Tag Archives: blog
It’s the Monday after Thanksgiving, bright and early in the morning. The sun is shining giving the promise of a splendid day ahead. I am sitting at my writer’s desk penning my blog for the new week ahead and for some reason contemplating lunch which is several hours away.
Why, you ask, would I be thinking of the second meal of the day having only just broken my fast from the night before? My answer to you, as if you haven’t already guessed, is my previously planned fare for this midday meal. Yup, it’s a turkey sandwich, my staple for the past five days.
Fresh in my mind I remember alluding to the cache of leftovers in last week’s blog that would invade my diet for the next week. However, this overabundance of foul fowl may be perceived as pro or con.
Some folks could eat turkey every day if not every meal. For my tastes once a year is quite enough, which is why we have prime rib for Christmas.
I just glanced at the sundial on the wall, and see that it’s time for the 12 o’clock force feeding. To everyone who shares my feelings for eating one of the smartest avians in the wild . . . when grown in captivity . . . not so much. Hang in there, this soon will pass.
The Saying Used to go “If you want to write, write.” Not If You Want to Write, Write, Re-write, Edit, Market, Market, Market
As I begin my blog, we are experiencing sustained winds of 30 mph gusting to 50 mph. Trees are falling and power outages occurring around a good part of the state. In case you’re wondering, I live in Virginia. Fortunately, my power is still on, and no, I didn’t knock on wood. I hold a firm belief that if rapping my knuckles against a slab of tree (albeit finished) makes one iota of difference in my life, then I need to rethink my entire existence.
I’m working on a new science fiction/fantasy hybrid that is becoming extremely frustrating. Not because of the manuscript, but my inability to spend time working on it. Here’s where the irony rears its ugly head.
The time I need to write the book is spent on another necessary aspect of the writing biz, namely marketing. It’s not my intention to sound like a broken record or beat a dead horse, but something must be done about this travesty. I have spent many sleepless nights and grueling days pondering this conundrum. After many years of searching, I now have the perfect solution.
All we need do is lengthen our days. It would be a simple task. Change our present calendar to reflect six months instead of twelve, forty-eight hour days and a ten-day workweek. Aside from a few minor tweaks, I believe this would solve all of our problems. Just think, finally enough time to finish manuscript after manuscript, without the marketing beast hoarding every minute . . . at least I think so. What if marketing expands to meet or even exceed the percentage of time it demanded before the change? If this occurs, we’re right back where we started, only with twice the marketing.
Best leave bad enough alone; I don’t want to experience worse.
Ifin I had my druthers, I’d write all of the time. Alas, knowing this is a virtual impossibility, I’m bound to taking care of all the other stuff that pops up. Of course, I’m speaking within the parameters of writing and its many aspects.
I spend an enormous amount of time on marketing. When I published my first novel, I didn’t realize this milestone was the easy part. With a thousand or so new titles jumping out each day, how do you get your work before the eyes of the public without this valuable tool?
All right, so I know I have to market . . . what does this mean? Sometimes I wonder if there are as many ways to market a book, as there are books? I know I’m being a bit facetious but there are many methods to employ into your marketing scheme.
My day goes something like this: In the morning, I’m ready to play. What’s the first game? Marketing for Money. I try to limit my time to several hours in order to promote my books each day. What’s the next game? Depending on the day, it could be “What’s my Blog” or to keep my website interesting there’s always, “Name that Newsletter.” Every once in a while I’ll slip in, “Support my Short Story.” Then comes the time of day I actually get to work on my latest manuscript. I call this, “Recess.” When done, I usually find I’m satisfied with the day’s work and fired up for tomorrow.
If a Sleep Deprived Blogger Fell Asleep While Writing a Blog on Sleep Deprivation, Would that Give the Sleeping Blogger an Edge on Blogging While Sleep Deprived?
Have you ever attempted to write a blog post and had absolutely no idea what to say? Hence, the first sentence. Even now I’m killing virtual paper space searching for something coherent to offer my readers. In actuality, I think they call this writer’s block, although I don’t believe that to be the case. I’ve never suffered from the aforementioned writer’s block. I have run through short spells when my mind refuses to focus on the task at hand. In this case, I’m trying to discover what the task may be or else succumb to examining the inside of my eyelids…well, whattaya know, a short ten-minute power nap kinda shakes up the cobwebs in my cranium and allows me to hopefully make this post a bit more meaningful. Of course, as I read over what I have written, it seems to make more sense simply because it’s something we all face at one time or another. I know when I’m working on a novel I try to write my character into a corner, much like a painter painting a floor would paint himself into a corner with no doors or windows through which to flee. I find if I write my character into this type of corner with no visible means of escape, once I pull him from the jaws of certain demise I have used my strongest writing to do so…hey, I may have just snatched this post from the chops of defeat.
