested writing is an "attempt to gain immortality". I hate to tell her how much of my work simply exists as electrons in the virtual ether. One big EMP* and WHAM! But maybe she's right. Maybe.

KV Taylor asked a great question on Saturday, and I'm paraphrasing here...

Would you keep writing if you knew you'd never be published again?

I commented I would keep writing, being a stubborn bastard, but only because I don't think I could believe nothing would be published again. Really, what's the point in trying to communicate (reader/writer relationship) without someone on the other end of the line? I'm not scribbling notes in a personal journal all those hours locked away in The Lavender Man Cave.

And then there's this: On Friday, I began posting The Borrowed Saints, a YA book which I wrote last year. I like the book. I love parts of it. But I won't query it; I'm not looking for a publisher. I'm giving it away, even if only one person reads it. (I hope at least one person reads it.)

Why give it away? Is it a gambit to find an agent/publisher/audience? (And Thanks, Mr. Fowler, for the question.)

Hell no. I'm not so brazen (or foolish) to think any of those things would happen.

I learned early on in this "writing game" I can only control so much. The universe will unfold as it will. See the revelation of the anonymous Kanza Warrior only after his people are shamefully forced from their homeland for proof. "We were here...we are here...we will always be here..." he seems to say. We can pretend to shore away for the future, our monument making, but all we really have is the now. The future belongs to the future.

And for now, I love to write and want to share my work.

Hello, I'm Friday

And for the next ? weeks (as long as it takes, I suppose), you can hip-hop on over to http://borrowedsaints.blogspot.com and read installments of The Borrowed Saints. Yes, I'm posting the whole $^#&@* thing until it's out there, free for the taking.

Why?

Because I can, I suppose.

Because once upon a time, this man:

Thought it would be a good idea to record a live album in prison (with inmates as the audience), and he was right.

I find that a wee bit inspiring. The lesson? Just do it.

Certain Commitments

Sometimes, I have to makes lists. If I don't, too many bits and pieces float around in the fishbowl that is my skull, and then nothing works as it should.

I've been plugging away, in the background, on this year's print version of 52 Stitches. Yes, it's coming (and I think the cover is just lovely, but I'm sick like that). On a related note, there will be no 52 Stitches next year. I've fought with this decision for a long time...I've enjoyed the run (and it may be back from the "dead" in a year), but I can't make the commitment necessary for Stitches to be as awesome as I'd like. Said commitment is partially financial (I'd love to be able to pay more and offer comp copies to everyone involved), but the major factor is lack of time. Family constraints have limited my writing time (even more soccer on Saturdays and practice and homework and drama camp and...), and I don't like to "half-ass" anything I do. The sheer glut of flash fiction markets out there (even more now than when I started 52 Stitches two years ago) makes it a "trifecta" of reasons to push pause, even if it is just for a year. I'm making the announcement here (and not at the Strange Publications site) because Stitches is my baby, even if it is an awkward, wonky child at times.

Secondly, I intend to start editing Borrowed Saints. In edition, I might just post a segment each week here at the blog. I might just post the whole book before it's all said and done.

I might.

Because I can. I'd love to be motivated and inspired and brave, but sometimes I'm just tired and small and frightened.

I guess I don't have as much swimming around up there as I thought...

It just feels like too much.

WIP Wednesday: September Wakes

The first edition of The Red Penny Papers is hot from the "virtual press" and you can read:

“The John” by Corinne Duyvis
“Pluvial” by NK Kingston
“Shaper of Dreams” by John Cash
“Postcard Wings above Blackpool Sands” by Cate Gardner
and...
“Black Medicine Thunder and the Sons of Chaos” Episode 1 by Aaron Polson

I'm a little (a wee bit) excited to see Abraham Reaver (the rather gruff looking gent on the cover) released to the wilds of the interweb^TM.

Thanks to editor extraordinaire KV Taylor for the opportunity to write something fun.

__________

Now, September. What will we do with you?

I'd like to do an editing pass on Borrowed Saints. It has languished on my hard drive since last May. So sad. I have a few ideas for a rework of the ending, so yeah, maybe I can do that, too. I've finished another story for We're All Liars Here. I'd like to squeeze out another 10K or so on that project by the end of September. No promises, though.

Steady as she goes.

WIP Wednesday: Oh, Revisions, Where Art Thou?

As I often do after writing a longer piece (this time, Borrowed Saints), I've attacked short story mode with a kind of rabid fervor. I now have five (well, almost five) competed first (or second) drafts in need of revisions...some major, some minor. I also need to put the finishing polish on that 15K novella.

