Tag Archives: Publishing

Fools Rush in Where Angels Fear to Trod, and I Ain’t Kidding


I wrote a book not knowing why or who,

It’s something I thought I’d never do.

After sixty thousand words and twelve months of time

I finally had a manuscript that I could call mine.

I jumped up and down with joy in my heart,

I did it! I did it! I began to impart.

I’m finally an author, a writer you see

and then someone shook a wise finger at me.

Slow down, young one, what you’ve done is quite good,

but allow me to tell you the vile truth if you would.

Penning your book is ten percent of the mix

but we mustn’t stop there til we’re deep in the fix.

Edit, yes edit, I say it again,

edit’s the next thing you’ll tackle in vain.

Do it like this without nary a change,

once you’re complete you’ll do it again.

You’ll do it and do it, no reason or rhyme

and after you’ve done it… do it one more time.

That noun don’t go here, that verb don’t go there

in fact they’re forbidden to go anywhere.

The only grammar allowed in this book

is dangling participles and regurgitated looks.

I wrote and I wrote till my body was sore

and then I was told, “I must do a bit more.”

The edits aren’t right beginning page one

and the further I check these rewrites ain’t done.

You’ll have to redo

the preface to start;

if the book’s incorrect where it begins

we’ll redo this book from beginning to end.

After three short years the rewrites were done,

my publisher’s happy it’s now time for fun.

The day of release is coming up quick;

it requires a knife the excitements so thick.

And now that the book sets high on a shelf,

available online and everywhere else

I noticed I’ve sold one copy to myself.

And then the wise finger that stopped me before,

said hold on young author there’s still so much more.

Before you sell thousands of books you must learn

there’s a word you’ll engrain in your head like a worm.

Marketing is what you must tackle next,

it’s not really hard it just takes a knack.

This knack will cause you to pull out your hair

only after it’s gray, but it shan’t stop there.

Multiple computers will meet untimely demise

as you sift through the wreckage of ideas unrealized.

How do I bring my book before those

who would purchase and read it leaving stellar reviews.

Then suddenly it came to me with a bound

the answer I knew I had finally found.

Yes that was it, it would work and not fall

I would take over a bookstore with weapons and all.

Then folks would buy, they’d be happy to you see,

for the encouragement needed is a bullet and me.

I would sell and sell and sell even more

for the buyers would gladly empty the store.

As I sit in my cell doing my time

I learn that my book is doing real fine.

Because of my antics the interest piqued

and I sold millions of copies in a couple of weeks.

I’m writing a sequel that I hope will be done

by the time I exit this institution.

The food ain’t too bad and the hours are good,

I’m getting more than enough sleep than I should.

The writing is fun and the editing I’ll do,

but when the marketing comes up I’m leaving that to you!

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Sometimes you Pay, Sometimes you Don’t. Either Way Is Acceptable i.e. It’s All Good!

Reading a novel  that pulls you in;  bringing with it intense enjoyment… $15.95

Sharing said novel with friends, gladly propagating the joy… free

Writing a novel, publishing, marketing and selling one copy…Priceless


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Just Cause It Ain’t Gonna Happen, Don’t Mean It Ain’t Gonna Happen. So, Dream On (Like Me) Cause It Ain’t Gonna Happen…Maybe

peter-c-vey-man-stands-in-front-of-a-books-stand-selling-books-there-is-a-sign-that-r-cartoonOne thing I can’t seem to shake is the feeling something has gone amiss in the deep recesses in the world of book sales.

I know how difficult it can be to rack up a single purchase, after the exorbitant amount of blood, sweat, and tears spent on writing, publishing and marketing (with special emphasis on the never ending dark abyss of marketing). And, please, allow me to remind you that we’re not just talking about a stack of papers loaded with words. We’re discussing your baby. Months, if not years, of work that is tossed into a bin with other dreams that come to market at the rate of a thousand or more each day.

This brings to light my ongoing conundrum. While continually creating new works (not just novels, but short stories, blogs and the like) my concentration tends to split not unlike Jekyll and Hyde.

I long to remain consistently devoted to my current work; however, at times my thoughts drift as to how my published books are selling. There’s nothing wrong with this in the short term. Each author needs to know how their books are doing and adjust their marketing strategies accordingly.

As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes valuable energy is wasted daydreaming about a string of best-selling novels. This of course includes a box office smash complete with sequels and a media marketing extravaganza.

