“A Spark of Heavenly Fire” Has Been Kindled

This has been an exciting week for me — my books were released in print form , I had a fabulous turnout at my “Hallelujah My Novels Have Finally Been Published! Let’s Party!” party, and now my books have been Kindled, or whatever you call it when they are made available as Kindle books. I almost feel as if that calls for another party, but it took me a couple of months to plan the first, so by the time I give the party, the Kindle books will be old news. I guess I’ll wait until my third book comes out later this year to throw another cyberparty. Should be fun planning it, though, to be honest, I don’t think people will find the release of a third book quite as exciting as the dual release of the first two. Unless, of course, by then I am a celebrated author. (Celebrated by others, I mean, not just me.)

Where to go from here? I was going to reclaim my blog for myself, writing about me and my writing concerns, but to do that, I will have to write. And I will. Eventually. My poor hero is wandering around the extraterrestrial zoo under a tangerine sun. Actually, it’s a terrestrial zoo run by extraterrestrials, but still, he’s a bit miffed with me for leaving him alone all this time. But what could I do? I had a party to plan. And now I have books to promote. So, until I get back to writing, I will continue to have guests on my blog. The next scheduled guest is Marshall Karp, who will be stopping here on April 12 as part of his blog tour.

Oddly enough, though my book launch party was successful and broke my previous “view” record, the new record was broken the very next day because someone “stumbleupon”ed one of my older articles. The power of the internet. Need to get me some of that.

So, the book launch week is over, the party favors put away, the blog blitz done. And here I am. Wondering what’s next.

My Kindle books: A Spark of Heavenly Fire and More Deaths Than One

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Bertram’s Global Blog Blitz

As part of my week-launch book party, today I am appearing as a guest on several different blogs. Please stop by and say hi.

I am in New Zealand with Suzanne Francis, author of the Song of the Arkafina cycle. We are celebrating our shared firsts. Visit us at Scriber Rescribus.

I am in Canada, with A.F. Stewart, author of Inside Realms. We are discussing one of my favorite topics: the new era in publishing. Visit us at A.F. Stewart’s Blog.

I am in Canada, with Cheryl Kaye Tardiff, bestselling author of Whale Song. We will be talking about the psychopathic personality. Visit us at Criminal Minds at Work.

I am in the United States, featured on a blog by Laurie Foston, author of  The Next Phase Chronicles. Visit us at Pat Bertram’s Blog Tour

I am also in the United States with . . . me. I posted a new 100-word story for the occasion. Visit me at Mini Fiction.

(If this doesn’t seem like much of a blitz, several of the people who invited me didn’t get the articles posted. And two got my name wrong. Which just goes to show . . .  I Don’t know what, except that we are in the grip of something beyond our control.  From the first, these two books have attracted problems like metal filings to a magnet. I keep telling myself it means that everything will be wonderful in the end, but until then, metal filings.)

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A Letter From an Agent

I got a letter from an agent at William Morris Agency. It started out: Dear Pat:

Nice. Not too stuffy, not too familiar. Then the agent thanked me. Also good. And finally, he said that he was enclosing a manuscript for review.

Okay, that was mean of me to lead you on, but I liked the irony. Over the past seven or eight years, I sent out two hundred queries and primarily got form letters in response. (Form letters? Try form scraps — most agents enclose a much photocopied slip of paper into your SASE, and expect you to be grateful for that, which, of course, you are since many agents don’t bother acknowledge you at all.) But here an agent was sending me a manuscript, asking for my opinion. As I said, I liked the irony of it.

I also got a letter from the publisher (along with a finished copy of the book) thanking me for my review. The thing that struck me about this letter was the acknowledgement that readers sell books:

Writers write books, but it’s readers who sell them. Now, more than ever, the best way to hear about a good book is to hear about it from someone who read it and wants to spread the word.

All of us at St. Martin’s Minotaur are grateful for the time you’ve taken to read, review, and blog about . . . etc, etc.

So, is this more irony, this bringing the book business down to my level? Because my books are being published by a new press, I won’t have the sort of publicity that an major publisher can afford, but I can blog about my books, and I can (perhaps) get readers to talk about them. Just like a major author. Odd, isn’t it, this brave new world of publishing?

In case you’re wondering, the book is Marshall Karp’s new novel, Flipping Out. (He also wrote The Rabbit Factory andBloodthirsty.) I’m not allowed to talk about it until his blog tour, (he’ll be here on April 12th) but there’s nothing hush-hush about it. You can read the first five chapters on Karp’s website.

