Saturday, July 11, 2015

Cons, courtesy and the dangers of social media

In all the years I've been writing, and involved with the digital publishing industry, I have never failed to be aware of the importance of conventions. Terrifying at first, they became sources of pleasure - the vacations I sometimes missed out on personally, but found myself enjoying professionally. I have met and befriended wonderful people and visited places I never imagined ever seeing - thanks to the convention "circuit". For ten years I made sure I was at the biggest and also managed some of the smaller events - touching base and hugging readers in person is a joy indescribable to most of us writers.

However...there are the ugly facts of life to consider. Nowadays, conventions cost BIG bucks. Okay, the rooms are discounted (but even then, fees belt that daily charge back up again),  and there is a registration fee to take into account, most often higher than the year before. Then there is the terrible job of finding a flight. If I have to fly through O'Hare AND Dallas to get where I need to go without busting my budget...well, I'm going to think seriously about whether it's worth spending two days coming and going while enjoying the hospitality of the TSA.

See the picture emerging here? I am not independently wealthy. If I was, I'd be on my private beach while this would be being written by my ghost writer, Dave Barry. (Love that guy. Want to take him out for drinks and dinner. God, it would be fun!!!) Thus hard decisions have to be made about where, and where not, to go, because it's no secret that eBook sales are enjoying one hell of a roller coaster ride at the moment. I try to use my royalties for events, but these days? That would probably get me a cab to the airport. Or possibly the Metro.

Making con choices based on the financial end of things seems callous, but then again there are smaller events rapidly sprouting nationwide. If I'm faced with a $2000.00 bill for a "big" event, versus a $750.00 bill for a smaller event with fewer readers...well, duh, I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. In addition to the cost benefits, I KNOW I will get time to spend with the readers at the smaller con. Will I sell as many books? Actually, yes. Because one-on-one establishes a connection. The chances of one-on-one at a massive con with hundreds of readers scrambling to see their favorite big name author? Slim to none.

This, to me, makes sense. But here's where the second part of this blog enters the room and, sadly, darkens it. It does not make sense to everyone, it seems. This year has seen the unpleasant beginnings of a "whispering" campaign on popular social media aimed directly at smaller events. I saw it, and ignored it, until it hit an event I attended. I was, in fact, at my table at the event, when the whispers began. It was devastating for many reasons, not the least of which was the source - someone I had previously respected, and more than a few authors who should have known better than to jump on a bandwagon that had unverified wheels.

If it is plastered across a certain social site that I'm not selling books and in fact have packed up my table along with everyone else at the event, I would really like someone to tell me that, and also the reader on the other side of the table buying a book of mine at that moment.  I was gobsmacked; astounded and then disgusted. Apparently it is quite acceptable to lie like a cheap rug these days. Which is where the 'courtesy' part of this blog takes a real hit. Not that long ago, we were a community - a family of people who respected each other and were committed to writing the best books we could, then getting the word out by giving one hell of a party for those folks who kindly bought them and read them. We were never perfect, but were brought together by common goals and worked together without rancor, celebrating successes and commiserating at the bar with those of us suffering crappy reviews. Also sharing bottles of Advil the next morning.

What the F**K happened? Where did that environment go? Where is the common courtesy that requires you NOT LIE in such a brass-faced fashion to the many people who have cared enough to  'like' you? (Especially those who soak it up like it was gospel. JEEEEZ, people.) Am I THAT naive to believe it's wrong? It's done now, and over. But the community I thought I belonged to has fractured irreparably into something less. I'm saddened because it's just another in a series of blows our industry has suffered through no fault of its own - this time at the hands of social media, a dangerous weapon when wielded to harm and vilify.  So I ask you, readers and writers, to please remember we're all human. We try to live this life as best we can. We SHOULD NOT be trying to hurt anyone. And rediscovering our courtesy will go a long way toward helping.  Here's a few words from a dude who really nailed it...

Thanks Ralph. Well said.

Monday, January 5, 2015

I confess. I killed my Floofie!!!

There's nothing like starting a new year with the terrible realization that you are, in fact, a Serial Killer!!!  Now truthfully, to look at me, you don't automatically think "Oh God, call the FBI, this woman's a serial killer." At least I hope not, although if I'm not wearing makeup and haven't had my hair done in a couple of months you could be forgiven for the mistake . But the sad fact remains...I discovered this weekend, that I am...without question...a serial killer.


