by john | Jun 2, 2017 | Book Spotlight, Evolution, Promos/Giveaways
One of the best things about being a publisher is bringing projects to life for new writers, or writers that haven’t broken out as big as I think they should. The Soul Wars by J. D. Blackrose is one of those projects. It releases today, and I couldn’t be more proud to be associated with it. You should click on the big picture and check it out.
The Soul Wars started with one question. I was reading one of the Jane Yellowrock books, I forget which one, and once again, there are gunshots, injuries, fire, and turmoil, all happening at night, naturally.
I stopped reading to ask myself: “What do the neighbors think?”
I know there aren’t neighbors right next door, like the suburbs of young families in cookie cutter houses, but there are people somewhat nearby. Wouldn’t they get sick and tired of all this mayhem?
I imagined a society lady, elderly, weak of body but strong in spirit, walking to the front door, rapping it with her cane and telling the vampire that, “This will not do. I need my rest. Keep it down, young man!”
Adelaide was born. I contacted Faith Hunter, the awesome author of the Jane Yellowrock series, and asked if she wanted to do something with this character. Maybe a short story we could write together? Faith laughed hysterically at the thought that I would believe she had any time to write anything that wasn’t required by a contract. She told me, “Write it yourself.” So, I did.
Kara is a Valkyrie, a warrior from Norse Mythology, whose job, like all Valkyries, was to choose those who died with honor on the battlefield and bring them Valhalla, the gods’ realm.
So what the hell is she doing on Earth, babysitting a vampire?
My characters are deeply flawed, and pride is one of their weaknesses. Kara thinks she knows everything, and Gaspard is a master vampire so he knows he knows everything. Such arrogance. This hurts them throughout, but also makes them face their own failings.
The overarching question is: Do vampires have souls? Some vampires behave badly, some are honorable. What would explain the difference? You have to read the series to find out, but one thing is certain…a war is coming that could shake the Earth to its core.
The book is divided into four novellas, Souls Collide, Souls Fall, Souls Rise, and Souls Unite. The first two let you get to know Gaspard, Kara, and Adelaide, and at them and with them. The third is a prequel, and darker, in that it tells you about Gaspard’s past and why a Valkyrie, of all things, is in his service. The fourth wraps things up, but warning – because I have already gotten grief for this – there is a cliffhanger. That way, if y’all like it, I can write novellas five, six, seven, and eight. See my devious plan?
As an aside, I once complained to John Hartness when he left us off on a cliffhanger, and he told me, “Yeah, I’m a dick that way.”
I hope you will go on a journey with Kara, Gaspard and Adelaide, and meet the other characters that weave in and out of the stories. I will tell you up front that one of my favorite characters is Arnaud, and I’m hoping to tell more of his story.
by john | May 29, 2017 | Amazing Grace, Fiction, Serialized Fiction
This is the latest chapter of an ongoing serialized novel that I’m working on and posting up here in rough draft form. To read other chapters, CLICK HERE.
16
We walked out of the restaurant and down the steps, our feet crunching in the gravel. “Well, I reckon this is goodnight, Lila Grace,” Willis said, turning to me. He had that awkward look of a man that ain’t sure if he’s supposed to hug me, shake my hand, or try to kiss me.
I just wore my normal expression. Sheriff Johnny used to say I looked like I knew something he didn’t. I replied that I usually did. “Why should this be goodnight, Sheriff?” I asked with a smile. I leaned back against the fender of my old truck and gave him a direct look.
He spluttered a little bit before he managed to spit out “W-well, I reckon it don’t have to be, I mean, um…”
“You mean you still need a ride back to your car?” I said with one eyebrow up.
“Huh?” He looked for all the world like a bulldog chewing on a wasp, like there was something hurting his head, but he wasn’t real sure what it was.
“We left your car at Sharky’s, Willis. Unless you feel like walking three miles across town to go get it, I reckon you ain’t getting rid of me that easy.” I pushed off from the truck, reached out and closed him mouth with two fingers under his chin, and walked around to get into the driver’s seat.