I’m not a pessimist but bounce back and forth between a realist and even as an optimist from time to time. I guess this helps feed my delusions of grandeur.

Oh well, I guess there’s one in every crowd, so just call me King and slap me silly.

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“Rising Tide” Receives New Wardrobe!

My first novelEden'sWake in theRisingTide “Rising Tide” series, of the same name  has been re-released with a face lift. I’m also including the  cover of the second book “Eden’s Wake.” Check out the first two books in this action packed series, available at all fine bookstores.

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Swinging Sticks at Little White Balls Confuses the Writing Process. There, I Said It!

I’m working on the fourth book in a series I’ve entitled, “Rising Tide.” I discovered that by the time you’ve reached this deep into a particular work and previousgolf books have been published, idiosyncrasies begin to surface.

Now, it’s important to mention that most of these quirky little problems bother no one but me and, in my mind, should be corrected to maintain continuity throughout the series. Of course, it’s almost impossible to do. I mean, how many publishers are going to re-release a book because the author believes changing two sentences will enhance the series by leaps and bounds?

That being a rhetorical question, I’ll continue on to the “stuff” portion of this post, which answers the question, “why?” When an author wants to change stuff in the novels earlier in the series, it could be because of continuity or to a lesser degree, related to his eccentricities. This is just a nice way of saying he has OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder.)

This also could simply be a case where the author wants his readers to stand in awe at his ability to look into the future as he pens his first novel of the series. The reader would say something on the order of “how could he have known the incident in the fourth book would coincide with the incident in the first book and be reinforced by the incident carryover between the second and third books?.… Wow!”

This brings about another possibility. Perhaps your publisher requests that you rewrite portions of your first novel in order to revamp the entire series. If you’ve never played golf, this is referred to as a Mulligan, a term that means, “second chance.” Now, as I mull over the last paragraph I can’t help but remember my days spent on the links…

You’d think there’d be nothing more relaxing than enjoying a warm sunny day in a lush green setting among beautiful scenery with a group of friends. Well, let me tell you, there’s nothing further from the truth. I am firmly convinced that the game of golf was conceived for the sole purpose of the downfall of mankind. It can be the most maddening, frustrating, serial killer developing sport ever devised. You’re competing against no one but yourself. If half of you is really good and the other half really bad, you have the makings of an internal conflict to begin with. This so-called game will cause you to throw metal clubs, beat inanimate objects with metal clubs and bend or break these weapons of mass destruction over your knee.You will utter words (from the same mouth you kiss your mother) that you didn’t realize were in your vocabulary. Then after a relaxing five hours of bad behavior and high blood pressure, you schedule a time to do it all over again.

I don’t know what makes us do the things we do. I’ll let you figure it out. Right now I need a couple Valium and someplace to stretch out. If the good Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise, I’ll be talkin atcha next week.

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Eden’s Wake

snoopyDear Followers and Readers,

I am thrilled to announce my latest novel  Eden’s Wake  (sequel to my first novel Rising Tide)  has been accepted by my new publisher Christopher Mathews.




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Stone Age, Iron Age, Bronze Age…Does It Really Matter?

English: The oldest writing in the world - The...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Do you remember the Flintstones? You know: Fred, Wilma, Pebbles and Dino, “the Modern Stone Age Family.” Little do people know that there was another Flintstone–a son.  They never spoke much about him and he didn’t have a role in the show.

His name was Grog, and Grog wanted to be a writer. Day after day Grog could be heard in his bedroom chiseling out the words of his first novel on a stone tablet. Tink, tink, tink….tink, tink, tink… tink, tink, tink…day in and day out.

Now Grog’s first attempt at prose included a Brontosaurus as the protagonist and a Stegosaurus as the antagonist. These two creatures were from feuding families and as fate would have it, madly in love with each other. Of course their love was forbidden but this made no difference to this dinosaurian couple.

Tink, tink, tink…the action would wax…tink, tink, tink…the action would wane. Grog was eighteen years old when he began this epic novel and twenty-seven years of age when the first manuscript was ready for the publisher. (So few manuscripts were completed in those days that publishers had long waiting periods between receiving rough drafts and finished products. Interestingly enough, agents had yet to be invented.)

Grog’s manuscript weighed seven tons when he shipped it to the publisher. He received word the next day that it has been accepted. Now he would have to begin to edit and rewrite.