I usually like revising, but the ideas just keep coming of late, and I don't want to slow down. I'm also trying to let my stories sit longer. I want them to be masterpieces. I want their wings to be firm and sure when I push them out of the nest.

I promise I'll revise once I finish my current story. Promise.*

From "The First Girl I Ever Loved":

The town is dying, but I’m compelled to drive every street, revisit every corner on which I shared history with Megan. Share history with Megan. The same old men sit in overstuffed chairs in the first floor reading room of the local library. The building is the same, I’m sure, but smaller. Perhaps, like the old men, the building has withered with age. They turn their bulbous, shiny eyes toward me, and their mouths open, stretching the slick, rubbery skin of their lips. Each holds up a braid of Megan’s hair as I pass through. They all have one, and use the strands as placeholders in their books. She kissed me for the first time—the only time—while we studied for a physics exam on the second floor, and I can still smell her under the spoil of old skin and moldy books. I enter through the back of the library and leave through the front, hesitating only to raise a hand in greeting to the old men.

Notice the odd tense shift in the passage? I'm playing with reality here, and this is only a tiny taste. I hope it works because I have big dreams for this one. Honesty is coming easier these days...just not revising.

*note the author crosses his fingers as he types this, which makes it damn hard to type

Friday Cheats and Free Stories

Well...hopefully those of you who signed up for the newsletter received a free story in your inbox. If not, check the spam filter. I'm just getting the hang of this thing.

I switched mailing list managers after a few people struggled with the old system.

Such is life.

If you want to be on the list and want to skip the form, send me a message at aaron_polson(at)hotmail(dot)com and I'll add you manually.

Oh...and I finished draft one of Borrowed Saints yesterday. (yeah, I cheated and skipped the last chapter until I've read through it again...sue me)

Have a wonderful weekend.

WIP Wednesday: Finish Line? What Finish Line?

Borrowed Saints is now longer than my final, soon-to-be-published draft of The House Eaters. That being said, the book is still 4-5K away from completion (and that total doesn't include additional bits I need to add upon rewrite). Right now, it stands at 43K.

Phoebe's uncle, EG, signed her out of the psychiatric hospital, and on the drive home:

He hadn’t said a word since signing her out of the hospital.

Something about his face—she couldn’t quite place it, but something was wrong with EG’s face. The lines around his cheeks and nose had sharpened, become less the soft, rounded kindness of her burly uncle and become more angular and stern. She’d seen the look before, but couldn’t place it.

The hum of the engine and the tires against blacktop filled the cab of the truck until the sound joined with the chilly fear in her stomach and became something new. Something vile and wretched. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said.

The EG-thing grunted.

Yeah...it's not really just her uncle in there anymore. Tomorrow, I blather on about "identity", and on Friday, I send out a free, unpublished story to my newsletter subscribers. Join the club, eh?

Revolution and Migration

First things first: can I have another weekend?

Our forensics (speech and drama) state competition was fun, but exhausting. One of my students "broke" into semifinals, the first time in years, so that was pretty cool. We're all dragging a bit today.

If you notice the page title, you'll realize I've changed the blog name. Well, do to the ease of updatage, I'm migrating my website to blogger. I'll keep the old http://www.aaronpolson.com/ domain, but I'm eventually going to have it redirected here. Until I can afford a professional web designer (right...like that will happen), blogger gives me the best options and customizability--especially with the new "pages" feature (my pages are listed under the title above). The pages allow me to free up a little of the sidebar, so each page doesn't look quite as cluttered. I'm doing the same with the Strange Publications' site (http://www.strangepublications.com/). The migration should be "complete" this week.

Borrowed Saints should be done this week, too. I won't hold my breath, but it's getting close. So close. I've just loaded the final reel...

WIP Wednesday: Slow and Steady

No 3K day on Borrowed Saints this Tuesday, but I did stick with my 1K words a day schedule. 33,063 words and counting...

Remember the ghost train? Well, it seems not everyone can see it:

“How about that, Charlie?”

Charlie shot Tucker a look of puzzlement. “How about what? Where should I point the camera?”

“You didn’t…you didn’t see?” Tucker felt like a boulder had flattened his chest. He gaped for breath. The few dry leaves remaining on the trees over head shook with the breeze. “You didn’t see the train?”

Charlie lowered his camera. “Is a joke? I hope it’s a joke. If you’re pulling some bullshit with your new friends—your Haley Garret friends, I’m going to be pissed.”

I have State Speech and Drama this weekend, so it will be a no words Saturday/Sunday. If I can make close to 40K by then, I'll be pleased. I have another project in the wings that's starting to itch...