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On the Eve of Publication…

After seeing my article, “A Book Reviewer’s Lexicon,” where I mentioned that I’d read 20,000 books, author Ken Coffman asked what books stuck out in my mind as premier ones, what authors consistently pleased me, and which books I’ve read more than once. Off the top of my head, I posted a list of books. Premier? I don’t know that they are, but for some reason, I remember the title and author years — sometimes decades — after finishing them:

Sakkara by Noel Barber
Sarum by Edward Rutherford
The River God by Wilbur Smith
The Left Hand of God by William Barrett
The Balance Wheel by Taylor Caldwell (for many reasons, both good and bad)
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens (because of the irony)
The Creature From Jekyll Island by G. Edward Griffin (non-fiction)
The Gods of Eden by William Bramley (non-fiction)
The Twelfth Planet by Zeccharia Sitchen (non-fiction)
Story by Robert McKee (non-fiction)
most books written by Antony Sutton (non-fiction)
most books written by Stephen J. Gould (non-fiction)
a few books written by Hank Messick (non-fiction)

I wouldn’t necessarily recommend any of these books. I read them so long ago, I was a different person. That I remembered titles and authors shows what an impact they had at the time. In recent years, the only book that had any impact on me was Duma Key by Stephen King. I’m ashamed to admit it, but he did get me with that one. During the past couple of decades, the only other books that have completely pulled me in are The River God and Sarum, both of which I intend to reread. The River God is a story based on scrolls found in an Egyptian tomb, and Sarum is a Michener-type book about the Salisbury Plain in England. I don’t agree with a lot of Rutherford’s history, but the book fascinated me. I want to reread Sakkara if I can ever get it again, though I don’t remember much about it except that it’s a sort of North African Gone With the Wind. (Interestingly, I don’t like Gone With the Wind, though I did when I was very young. I tried rereading it a while back, and got bored.) I did reread Tanamera, (also by Noel Barber, and a sort of Singapore Gone With the Wind) and liked it the second time, too. In fact, I will reread all of Noel Barber’s books some day. Maybe even some of Nevil Shute’s books. And David Westheimer’s.

I read The Balance Wheel during the Vietnam era. Now THAT made an impact — reading a book about the war-to-end-all-wars during a later war. If I ever come across a copy of the book, I’ll reread it. (I lent it to someone who promised — actually swore — that she’d return it but never did.)

One book that got left off the above list is The Killing Gift by Bari Wood. I read it many years ago, and always remembered it. Reread it a few years ago, and it still had the same impact. It’s one of the few I’ve kept to re-reread.

I’ve also kept a copy of The Proteus Operation by James P. Hogan, so I can reread it someday.

One author who consistently pleased me was Kate Wilhelm until she stopped writing science fiction. On my wish list would be a newly written Kate Wilhelm science fiction novel (Are you listening, Kate?), but so far she’s sticking with mysteries. (They’re mostly published by Mira, which seems like hiding a diamond in the mud.)

Interestingly, I started rereading some of the classics, and couldn’t do it. Nicholas Nickleby, Sense and Sensibilty, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. AAGGHH!!!

For about fifteen years I got so sick of the pap put out by the major publishers that I stuck with non-fiction. Read everything — history, quantum mechanics, string theory, health, archeology, etc, etc, but that got old (or I did) so now I’m back to fiction.

I’ve decided I need to get rich so I can start buying indie books. I feel like the man who kept shrinking and shrinking until finally he shrunk so much he ended up in an entirely different universe, a microscopic one. For me, the publishing world has shrunk so much that the only hope for finding the sort of books that interests me is to find another world. Which I have. The indie world. I guess I’ll just have to get people to send me books to “review.” Yes, that’s it. I’ll tell people I’ll do a review if they send me their book.

I thought that it would bother me posting this for anyone to see — it does say something about me, though I don’t know what — and I half-intended to delete it, but then it dawned on me: this is the eve of my becoming a published author. I’ve approved the proofs, so More Deaths Than One and A Spark of Heavenly Fire will soon show up on Amazon. (They are already listed on the Second Wind Publishing site.) If a list of books I’ve read exposes me, then the books I’ve written will expose me even more.

So, here I am.

For what it’s worth.

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A Thrill of Books

51miDOzhkHL._SX333_BO1,204,203,200_A murder of crows. A quiver of cobras. A charm of finches. A mischief of mice. A tower of giraffes. A scurry of squirrels. To this list of wonderfully evocative group names, I’m adding “a thrill of books.”

