The Sentinel

The sentinel stood as he always had, tall and watchful and white. But somehow now the gloss had fallen, his once-proud wings no longer glinting in the sun. The furrowed brow and sorrowed eyes cast over his battlefield, ever-vigilant, but pride now waning.

He had been the lauded one, the saviour boy, the golden angel breathing life. The rapture, the joy! - oh how he remembered! And then bitterly, from atop his pedestal, had he endured the turning of the crows. The taunts, the vile words, where once he had heard only lovesongs.

But still, and more, he endures stock-still, ever-rendering services required, fulfilling canon, exceeding grades. And thankless yet his back stands tall, while his worshippers flock to his adversaries, declaring him wanting and unwanted.

image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Why your competitors are not your competitors

...huh? What's she smoking? If I have a small business, anyone else doing the same job is likely to steal my customers, right?

Not quite. If you're selling vacuum cleaners, that might be correct, because most homes will choose between the available brands of vacuum cleaners and only select one.

But the internet is full of "want" items these days, not just "need" items. Games, brands, books. Art in general. In the case of books, don't assume that another author is a threat. For indie authors in particular, >>other indie authors can be your greatest early resource<<.

I've highlighted that sentence so that you'll now go back and read it again. (Go on. I'll wait for you here.)

You see, they too understand how it is when your fabulous work is obscure, unknown and nobody's talking about it. And I don't care who you are or how super-special-awesome your writing is, in the beginning you're sitting in a black hole. Until you have some good reviews and people are talking about it and >>doing the marketing for you<<, your book is the one buried under the piles of manure and gold that have flooded the market.

Did you see that second sentence highlighted? We would all love that. People with names like J K Rowling or Stephen King, their names are so well-known that with the slightest push, people run with it. They Facebook it or tweet it or Google+ it or talk about it on the phone to their cousin Sam. Nobody's doing that with your book, unless you do the pushing. If you're lucky you'll blab on about your book until you are hoarse, typing and posting and social networking until your fingers are sore, and then you'll sell... four books. Per year.

Most of us like to work alone. Most of us didn't write the book in collaboration, so we have an obsession with guarding our baby and controlling how it's marketed. Fine. But you know what? Instead of two individuals self-marketing two books independently, with everyone using two hours a day of marketing work, you could simply do one hour, then reshare the posts of the other author and they do the same for you. Then read the their book and review it, and they do it for you.

It seems at first as if you're merely cutting your own marketing in half and helping someone else take your customers. Right? Right? But that's assuming readers only buy ONE book.

>>Readers do not only buy one book<<.

There is no guarantee they will buy your book plus the other author's. But that doesn't matter. You have doubled your exposure because all their followers see your post (and vice-versa). Even better, reviews are critical. And you now have one.

Imagine the possibilities if you move on to the next author?

Indie authors... look after each other and you will be looking after yourself. When another author reshares your post, jump on it. It's an opportunity to cement a link that can work for both of you. When a reader or follower reshares your post, make a point of going and saying thank you. Spend five minutes (only five minutes!) reading their other posts. Interact. You are building a fan club.

If you don't even bother to thank these people, are you sure they'll support you?

>>Your fan club are your paying customers<<.

About that romance work

In the end, I didn't go ahead with it. I was too angry at the shitty genre.

I did, however, finish a short erotica piece. I bet you wish you could read it. Sorry. It's released under a pen name.

It didn't sell as well as I had hoped, but it has done ok. I plan to write a handful more in between projects, and re-release it as a collection. We shall see. :)

About Work Four

Or, you could say, the reincarnation of Work Two, which I mentioned here http://morningtrainwaiting.blogspot.fi/2012/06/works-in-progress.html . I recently read a very moving memoir-type novel, in which the author had managed to blend in a near-supernatural fantasy element (think: psychic child) and she managed to do so without awkwardly forcing a huge suspension of disbelief. It was also written in first-person, renewing my hope that I could also successfully make a story work in first person.

I started planning Work Four last week (now tentatively titled Pass Girl), and this recent memoir-type book prompted a few ideas. I also happened to look at the Young Adults section this week (and it's depressing). More than 90% of them are supernatural novels, most of which are vampires, followed by zombies, shape-shifters and werewolf-type creatures. It saddens me a great deal, for even though it's wonderful to see teenagers reading at all, and it's fine that they lose themselves in fantasy, it feels as if authors just aren't trying all that hard. Take a formula, plug in the character names, churn out a book. The massive swamping of the market since Twilight is Just.Not.Funny!