Now in case you're not sure what a floofie is, it's this. I'm not even sure that's the correct name for it,
and I had no idea what to call it, until my writing Partner, the inimitable Scott Carpenter, wrote a scene in one of our stories and referred to the stuff a woman keeps in the shower. (I think his hero was playing with some of it. LOL) Anyway, I asked him what the hell a floofie was. And from that point on, these things were floofies. (Floofii? Not sure what the plural should be...grammar fiends please advise!)

Their construction is somewhat of a mystery to me. They must be fiber. Perhaps they're recycled soda bottles, which would be a good and green thing and I'd feel less embarrassed about the amount of soda I have imbibed over my lifetime. I reckon from here to Alpha Centauri ought to about cover that. Sigh.

Perhaps they are some kind of fabric. The kind that has a half life greater than plutonium and will surely linger on Earth long enough to choke the next iteration of dinosaurs to extinction. Who knows? Well, I guess floofie makers do. Google probably does as well, but thus far I haven't been sufficiently motivated to check it out.

However, this killing thing. Well, I enjoy a good floofie in the shower. (Shut up you pervs. LOL) And I had a favorite floofie that remained a staunch buddy for what seemed like a generation. Then, at the end of last summer, it finally passed on to its reward. It gently disintegrated into small loops, each sadder than the last, drifting in silent farewell to my shower floor.  I admit to a tear or two as I said a sorry goodbye, unable to restore it to anything resembling a floofie.

So, after a suitable period of mourning (about a day and a half) I immediately replaced my beloved with a brand new, breathtakingly pink, enthusiastic new floofie.  We scrubbed happily, and I looked forward to sharing more years with my new cheerful body buddie. Then, to my utter shock, within six weeks... it died!!!

Not only did it just die, it died horribly, becoming in its death throes something more akin to the offspring of an octopus and a band aid, wrapping itself around my slender naked limbs (okay, so I write fiction, live with it!) and attempting to take me with it to the Great Floofie Beyond.

So I did the "lather, rinse, repeat" again, new floofie (white this time) and what happened this weekend? Yep. Attempted Strangulation By Cleansing Accessory. Once again I had succeeded in killing a floofie. It looked something like this. Only white and a bit smaller. Like by a factor of a thousand.

I looked down at the pale lashings of whatever-that-stuff-is, as they firmly gripped whatever part of my body they could. I discovered that there are some parts you don't want floofies lashed to, by the way. The more I struggled to free myself, the more it clung to me...a bittersweet last gasp at the life it had known in my shower. But I, in my furious serial killer frenzy, was having none of it.

The battle was fierce but brief, and shortly thereafter yet another floofie was consigned to Floofie Heaven.  What's next? It would seem that I could risk killing another floofie and try a blue one, accepting that they now have a much shorter lifespan than I'd previously experienced, and ready for the attack-by-floofie whenever it strikes.

Or I could go out and buy the most luxurious spa-approved sea sponge and turn my back on floofies forever.

OR...does anyone know Tom Hiddleston's phone number? Since I'm now a serial killer, I figure a super-villian like Loki in my shower would work just fine! ;)

The "At Least You Know I'm Clean" Sahara

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

The Dawn of the Third Age -

Or Why Science Fiction has the Answer to Everything!!!!

"We began in chaos, too primitive to make our own decisions. Then we were manipulated from outside by forces that thought they knew what was best for us. And now - now we are finally standing on our own." Captain John Sheridan, Babylon 5 Station.

It's New Year's Eve. One of those days I totally loathe, since it's usually a reminder of everything I didn't accomplish in the year about to end, and then filled with people (like myself) desperately trying to cram all the fun they didn't have into one evening.

Which is why we stay home and usually sleep right through the whole damn thing.

However, this year... well, I remembered something from a favorite show of mine that sort of sums it up.

It was the year of fire.
The year of destruction.
The year we took back what was ours.
It was the year of rebirth,
the year of great sadness, 
the year of pain and the year of joy.
It was a new age, it was the end of history.
It was the year everything changed.

(Thanks to Babylon 5 and JM Straczynski)

These words ring so true for writing and publishing in 2014. Fires exploded in our world and so much of what we'd tried to believe in was destroyed. Trust evaporated, suspicion blew in to replace it and many of us spent months attempting to take back what was ours.

Our words were reborn and republished, but there were sadnesses a plenty, and the pain of fearing that one's work no longer had a home. There was joy, of course. For many there were successes both professional and personal. That's life...the original roller coaster ride.

But it really WAS the dawn of a new age, and it marked the end of history as far as traditional publishing was concerned.

You see, it really has been the year EVERYTHING CHANGED.

I have no clue what lies ahead. I wish I had a crystal ball or at the very least a Vorlon Ambassador to utter cryptic clues now and again.  But can 2015 be different? Better? Worse? Again...who knows.