When I was young, I used to love coming home from the bookstore or library with an armful of books. I’d study the covers, read the blurbs and acknowledgments, open the book and sample a few words. It was a special thrill, this stack of new worlds that would soon be a part of me. Where would I go? Who would I meet? What challenges would I have to overcome?

The years did their damage, as they always do. Or maybe the culprit wasn’t the passing years, perhaps it was too many trivial stories, too much homogenization of genre, too much corporate policy infringing on the art. For whatever reason, I lost the thrill of having new books to read, and I thought it was gone forever.

I mentioned in my previous blog that I offered to review a few books, and today I received two of them in the mail: Steel Waters and Toxic Shock Syndrome by Ken Coffman. I looked at the covers (okay, I did more than look, I ran my hand over them, savoring the feel of the brand new books). I read the back covers, the acknowledgements, the author’s signature — “To my friend and fellow writer, Pat Bertram. I wish you all the best with your work.”

Already I could feel the glimmer of that old familiar feeling. Then I opened Steel Waters to the middle and saw, “I looked and smelled like a Bolivian sewer rat.” From comments others had made, I knew this was no homogenized piece of corporate bilge, but right then I felt it — the thrill.

So thank you, Ken, for giving me — one more time — a thrill of books.

See also: Pat Bertram Introduces Glen Wilson, Hero of Five Ken Coffman Novels
On Writing: Style and Cadence by Ken Coffman
A Cheapskate Guide to Creating a Publishing Company by Ken Coffman

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels UnfinishedMadame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light BringerMore Deaths Than OneA Spark of Heavenly Fireand Daughter Am IBertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

The Book Reviewers’ Lexicon

I seem to have sidled into the book review business. Well, not business exactly, because no one is going to pay me, but a few people asked me to review their books, and I volunteered to review a few others, thinking . . . Who knows what I was thinking — I don’t have the slightest idea of how to review a book.

After having read more than 20,000 books, few seem original to me, fewer captivate my interest. So why do I read? Better to ask why I breathe. Even polluted air is welcome to oxygen-deprived lungs. But that doesn’t help the author who wants a review. “Not quite as polluting as others I’ve read recently” isn’t the most endearing review an author can receive. I considered writing curmudgeonly reviews, but unless they become popular, which would give the author a reverse (or perverse) sort of respect, they could only hurt. And I don’t enjoy bestowing hurt. I also considered using my own rating system, perhaps one Z for every time I fell asleep while reading, so a ZZZZZ rating would be a great book for an insomniac. The problem with such a system is that it would make me seem a) old; b) tired; c) sleep disordered. And that is not the image I am trying to portray.

I am not an effusive person, and I especially can’t gush about a book that barely impinged on my consciousness (or lungs if we keep up the air metaphor). So how can I write a review? By cracking the reviewers’ code. Now I can write an honest review using all the typical buzzwords. For example: when reviewers say a book is funny, what they really mean is that they think it’s funny the book was picked for publishing when their own was rejected. Here are some other words from the reviewers’ lexicon:

Fast-paced — Flipped through the pages at a very fast pace so I could be done with it.

Good read — Like a good feed, a good read goes in one end and out the other with little discomfort.

Page-turner — Couldn’t turn the pages fast enough to get to the end and be done with the torment. (See also fast-paced.)

Side-splittingly funny — I’d rather commit seppuku than read one more strained quip.

Sizzling romance — It really burns me that I wasted my time reading such tripe.

Sharp dialogue — lots of white space on the page making it easy to cut through the trite comments.

Witty — full of remarks so obtuse that you know the writer was trying to be clever though he or she didn’t quite manage it.

So, if I write a review that says a book is a side-splittingly funny page-turner with sharp dialogue and sizzling romance, you will know what I mean.

And if I say simply that I like it, without any effusion, you will know that I mean it.

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Is Genre Writing an Endangered Species?

I’m sure you’re all getting sick of me and my comments about the publishing industry, so today I thought I’d let someone else write about it. Andrew Vachss is guest blogging here blog today, though “ghost blogging” would probably be a better word for it. He doesn’t know he’s a guest and might not be happy if he finds out, so don’t be surprised if this post disappears.

I found this bit by Vachss in the foreword of Act of Love by Joe R. Lansdale, which might be the book that started the serial killer genre. (I always thought Thomas Harris started it, but this book predates his by several years.) I wasn’t impressed by the book (sorry Joe and Andrew) but I did find Vachss’s words interesting. He wrote:

Genre writing is an endangered species . . . for all the reasons any species starts to run out of road. Overpopulation, in-breeding, lack of natural predators, limited food supply. Words don’t work as stand-alones; they gather their power from juxtaposition . . . from context, from precision placement. But, in our game, words have become de-valued currency-you can’t count on them anymore. Our field is overdosed with flab: take some gratuitous, implausible violence, throw in some unrealistic sex, splatter some guts and hair on the nearest wall, sprinkle in a touch of mystical reference . . . and you’re walking on the “dark” side.