Even The Hunger Games is fantasy, to a certain extent, but they did it by NOT touching the central character herself. Instead, the fantasy is in the setting, and in the surroundings. She is an ordinary, contemporary, imperfect teenager, unsure in her interactions with boys, and she finds herself a pawn in someone else's game.

In a roundabout way that is where Pass Girl happens to be going. I only realised the Hunger Games connection later. Since Pass Girl involves a virus, I pondered a future setting myself, but I'm not sure I want that level of unfamiliarity in the work - it creates other problems, like having to invent tons of future stuffs, which I personally find distracting in a book. Think of Back To The Future, where the sight of Hoverboards means we are continually reminded that this thing ain't real - not necessarily awful, but I prefer my readers just to lose themselves without having to be conscious of the utter unreality of it all. It should be believable. And so instead of the future, it will be a parallel universe, an everyday YourTown, but the consequences of the virus mean laws which render teenagers powerless and at the mercy of adults. It is the protagonist's rejection of this arrangement which I want to portray, a stake of claim on her own life and future. It is probably, unintentionally, influenced by Stephen King's The Stand, although I will not be detailing any kind of medical, horror or barfworthy things anywhere.

I began to outline the book, and after a while, I realised what I had. I had a purpose for Work Two (with some re-writing). Work Two is right now nothing but a journey, and although I had used "downtrodden abused girl escaping" as the reason for her journey, I can remove that and replace it with "rebellion escape", which works better and is less clichéd, I think. And it gives me scope for an actual ending - kinda important ;)

I didn't set out to write YA fiction - I was in the YA section because I had no interest in reading what's on offer in the Adult section. But I think YA sits well with me. I'm not opposed to Adult Fiction per se, but when I thought over the elements that would be in my story, I don't actually want to limit the audience by detailing, erm, certain sexay details because they simply don't add to the story. Let's just call it Fiction in general, because I hope it has broad appeal despite the main character being 16.

Career Woman

Have you ever met a Career Woman?

I don't mean the kind you think I mean. I mean the ones who float in smug satisfaction. They need not justify themselves to anyone. They have already reached the pinnacle of success.

Every day is an exercise of efficiency: the hair is styled just-so. The make-up prepared perfectly. The clothes are never the height of juvenile-dominated fashion; more like the windows of the Ladies' clothing stores. Ladies with a capital L. A respectable spring scarf about the neck. A handbag which matches the low heels. Comfortable, but with a carefully-created outlook of style, serenity and self-assurance.

Every morning has its tasks. One must ensure the youngest Junior Executives have everything they need, and are taken to their respective appointments. Junior Number One is no longer in the same Office, and is forging his own life. The second Junior is twelve now. He plays the clarinet. He must look neat and tidy; it would not do for any of the others to make note of a dishevelled appearance. The Career Woman takes note of his school shoes, which are wearing on the sides. She types it into her phone, so that she will remember; she tells Junior that they will be going shoe-shopping that weekend. He grumbles as expected; she swiftly silences him with a look, or perhaps even a slap to the ear. Junior Executives must know their place in the Company. And they must achieve results which keep The Boss impressed.

After this, she takes care of The Office. The Office must be pristine. Beds made, kitchens tidied, bathrooms spotlessly scrubbed. Career Woman sits in the Meeting Room, and talks on her phone while all this is going on. There are networks to maintain, images to portray, important connections to be made while some unfortunate soul is on hands and knees attending to bathroom tiles. Once the office work is complete, there is the Maintenance work to do. An hour on the treadmill, sometimes with inspirational music. She must ensure the Product is maintained. It is of the utmost importance to her Business Model.

There are always business lunches with other Career Women. Sometimes Career Woman holds them at her office. Sometimes in a cafe. They discuss important aspects of their Careers, since they are all in the same industry. Money is never discussed, and wealth is never flashed about. That, my colleagues, would be inappropriate.

Most afternoons, she does her research in the Meeting Room. The remote control allows her to select which channel will be most informative. One must know what's going on in the world, you see, even if it's the imaginary world which gets researched the most. On some days, trade magazines have more valuable information. Without knowing which celebrity is dating which, business lunches might become awkward.

A quick trip to the supermarket allows her to prepare for the second-last task of her work day. The meal must be good, and it must look excellent, and it must be on time. The Boss relies on Career Woman to meet his expectations.

The Junior Executive has been trained to stay away from The Boss, unless summoned. When summoned, he shall present a recent stellar report card, or perhaps some project for which he was given an award. He shall then retire to his quarters and remain concealed until the next working day.