Tink, tink, tink…edit, edit. Tink, tink, tink…rewrite, rewrite. This continued on for twelve more years until finally the second draft was complete. Once the publisher received the second draft, they were ecstatic. Now at last the final draft could begin.

Tink, tink, tink…final stuff, final stuff. Tink, tink, tink…final stuff, final stuff. After nine more years, Grog once again shipped his final manuscript back to the publisher.

Now the publisher could begin the cover art work and the back matter.

Tink, tink, tink…pretty picture on the front. Tink, tink, tink…interesting stuff on the back. The novel was at last finished and ready for retail sale.

Unfortunately, Grog was now in an old caveman’s home drooling into a stone cup and occasionally uttering these words “tink, tink, tink….tink, tink, tink.

Such was the fate of the prehistoric novelist. So the next time you feel like putting your fist through your computer monitor (as I often do) take a moment to think of Grog.

Tink, tink, tink…

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Spread the Word!

As many of you may know, becoming a published author can be a daunting task at best. Once I achieved this uphill struggle I thought I would careen down the other side into the world of sales with this fantastic novel I had created.

Not so. It seems that there are more than eight hundred new titles coming out each day. This translates to well over a quarter million every year. We may have over three hundred million people in the United States and six or so billion in the world, not all of which who read, but no matter how you slice it, that’s a lot of books vying for not so many eyes.

If I were to add all of my royalty checks together, no doubt I could purchase a large case of bubblegum; however, man does not live by bubblegum alone.

I have been marketing to book clubs, bookstores, magazines, newspapers, radio and television, social media and if I’m not mistaken, I even tried to sell my mother a copy.

I’ve done book signings, book fairs and numerous other activities designed to sell books. For the most part “Rising Tide” has received exceptional reviews. Even considering the four thousand emails I have sent out on behalf of “Rising Tide,” sales are still lagging.

Being blessed with a hard head I simply refuse to give up and because of this I’m always searching for new ways to market my book. This is where I’ll humbly ask for your assistance. I am starting a grassroots movement to further promotion. I am not asking that you purchase a book (although that’s up to you) but that you would spread this message to friends, family, and coworkers and ask them to do the same.

Use email, word-of-mouth, social media (Facebook, Twitter etc.) or any other method you would like to incorporate. As a further incentive I’m offering one free copy of “Rising Tide” to the first one hundred book clubs (i.e., one copy per book club) who contact me through my website www.lynnsteigleder.com. I’ll require interested book clubs to supply a contact name, email address, mailing address, and name of book club.

The following is two sample chapter excerpts from “Rising Tide.” I hope you enjoy them and spread the word!

                                                                               Thank You!


• • •

Day Five

Ben awoke to a voice echoing throughout the chamber.  “Topside to Ben, come in, Ben.” The transmission repeated. “Topside to Ben. It’s time to rise and shine, sweetheart.”

He moaned and rolled out of the sack. He didn’t have far to roll. The space lived up to its name; it was the size of a tin can. Two bunks, a dry toilet, and a panel to monitor life support, position, and temperature along with numerous small storage bays made up the  interior of the Orion.

He reached for the COM and yawned. “This is Ben, Topside, go ahead.”

“Good morning, Ben. So glad you could take time out of your busy schedule to join us.”

“Good morning, Marty,” Ben said, rolling his eyes.

“Ben, it’s time to begin system’s check. You’ll be on the surface in just under thirty hours.”

Ben moved to the control console, yawned again, and rubbed his eyes.  “Roger,” he said. “Beginning system’s check.”

He knew this was necessary, but why wake him at four a.m. every morning for the same thing? Couldn’t they do this a little later in the day?

“How are you feeling?” Marty asked. “Your vitals look good from up here.”

“Good overall, just a little dizzy,” Ben answered.

“It’s probably the nitrogen,” Marty countered. “We changed your breathing mixture again last night.” He paused. “Ben,” Marty continued, “don’t forget to check your interior hatch control also.”

“Everything’s operative,” Ben said.

“Good,” Marty replied. “Topside out.”

Orion out,” Ben replied.

The one thing Ben loathed more than Pete’s cooking were the rations onboard the Orion. These things must have been around since the First World War, he thought. Unwilling to dive into another cardboard-based meal, Ben sat down on the edge of his bunk, hung his head, and closed his eyes. In this position he could sense the capsule’s movement intensify. He moved back to the COM.