Sure.

The genres . . . horror, crime, fantasy, whatever . . . all have their built-in places to hide. Write something stupid, it’s a metaphor. Write something mean-spirited and small, it’s satire.

Getting published is pretty easy today. And that’s good. I’m all for an open admissions policy. But the sorting-out phase, the natural, organic process by which the strongest survive . . . that’s not happening. What we have instead is favor-trading, networking, and other sordid forms of insulation from the culling edge of the evolutionary razor. When the awards outnumber the candidates, we’re heading for the Wall. With no breaks and the steering locked.

Remember I told you that the genre market was in trouble? A dragon’s coming soon . . .coming down hard. It’s going to walk through the jungle, clearing out the dead vines with its breath, stomping on those that can’t get out of the way. A hard, cleansing wind is going to blow.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels UnfinishedMadame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light BringerMore Deaths Than OneA Spark of Heavenly Fireand Daughter Am IBertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

The 600-Pound Gorilla in the Publishing Industry

When it comes to small presses today, there is a 600-pound gorilla sitting in the middle of the room, and everyone is trying to ignore it. They point to the pretty pictures on the wall and to the bright new books on the shelves, but there the gorilla sits, filling the place with its heavy breathing and strong animal scent.

What is this gorilla? POD. Print-on-demand. A technology for printing a single book at a time in a matter of minutes. Because of this new printing process, small presses with vision and little capital are able to publish good books that otherwise would never reach a readership. Just a few years ago, a small press would only be able to publish a book or two. They would have to print a thousand or five thousand copies and hope to break even somehow. And of course, they would have to find a place to store them. Now, with new technologies, they can publish many books and have them printed up as needed.

Traditional publishers who still print books the old way — in offset print runs of 5,000 or 20,000 for debut authors — have no advantage over the new presses, except, of course, when it comes to promotion and publicity. They can reach vast numbers of readers. Still, in the end, 25% of all books published this way end up as pulp, so it makes one wonder if they really know what they are doing. The publisher will save a few copies of each, of course, because that way they can keep the rights to the book indefinitely, even after they stop promoting it.

To me, print-on-demand is something to be embraced, not ignored. Small presses should brag that they print as demand requires. As long as the publisher and author agree, the book can be available to the public indefinitely, with no exorbitant upfront printing costs, no storage costs, no unsold books to be pulped.

If one mentions book burning, people get indignant. Books are sacred! One cannot burn books! But who besides me (and the traditional publishers’ accountants) cares about the books that are pulped? No one — it’s an acceptable part of the business, though it shouldn’t be. It’s wasteful and shameful. So you’d think small presses would brag about printing on demand. Instead, they try to hide it.

And there sits the 600-pound gorilla. You can ignore it, but you can’t hide it. The size of the book — trade paperback — is one giveaway. The cost is another. A POD book is more expensive than a traditional paperback (though not much more expensive than other trade paperbacks). That it’s not available in most bookstores is another tell.

A POD book is special — perhaps a book that only a few thousand would love, perhaps a regional story that no one in New York cares about, perhaps a book whose time has not yet come. And every single one of them has been filtered through the publisher’s submissions department, and every single one of them has been accepted on its merits. They are chosen.

Print books are not going to disappear any time soon, but how they are printed will change. POD will become the norm rather than the exception — it’s a much better way to conduct business.

So why the reluctance to admit small presses are POD? Because of the other POD — publish on demand. These POD people will publish anything — for a price. (Some POD companies and vanity presses are owned by the major publishers. A nice scam. But a lucrative one. Why not prey on the millions of authors who want to be published at any cost?) Since I don’t want to incur the wrath of all the self-published authors out there who are doing a good job, I’m going to stop here.

Except to say one more thing.

If one cannot hide the gorilla, change its name.

Since there are two distinct meanings to POD, I suggest calling publish-on-demand PLOD and print-on-demand PROD. That way no one will ever get them confused.

(March is Small Press Month. So, this month, let us pay tribute to all the PROD publishers out there.)