The Boss confers with business associates in the Meeting Room while Career Woman obliterates all evidence of a meal having occurred. She does this quickly, quietly and efficiently. It is her job, after all, and The Boss must not be disturbed. At some point she intrudes on his solitude with two glasses of a nice wine. Thus begins the last task of her day.

Tonight, she has dressed in Evening Attire and steep heels. Career Woman is thirty-nine, and she knows it is getting rather late to re-cement her place in The Company. Seduction is part of her job, but tonight, like the last few weeks, she has neglected to consume a certain medication. Her timing has been calculated perfectly. Even a Career Woman keeps certain secrets from her Boss. Hopefully, this task will succeed.

In a loyal, hard-working personal assistant, every Boss will forgive occasional surprises, and this Boss has room in his office for another Junior Executive. Another Junior Executive will keep her in a job for a further twenty years.

The Parachutist

I work with a woman who looks like a parachutist.

Every morning at eight when I arrive at work, she is already sitting at her desk. That cubicle faces the kitchen door, and I can see her legs beneath the desk. Today she has the purple shoes on. I like those ones the best, but in the way that a child might say they like Brussels sprouts better than Cabbage when they hate all vegetables with a passion.

She waves at me and smiles a greeting, her attention fixed on the caller at the other end of the phone. "Mmm-hmm," she murmurs into the mouthpiece, the quiet reassurance that she hadn't hung up and that the speaker should continue their spiel. The Parachutist's fair short hair is a cloud around her sunny face, her huge round glasses like 1970's windows to the sky.

The Parachutist always says good morning. Or waves it, when a customer interrupts her opportunity. But the Parachutist rarely speaks to us otherwise. If we need help, the Parachutist will know, but she will answer politely in as few words as possible, and will watch our faces carefully to ensure we understand. Once her job is done, she will jump out of the conversation, returning to her base camp to murmur into phone receivers and pore over waiting work.

Under the desk today, and topping her purple shoes, are the pants she always wears. They are jeans, of a fashion, but of a shape I hadn't known jeans were made in. The Parachutist has taught me that these jeans exist. They are high-waisted, and blown up like a balloon from top to bottom. Her ankles look impossibly tiny where they disappear into the purple shoes, the jeans' bottom elastic pulling them tight.

I keep imagining what her hair would look like as she jumped. The jeans, I am sure, would look exactly the same, billowing out and blown up with air as she rustled in the high wind descent. I sometimes wonder how old the Parachutist is. Her face might be 20, but her hair is 50 and her clothes a mix of 12 and 40. She has the efficiency of a secretary who has known a CEO for thirty years. Perhaps she is ageless, kept young by leaping out of planes every weekend.

Or perhaps she never jumps. Maybe she moonlights as that secretary, for a skydiving club, and the nearest she ever gets is greeting customers and handing them the enrolment forms.

Son, I Am Disappoint.

So I'm trying to make myself write again, and as part of my research I'm devouring a bunch of recent books in the same genre, namely, mass-market chick paperback aka mummy porn. And oh dear, what a disappointment.

I intentionally chose to read some by a certain MAJOR publisher. Let's just say if you think "hot romance books in the supermarket" then you have the correct one. They publish a hundred new titles every month, in virtually the same cover, and only the steamy manhunk photo changes.

I'm going to avoid naming authors because quite frankly I don't know how badly these books were mangled by the publisher. I have to assume that they forced enormous changes to the original manuscripts until they no longer resembled what they had been. You'd hope so, considering they take AGES to offer a contract, and then anywhere up to four years to actually publish (!).

Book one was a total wet blanket shemozzle. Plot synopsis: Miss Businesswoman meets Mr Tycoon. They have an argument and immediately hate each other. Even though they somehow can't take their eyes off one another and come really close to doin' the deed (hot and steamy!), they agree to stay apart because, well, they hate each other. Thanks to the death of a mutual friend, the two main characters end up sharing custody of a baby (whoa! a fabulous coincidence and convenient for a love story). They still hate each other. They decide to live together despite all this (wtf), and then get married for forever (wtf) with an agreement of no sex (wtf, who makes a deal like that) all ostensibly for the sake of the kid. Then they have hot and steamy sex, then fall in love. Ah, happily ever after. The book ends with them excitedly discussing getting pregnant. How does anyone find marriage-baby-potential-preggers stories hot and steamy? It might be just me, but I always assumed we mothers reading romantic fiction enjoy the fantasy-escape of not being mothers for a few hours. Is the "let's make another baby!" thing really necessary or does it add to a "hot love story"? Maybe I should be blaming the publisher for this aspect?