“Topside, this is Ben. What’s with the bumpy ride?”

“A tropical storm,” came the reply.

He waited for further explanation. None came. Ben stiffened. “Is that it?” he said. “Why so tight lipped?”

“Ben, this is Marty. A tropical depression formed yesterday morning. We’ve been waiting to see how it plays out before we filled you in. I didn’t want to cause any undue alarm.”

“Well?” Ben questioned.

“The forecast calls for slow strengthening,” Marty continued. “According to our radar, they may have been wrong. The next update is due soon. Just hang tight. I’m confident that it won’t be a factor in getting you to the surface. If it’s any consolation,” he said, “they named this one Benjamin.”

“I don’t care what they call it,” Ben said. “Just keep me in the loop. It’s my butt in this can, not yours.” He started to say more then thought better of it. “Orion out,” he finished.

In this environment, hours seemed like days. Ben thumbed through the rations again and decided on a prepackaged breakfast bar. He sat down, unwrapped the bar, and took a bite. The Orion lurched violently, tossing him into the port wall. “What the—” It lurched again, throwing him to the opposite side.

The intercom brought him back. “Ben, can you hear me?”

Ben pressed the COM button. “What’s going on up there?” he screamed.

“Ben, it’s not up here, it’s down there. There’s been an explosion in the habitat.”

“Marty,” Ben said, “what about Pete?”

“I don’t know, Ben,” he said. “I don’t know.”

Another blast ripped through the Orion, cutting all power and knocking him to the floor. Ben lifted himself off the deck and found it was impossible to stand. He crawled to the COM panel.

“Marty! All systems down! All systems down!” he repeated.

“Ben, your umbilical has been severed. You’ll have to power up onboard support.”

“Understood,” Ben responded. “What next?” he whispered.

The mere push of a button would begin the conversion, but now even the simplest task was proving nearly impossible for Ben with the capsule bouncing violently.

He located the switch and managed to convert all outside life support to onboard systems control. The battery backup kicked in. The lights flickered and then burnt steadily, not as bright as usual, but it was better than the complete darkness that had momentarily filled the cabin. One look at his gauges told him he was still eighty feet down, too deep to blow the ballast and surface.

The Orion continued to bob up and down. Ben pushed the COM button. “Marty, why am I not stabilizing?”

“Ben, the tropical storm has been strengthening rapidly for the past few hours. The blast bounced you up almost sixty feet. You’ve gotten close enough to the surface to feel part of what we’re getting up here,” he said.  “We’ve got twenty-foot seas, going to thirty.” There was a long silence.

“Give it to me straight this time, Marty,” Ben said.

“Ben, the storm’s going to get stronger, maybe a cat five, or worse. On top of that, with the new protocol in place, everyone on board the platform moves into the Ark. We’ll lose our COM link,” he said. “You’ll be on your own, Ben. I’m sorry.”

The Ark was a self-sufficient life station positioned beneath the drilling platform. It could support up to thirty people for a maximum of five days. With limited propulsion it could even be cut loose and move away from OZ if necessary, tethered by a one-inch, two-mile long cable that could be winched in when the “all-clear” was given.

“Great,” Ben said. The chamber lurched again, this time slamming into one of the oilrig’s massive legs. “Marty, I’m still tethered to the sea floor. I’m too close to the rig. I’m gonna have to cut loose from the cable and float free before this thing beats me to death.”

“Ben, do not blow your ballast. Repeat. Do not blow your ballast. You’ll need another sixteen hours minimum to complete your decompression cycle.”

“Roger that,” Ben said. Beads of sweat gathered on  his forehead.

“What about Pete?” Ben asked.

“As close as we can determine, the storm wrenched the habitat’s life support umbilical loose, allowing the atmosphere to escape,” Marty said. “Once the pressure reached a critical level … ” his voice trailed off. “I’m sorry, Ben; no one could have survived that implosion.”

Orion out,” Ben said. His mind was blank, his body numb. He disengaged the quick connects from the cable and began to drift. The oilrig’s stabilizer scraped the side of Orion, seemingly to say goodbye.

Marty transmitted one last time. “We’re moving to the Ark,” he said. “Good luck, Ben. Topside out.”

Overwhelmed, Ben didn’t answer.