How ya Doin? Fine. How you Doin? Fine. You Sure you Okay? Well, I’ve Been Better. Yeah, I’ve Been Better, Too. Actually, I’m Feeling Pretty Rotten. Yeah, I’m Gonna Lie Down.
Looking back on my blog, it was obvious my previous post was centered around words, and why not? What’s better than words when you’re a writer?
Words take many forms. I particularly like the, “Hi”’s, “How ya doin”’s and the responses they elicit. When it comes to greeting another your choices are somewhat limited: “Hi, Hello, Salutations, Hey, Greetings, Yo, What’s up, How ya doin,” and the like.
When you respond to one of these greetings, especially if it contains a question, the sky is the limit. You must be careful when asking someone, how they are doing; you might get more than you bargained for. Answers you may encounter: “Fine, Okay, Good, Not so good,” and everything from a runny nose to the plague, just to name a few.
My favorite responses have to be those from the good ol boy belt of which I am a member: “Fair, Fair to middlin, Tolerable, Seen better days, Been worse, If I got any better I couldn’t stand myself and Just as well as if I had good sense.”
It all boils down to words. In and of themselves they can be most anything…but I guess that’s up to each one of us.
I’ve been writing posts on my WordPress blog…well, I don’t know how long I’ve been writing posts on WordPress, but I do know at the very least several years. As far as how many posts I have written, I’m sure there are hundreds. I do one a week. When I first started, I did at least one and sometimes two each week. I wanted to take a moment to thank my readers and followers for your loyalty. It’s like Christmas each week to send off a post and read the responses. I strive to connect to writing but in a light-hearted, humorous way. So please, accept my heartfelt thanks and know that your attention is much appreciated!
If You Dream Silly, Off The Wall, Nonsensical Dreams, Think About That Mess Before You Decide to Record It
We all have dreams. I’m not one who puts stock that dreams mean anything other than what they are: either what we’ve done that day, seen on TV, or a thought we’ve stowed away in our subconscious that escapes that particular night.
I’ve never thought of turning one into any kind of blog, short story, etc., until now. We all know how real or muddy a dream can be. Well, hold on to your hats, sister, cuz I’m gonna take you for a ride.
First, allow me to set the stage: I’m traveling down a dirt road in my convertible El Camino. Behind me (in tow) is a thirty to forty foot boat. Beside me sits none other than old blue eyes himself, Frank Sinatra. (And less any rumors begin to circulate from this work of fiction; I am neither now nor have ever been a Sinatra fan.)
We’re cruising down the dirt highway and I run into a ditch. Now, when I say a ditch, I actually mean a six-foot deep twelve-foot wide rut that cuts a path straight across the road. I get out of my ride to survey the situation and calculate a solution. Wouldn’t you just know it that ole lazy bones (Frank) refuses to lend a hand in the operation? So as any good and respectable property owner should do, I lift the car in one hand and the boat in the other onto the opposite side of the road.
We continue down our dirt path which turns into a beach. What I assume are vacationers scatter, dive and jump to get out of the way as I motor across the sand. It’s at this point that the car turns into a rubber life raft. We travel under a pier and I find myself transitioning from sand to surf and finally over sea. (Did I mention the raft was flying?)
I look back and Frankie boy has abandoned ship and latched on to one of the pier columns. (Good riddance, I think. You haven’t contributed anything since you’ve been here.)
I continue on enjoying my flight over the ocean. The life raft begins to deflate, I spread my arms and resume my trek, bobbing, weaving, diving and the like. After a while, I decide I should return to shore before my ability to fly ends and I have no option but to ditch into the ocean.
Alas, this is where my capability to sail upon the winds in true human flight, comes to an end. My only solace comes from the picture of ole blue eyes latched ahold of a pier support, soggy, with a terrified look on his face.
You know, on second thought, maybe one should not record such things for others to read. It makes for unnecessary gatherings around the water cooler.
So, when you speak of me, please speak well.