The thing is, I could suspend reality and get into the (questionable) plot if the book hadn't been so full of spelling errors, grammatical snafus and split infinitives. And they weren't minor or beginner errors (which this hastily-written blog post probably has in abundance). When you spell the name of the main character wrong you have a problem not to mention how many enormously long sentences there were that while strictly speaking were not wrong made it inherently difficult to read giving the reader a sense of wtf was the beginning of the sentence about again because it was so long ago that I've forgotten. I know for a fact this particular publisher ensures each manuscript gets edited by at least four (four) people before it's sent back to the author for final review. How do such obvious spelling and grammar stuffups slip past supposed-professionals four times? Are they in financial doo-doo and using the fifteen-year-old work-experience kid to edit it for free? Or is the eBook created by feeding physical hand-torn pages of the paperback into a scanner and booting up ancient software with a reading accuracy of 87%?

Also, some of the plot points felt padded and dragged out unnecessarily. It's as if there were an interesting basic premise underneath, and someone had thrown in a wrench and churned it up with saccharine until it fit some kind of magic formula for sale. "Dear author, it's a great story, but it needs a conflict early on. Please make them hate each other, or something. Oh, and we need them to be married in the middle, even though they hate each other. It's so that the sex scenes don't need to discuss condoms. You understand. Just minor changes that you need to make. You know, just the whole book. By Friday. Love, Editor."

Book two, ahhhhh. Relief. I could see from the very beginning that this author knows how to write. Proper grammatical structure right from the beginning. I relaxed and hoped to actually enjoy it. Then, kapow! She foists so many unbelievable plot pieces into one pile that I'm only four chapters in and seriously annoyed. Let's have a checklist for the storyline of "Miss Independent and Mr Wealthy" so far.

✔ believable or plausible
✖ ridiculous or unlikely

steamy weekend fling with complete stranger whose name she doesn't even know ✔
he does something asshole-y ✔
despite using contraception which did not seem to have failed, she falls pregnant ✔
but she decides not to tell him because she hates him for being asshole-y before ✔
hospitalised; doctor will not let her leave without proof of someone to care for her ✖
she has no friends, family, co-workers, facebook buddies, anyone else to ask for help ✖
she hasn't seen him in half a year, but he turns up on the same day that she calls ✖
without even knowing about baby ✖
he doesn't even ask why she's sick, before coming ✖
he somehow trusts it's his kid, despite him knowing he used a condom correctly ✖
he proposes to a complete stranger within minutes of finding out about the kid ✖
he convinces her of why this is a good idea by babbling on about lawyers and prenups ✖
she still hates him and doesn't want to marry him but somehow gives in within minutes ✖
Miss Independent allows him to take over planning her entire life ✖
he discusses her medical care with the doctors, without even asking her ✖
for some reason she moves into his house within two days ✖
they speak very familiarly yet they've never spoken since the week of the fling ✖
this intelligent, independent woman can't see he's a controlling, dangerous, asshole ✖

Score so far: 4 believable elements, 14 stupid ones. I believe the balance is unfortunately tipped way over into the "this is ridiculous" side of things. I can actually understand why the bullying is going on - the author is building character, with the fact that he's very used to getting his own way and taking charge (the hero has to be strong), and my guess is that the lady shall tame him and turn him into an adorable, gentle human-being-daddy. But it's bad enough that you already know this story will end with "and the two of them fell in love and lived together with their baby forever" - having to read Pinocchio's tall tales to get there is going to be painful.

And I know there are mouse-women whose self-esteem has been chipped away for years by controlling and dominating men like the "hero" in this book. But for goodness' sake, it simply doesn't happen via ONE one-night stand plus ONE ten-minute conversation. You'd have to be an idiot not to see that a Romeo who moves you into his house and arranges a marriage with you is a control-freak. And unfortunately the woman has been painted as being intelligent. Lemme guess: It was probably really-well done until the editor started mangling it. "Dear Author, please spend more effort in showing Mr Wealthy as a controlling and dominant character, and please make Miss Independent quite a bit more docile. And please do it in the first five minutes. What the heck, just make her roll over. Love, Editor."

I can almost forgive spelling and grammatical errors more than a book with so many ✖s in the plot. I am torn between thinking that it could be easy for me to write these, and dismay that it's apparently so easy to write these. (Famous last words.)

I weep for humanity.