I guess, starting tomorrow, we'll find out.

Happy New Year to all,


Friday, November 21, 2014

If writing is my job, how do I file for workman's comp?

I love the brilliant humor of Douglas Adams. He immortalized deadlines, took us to the Restaurant at the End of the Universe and showed us the importance of towels.  He also nailed it when it comes to writing.

Yes, I'm staring at my screen, and have been for quite some time now. In fact, I might require transfusions shortly, since I'm not sure how much blood I have left. (Please tell the EMT's I'm A+ blood type.)

There is no avoiding it, no masking it or pretending it's something else. I've prevaricated, euphemized it to pieces, and ignored it as much as possible. I've told myself it's the time of year, the encroaching darkness, the need to make a Christmas list, and the absolute necessity of teaching my cats Latin.

Nothing can effectively conceal the truth. I have WRITER'S BLOCK!!

There are lots of lighthearted and amusing relevant graphics, some of which you'll see scattered willy-nilly on this post. But when you get down past the humor to the nuts and bolts, this is NOT f**king funny. If you write, you will understand.

I'm about a quarter of the way into the fourth book in my latest series of Gothic Horror tales, set in the Asylum for the Mechanically Insane.  I might be joining those poor souls soon, occupying my own cell. At least I don't have to beg for a pencil to scribble my opus on those bleak damp walls, because I don't have a damned word anywhere in this completely frozen brain!!!  I think about the story. I like where I'm at and I like where I'm going. Sadly, it seems the bus that would have taken me to my destination has departed without me and I have NO FREAKIN' CLUE WHY!!!!  AAAAARGH.

I have a hard time describing it to "laypeople" (anyone who doesn't write), since it's more of a state of mind than an actual physical issue. I have a comfy office chair, a relatively clean desk (with cat hair accessories), and my nails are perfect typing length - not so long as to scrape on the brushed aluminum of my cordless keyboard. That gives me the shudders.  My computer is clean and tidy, I have Gigaflops of storage and I back up EVERYTHING. Twice. In addition to a third time to my own personal server. I am so redundant I am vital! And yet, with all this fabulous technology massaging my inner geek, there's still something missing.


Apparently there are many, MANY people with solutions to this problem. Just Google it, folks. Happy reading and I'll see you in a few months.  But the "just let your fingers roam the keyboard" technique produced something that looked like a drunken Orangutan had been trying to Google hangover remedies. Not much help. Letting the cats walk over the keyboard produced much more aesthetically pleasing verbiage, and even a screen shot or two. (How DO they always find the function keys?)

Then there's the "free your mind" technique. So I did. I tried prunes and oatmeal. My mind was freed, along with the rest of me actually.  I walked in the sunshine (got a bit of sun on my nose) and the rain (wet feet).  I went to the Mall. After that one, hubby stepped in and said that writer's block was one thing, our credit limit was another, thankyou. Please not to confuse the two. On the plus side, I think I finished most of my Christmas shopping in one fell swoop.

But those elusive critters have yet to return. I still haven't managed to recapture the joy of falling into my own story and living it along with my characters. I have Baron Gerolf Von Landau already enmeshed in the villainy of Lord Randall Harbury, and Lady Alwynne is about to emerge from her terrible torturous ordeal. What kind of mark it will have left on her soul is to be revealed soon. But...there's always that but...

I know it'll eventually wane. I've been through this before. And I also know I should listen to my own advice during the discussions I have with friends on this topic. The market is so saturated everyone is up to their necks in eBooks. Amazon has shown itself to be the wide-open-spaces of digital literature and the buffalo novels have stampeded in without a check. Every book is in competition with ten thousand other books, and success is, as it has always been, a certified, absolute CRAP SHOOT!!!

I know this. I believe this. And I will overcome this. But right now? In the middle of it? Well there is no elegant or ladylike way to express it. It just SUCKS.  So forgive me if I indulge in my favorite single malt liquid tranquilizer, curl my lip in disgust at author rankings and binge watch something mindless. (No, not the Walking Dead. That's just...nope. Can't do it.)  Please remember I'm having a crisis here, so give me a bit of leeway, bear in mind I haven't actually harmed anyone (yet), and I WILL triumph over this, emerging a bit beaten up, but wiser and with the urge to get back to Harbury Hall and my horror novels.

I don't even want to think about the alternative. Neither does hubby. It seems he's not really enthusiastic about moving to a small Caribbean island and living off the grid. He'd miss his double oven and Cuisinart appliances, not to mention pining for Alton Brown and the Food Channel.