The jolt knocked Ben to the floor. “Talk about a rude awakening,” he said. He rose and popped his head through the hatchway. The scene was surreal. A large vessel had planted itself firmly into the side of the Orion. Neither vessel was moving. It’s as though they’ve been fused together on contact, he thought. There was a man hanging over the side clutching the rail. Another leaned over and pulled the first man up. Within minutes three faces were peering over the side of the ship at him.

“Ahoy!” Ben yelled.

“Ahoy,” came the response. ”Can you leave your vessel?”

“I’ll have to blow the side hatch,” Ben said.

“Very well,” a voice replied. “We’ll ready the lifeline.”

A boom swung over the edge of the ship and began lowering a line with a survival harness attached. When the harness touched the water, Ben dropped into the chamber and made ready to make his escape. With his hand poised over the switch, he thought of the capsule filling with water and taking him to the bottom along with it. Before he had a chance to change his mind, he slammed his palm down.

There was a brief delay, and the hatch blew free from its mooring. Ben lunged for the opening, but he wasn’t moving. His boot had become wedged under the console’s toe kick. He fought off panic and reached for his boot to free it. It wouldn’t budge. He removed his foot from the boot. He looked toward the hatch expecting to see a wall of water.

Amazingly, there was none. The cabin was bone dry. The water had been nearly halfway up the hatch when he’d blown it, but it wasn’t filling the cabin. He looked closer and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was as if a piece of glass had been placed across the hatchway. The sea level remained constant, drawing a straight line across the opening, but no water entered in.

Ben pushed his hand into the impossible then pulled it back. It was wet. He twisted his boot free and laced it back onto his foot, still mesmerized by the sight before him. He shuddered, then, thinking more clearly, decided that he’d better get out before whatever was holding the water back changed its mind.

Ben emerged at the surface and started to swim toward the harness. He strapped himself in and gave the thumbs-up. As he was lowered onto the ship’s deck, a lone figure approached. He was tall, fiftyish, with a neatly trimmed, slightly gray beard, and a uniform complete with cap that almost appeared military. He saluted and extended his hand.

“Welcome to the Morning Star,” he said. “Captain Evans at your service.”


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Even a Busted Typewriter is Mighter Than a Dull Pencil

I’d like to share with you the story of how I became an author. It began on a cold and dreary night. The rain was falling like cats and dogs…

Rising Tide by Lynn Steigleder

Rising Tide by Lynn Steigleder

Wait a minute. Wrong story.

Let me try again. In November of 2006, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Two months later, I was informed that my department at work was closing and I was soon to be among the unemployed. Fortunately, it would take the better part of a year to transition my department’s work load to the new vendor.

Each spring, my son and I would take our annual fishing trip to Cape Hatteras. It was on one of these excursions that my son happened to mention that I should try writing after reading a few of my short stories.

The thought intrigued me. So much, in fact, that I began penning short stories as soon as I returned from our trip. After several months of writing, I began what would become my first novel, Rising Tide. I completed the raw manuscript in September of 2008 with much help from my wife and son. They are both avid readers and were nearly as valuable as a good editor.

After another six months of intense rewrites, edits and throwing errant objects against the wall, I finally had what I believed to be a completed manuscript. It was ready for the publisher and my adoring public, paving the way to fame and fortune.

Little did I know that publishers don’t like to publish books. And if by chance they do happen to accept your manuscript, you’re thrown into a bin with a quarter of a million other authors who were published that year.

By the grace of God, I found a publisher who would accept unsolicited manuscripts. After nine weeks, I received a contract and over the next year, completed my first novel.

The next rude awakening was that the marketing of the book fell (almost) entirely on my shoulders. After making contact with thousands of newspapers, magazines, book clubs, book stores and any other entity I felt could sell my book, I’m still busy marketing after three years.

Through this experience, I’ve met some of the nicest people that sincerely want to help advance sales of my book. But by the same token, I’ve run into a few that live thousands of miles away yet seem to despise me personally. For what reason, I cannot comprehend. Maybe they’re just very unhappy. I think I’ll say a prayer for them.

The best advice I can give is to take rejection with a pulverized grain of salt. Keep writing even if it’s just one sentence a day. And never, ever give up.

Looks like I don’t have to tie this post into writing.

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Check it Out! Part 2

The second part of my guest blog on Kaitlin Michelle’s site can be read here. Thanks again to Kaitlin for featuring me and I hope you enjoy it!

Remember to read the rest of Kaitlin’s content here: http://www.kaitlinmichelle.com

Enjoy and Merry Christmas!

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