He slid in on the passenger side of the big bench seat and put on his seat belt. “Don’t you ever lock your truck?”
“Why in the world would I? This truck is almost thirty years old, has almost four hundred thousand miles on it, a rusted-out rear fender, and a bed held together pretty much with Bondo and paint. I don’t keep anything in it worth stealing, except the shotgun behind the seat, and if there’s anybody in the county that don’t already have something better than a double-barrel four-ten, well I reckon they’re welcome to it.” I pulled the truck out onto the highway in the wake of a log truck hauling a late load of pine. I love the smell of fresh-cut pine logs, but I did hang back far enough not to get sap on my windshield.
“You keep a shotgun behind the seat of your truck? You know that’s against the law, right?”
“It ain’t loaded, Willis. The shells are in the glove box, and it’s locked. Usually. Sometimes. Well, at least the shells are in the glove box,” I said. “Besides, what are you going to do, arrest an old woman for concealing a three-foot long shotgun? Judge Comer would laugh your ass right out of his courtroom.”
He chuckled, and rolled his window down, letting the warm air and the scent of honeysuckle filter into the truck’s cab. “You ain’t wrong, there. I swear that man thinks I ain’t nothing more than a Yankee carpetbagger. He all but said so the first time I went to the courthouse to introduce myself.”
“Well, maybe if that wasn’t the first time I’d heard you say ‘ain’t’ in the time I’ve known you, people wouldn’t think you such an interloper.”
“Now come on, that’s not fair,” he protested. “You use just as many big words as I do, if not more.”
“That’s true, but I have the benefit of living my entire life below the Mason-Dixon Line. You are at the distinct disadvantage of having spent three decades in Minnesota, a place as foreign to most residents of the South Carolina Upstate as Kathmandu. Besides, I say all those big words with an accent. Gives it style.”
We both laughed and I pulled into the parking lot of Sharky’s. There were a lot more cars in the lot now, but plenty of space around Willis’ cruiser. Seemed like nobody wanted to risk having one too many and clipping the police car on the way out of the lot.
“You want to come in, have a nightcap?” He asked, opening the passenger door and slipping off his seatbelt.
“No, I think I better get home. All them cats get ornery if I stay out too late.”
His face got a panicked look. “You have cats?”
I busted out laughing. “Lord, no! But I thought it would be funny to pretend to be the stereotypical crazy cat lady for a minute. No, I don’t have any pets. They don’t like all my unannounced visitors. Cats don’t like ghosts, and I don’t like cat pee on my hardwoods. Dogs are too stupid to care about random dead people showing up, and that means they’re too dumb for me to tolerate. So no pets for me. But I’m still gonna pass on that drink. Two glasses of wine with dinner has me feeling just right. I think I’m going to go home, take a bubble bath with a trashy romance novel, and go to sleep with the ceiling fan on.”
“Sounds good,” he said. He walked around the side of the truck and leaned in my open window. “I had a nice time tonight, Lila Grace. Does this clear my debt, or do I need to keep apologizing?”
I leaned forward a little. “I reckon I’ve almost forgiven you.”
He moved closer. “Well, that means I’ve still got some work to do.”
It had been some time, but I was pretty sure I knew what was supposed to come next, and I was pretty sure I wanted it to happen. I leaned a little closer. “Well, then get to work, Sheriff.”
He pressed his mouth to mine, and I let out a little sigh. His lips were strong, and firm, and he reached up to stroke the side of my head right behind my ear. I opened my mouth and felt his tongue slide between my lips, probing gently, dancing across my teeth just long enough to be promising, then pull back. We parted, and he gave me a look that melted me right down to my core.
“Enjoy that bubble bath. And that trashy romance novel,” he said, his lips just inches from mine, Then he pressed them to me again, this time more chaste, but still strong, passionate. I sighed again, like some silly girl in a Nicholas Sparks movie, but I couldn’t stop myself. The firm lips, the strong hand on my face, the stubble scraping my cheek as he moved forward to whisper “It’s gonna take me a long time to sleep tonight.” All that combined to make me real glad I was sitting in my truck and not trying to stand, because that man made me weak in the knees like nobody in a very long time.