The holidays are approaching, so I do have a legitimate excuse to procrastinate. Let's hope I don't need to use it. Maybe the turkey-with-all-the-trimmings will revive my waning muse. If not, I swear I'm letting the cats loose on the keyboard. Wanna bet they'll come up with a new plot line?  LOL

Wishing everyone a very happy holiday season,


Now available -

  • The Don't Look Away series - Books 1-3; Amazon Kindle Unlimited

Coming at some point before the end of time (I hope) -

  • COMPULSION (Book 4; Asylum for the Mechanically Insane - Gothic Horror)

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

I'm a Writer on the Horns of a Dilemma

Last month I wrote of my personal sadness about the disaster unfolding within a certain publishing house. As many of you readers know, these are troubling times for a lot of us writers who are doing our best to protect our work by requesting our rights be returned to us.  We 'moms' want our 'kids' back where they are safe, if you want to look at it that way.

But we (or at least I) don't want you faithful folks who buy my books - and those of other affected writers - to be negatively impacted if at all possible. After all, it's not your fault, nor ours, that a particular publisher is now in a mess of biblical proportions.

This month the collateral damage of the ongoing clusterf**k is starting to reveal itself. It did to me this morning. In my inbox was one of those emails - you all get them, I'm sure - "Suggestions for your reading enjoyment based on your purchase of XXXX". (Yes, I read all kinds of books and occasionally a romance or two. LOL)

I barely glanced at it, but something caught my eye. Lo and behold, it was the cover to one of the books coauthored by Scott Carpenter and myself - Pure Sin. I checked and all those books are still available on Kindle. Along with more than a few others of both ours, and mine alone, that I was surprised to see there. It shocked the hell out of me, especially to find it promoted in an email.

You see we were granted our rights back on July 14, 2014, without argument, since all our "Partners in Passion" book contracts had expired from one to three years earlier. (We'd never asked to renew contracts, nor had we been contacted in any effort to do so.)

It's a godawful, head/desk mess. I do understand the difficulty of removing print books from vendors. And I know that even Amazon cannot or will not stop third party vendors from selling such books.  BUT... and it's a BIG BUT...removing a digital book is much simpler.  Now that so many of us self-publish, we all know how these things are set up. Even if it's a lengthier process for a publisher with a mess of books, it doesn't alter the fact that it shouldn't take more than a couple of clicks to UNPUBLISH a digital document from an eBook library. Once you're into the publisher dashboard, go to it.   One person, one day's commitment and all returned-rights books SHOULD be able to be removed from Kindle. I would hope that the same attention would be applied to other vendors, but honestly? I don't want to look. Because if I do, and I find my books there as well, it will further increase my gut-churning distaste for this whole situation, and do nothing to mitigate my disappointment with those whom I once admired.

My dilemma is thus revealed. Readers can still buy books of mine which should NOT be on sale. I might even say that this situation is sliding toward illegal, but God knows I don't want to go there. (They will probably disappear from the digital shelves at some point, but with the current situation, I cannot begin to guess when that might be.) I don't know whether to say "don't buy them" or...what? I didn't get into this business to tell readers not to read my books. I don't know anyone who did. This is the collateral damage I mentioned above. Writers like myself who are just trying to work out the best for our stories and our readers. We are trapped by circumstances over which we have no control whatsoever.

It goes without saying that those of us who are now publishing our own works - well hell. Please feel free to buy those in bulk. (And yes, that was a plaintive wail of a "PLEEEEEESE". ) LOL  This chaos will resolve, and hopefully soon. With luck, we will settle many issues and see our "children" returned to us unharmed and no longer tethered to a sinking ship. At which point we'll re-edit, revise, re-cover and re-launch them out on a new journey with fresh faces and goals.

It's a tad disturbing to realize that when my first erotic romance was released some of today's readers were barely hitting pre-school. Sigh. My son was in junior high. I had a waist. LOL  I believe there will always be a home for a good digital book, so I hope - as a writer - that you readers will be patient and as supportive as you've always been and make the decisions you feel work best for YOU. We've come a long way together. We have a lot further to go!!!

Happy Reading

Sahara Kelly

(My three-book "Don't Look Away" series is now on sale and is a re-edited and revised retelling of the two stories originally published as "Scars of the Lash" and "Scars of the Soul". Self publishing this work allowed me to break it into the three stories it was always meant to be.  Just sayin'...)

Don't Look Away Book 1 - Sally Ann
Don't Look Away Book 2 - Suliana
Don't Look Away Book 3 - Thanael