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Writing and Well-Meaning Friends

A friend — another writer — sent me an email, which she said I could post here on my blog. She asked:

How do you resist the efforts of (I hope) well-meaning friends who want to manage your writing career for you?  As an example, a friend of mine happened to see a copy of my novel on the bookshelf while she was over.  Questions arose–How many copies had I sold?  Why wasn’t available locally in the bookshops?  How did I expect to sell millions of copies if it wasn’t marketed?

I tried to explain that writing was an end to itself, and I had no expectations beyond that.  I don’t expect to make any serious money writing, and I don’t want to be well-known, especially in my home town.

She looked at me like I was crazy and then launched into a bunch of suggestions about what I “should” do — like visit the local bookstores and sell my book to them, or have a local autograph/book launch party.

No, no, no.

I’m a private person.  I HATE speaking in front of people I don’t know, or otherwise putting on a show.

And these well-meaning lectures happen all the time.  Basically to the point where I don’t want to tell people what I do anymore.  But my kids or my husband usually chime in–because they are proud of what I have accomplished.  So I am, but I am happy with the level of success I have achieved.

Any thoughts?

My response:

That’s an interesting question. My publisher (Second Wind) is new,  so for now the authors are pretty much on their own for promotion. Many are haunting bookstores, (or trying to get their courage up to do so) trying to line up booksignings, and they can’t see beyond that. But . . . 85% of books in a bookstore sell less than two copies. Most people who go to bookstores buy what they went in for (though they may browse) and usually what they buy is one of the 15%. Most people who impulse buy, buy online. Which makes sense when you think of it. When do people have time to kill? At work. And so they browse the internet.

I totally understand about being a private person. I may have to do a booksigning/talk at the local library (the librarians have been very good about getting me the books I needed) but I have no desire to be a local celebrity. Or a laughingstock.

Nor am I interested in traveling around doing booksignings — you spend more than you can make.

The way I see it, our books are available on the internet. (Or mine will be when I’m finally out of copy-editing hell.) So that’s what any promotion should be geared for.

One of the benefits of being published by a small press is that most do not expect you to become a public person. Most (especially if they publish on demand) are even willing to keep the book on their lists indefinitely, which is good. It takes three years for a book to take hold.

But this does not really answer your question. It just explains why the questioners don’t know what they are talking about.

I don’t know how to answer pushy people. Never have. Maybe the best thing is to put a smile over gritted teeth and say, “I’ll let you know when I do.”

Odd, when you were published as an e-book, you weren’t a real writer. Now that you’re in print, you’re not a real writer because you haven’t sold a million copies. But you know that you are a real writer, a real published writer. And no one can take that away from you.

How would you respond to the author’s question?

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A Two-Ton Ice Cream Cone

I am having an online discussion about description based on my article “An Image Fit Only For a Horror Movie.” We’ve been talking about simile and metaphor, and how to create vibrant images. As you know, I’m not fond of similes and metaphors, so I look for the significant detail, the one detail that will give the whole, such as crayon scribbles on a wall to show . . . well, whatever the reader thinks it shows.

Sometimes this significant detail transcends mere description and becomes a metaphor. One participant in the discussion is Bruce DeSilva,  the writing coach at The Associated Press in New York City, whose agent is shopping his first novel, a crime story set in Providence, R.I.  Bruce  told a wonderful story that immediately captured my attention. Bruce wrote: 

In my experience, the best images spring not from the imagination but from careful observation. Let me tell you a story.

Several years ago, I went for a walk with a young reporter I was thinking of hiring. As we strolled through Times Square, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and said: “That’s amazing!”

What was? I didn’t see anything.

I watched as he whipped out his digital camera and started snapping pictures of a six-foot-tall, two-ton, concrete ice cream cone, painted up pretty, standing on the sidewalk in front of an ice cream parlor.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “What’s amazing about that?”

“Bruce,” he said, his tone indicating he was disappointed in me. “Look at it!”

“I’m looking,” I said, ” but I still don’t get it.”

“Bruce,” he said, “it’s chained to the wall. We live in a city where you have to chain a six-foot-tall, two-ton ice cream cone to a wall so no one will steal it.”

Well, yeah. That was amazing.

But how many millions of people, me included, had walked passed it without ever noticing the chain, or, more importantly, what the chain represented?

You don’t see the chain unless you are a careful observer, and it takes a poet’s sensibility to make the leap from the chain to what it represents.

We never did write a story that used the ice cream cone as a symbol of crime in our city — but we could have.

I hired the young man on the spot.

See? Significant detail and metaphor all rolled into one. If you are on Facebook and would like to participate in the discussion, feel free to stop by the Suspense/Thriller Writers group discussion.

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