I gave him one last peck on the lips. “I had a lovely time, Willis. We’ll have to do it again. Real soon.” Then I cranked the put the truck in reverse and got the hell away from that man before I jumped his bones right there in Sharky’s parking lot.
Jenny was sitting on my porch when I got home, on the two-seater swing next to Sheriff Johnny, both of them grinning at me like damn Cheshire cats. “Don’t say a word, young lady,” I warned as I walked up the steps and unlocked my front door. “I am allowed to go to dinner with a man if I want to, and I am allowed to kiss him if I want to.”
“Did you want to?” Jenny asked, her voice sing-songy as she kicked her feet on the motionless swing. I was glad it wasn’t moving. I had enough trouble with the folks on my street without my porch swing moving all by itself on a night with no breeze at all.
I felt a slight blush creep up my neck and across my cheeks as I very carefully did not look at the ghost. “I did. Want to, that is?”
“So did you?” Jenny asked.
“I don’t know that I feel the need to tell you that. A woman deserves to have some secrets, after all.” I smiled as I pushed the door open.
“You might as well tell me. If you don’t, I’ll just go over to the cemetery and ask the Three Musketeers.”
I laughed in spite of trying to act mad at her being all nosy. “Is that what you’re calling those women? The Three Musketeers?”
“Well, it sounds a whole lot nicer than the Three Stooges,” Jenny said, a little defensiveness creeping into her tone.
“Oh no, honey, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s fine. It’s just that’s what they called themselves when they were alive, and I think it’s funny that’s what you came up with to call them after death, without knowing it before.”
“Oh,” she said, mollified. “Okay, then. As long as you weren’t making fun of me.”
“Perish the thought,” I said.
“Well, did you?” She persisted.
“Make fun of you?” I asked. “Maybe a little, but—“
“No, silly! Did you kiss him?” She barreled right past me into the living room and stared at me, then her eyes got big and she froze. “Somebody was here.”
I didn’t take another step into the house. “Are they gone?” I whispered, moving back out the door, trying hard not to make any noise.
“Yeah, they’re gone now,” she said.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. There’s nobody here but us. I can kinda…sense, I guess, living people now. I can feel them. Y’all, I mean.”
That was new to me. I hadn’t heard of spirits being able to sense the presence of the living. It kinda made sense, I reckon, since there are some living people who can feel ghosts when they’re around. “And you’re sure nobody is in there?”
“No, nobody’s nearby but you. I can feel Mr. Martin in his bedroom next door, and Mrs. Cline over on the other side. I can even kinda feel the Jenkins kids home alone on the other side of Mrs. Cline, but that’s all.”
“Johnny, can you do that?” I asked. He was standing behind me, looking worried. He shook his head. I wasn’t too surprised by that. I learned a long time ago that ghosts have different abilities. Johnny can’t talk, and Jenny can. Both of them can move around freely, while some ghosts are stuck near a specific place. That sort of thing.
I turned back to Jenny. “How can you tell somebody was here if they’ve already left? Do people leave some kind of psychic residue behind?”
She looked at me, confused for a minute, then laughed. “Oh! No, there’s a busted pane of glass in your back door, and a muddy footprint in the dining room. I saw it, that’s all.”
“Dammit!” I said, stomping into the house, flipping on every light I passed. Sure enough, broken glass lay scattered all over the floor of my mud room, and there were several muddy footprints on my linoleum. “I just mopped this yesterday, now some son of a bitch had to come in here and make a damn mess.”
“Miss Lila Grace, do you really think that’s what you oughta be upset about right now?” Jenny asked. I turned, and saw Sheriff Johnny flitting from room to room behind her. He walked over to us, held up his hands in a helps gesture, and shrugged.
“Nothing’s missing?” I asked.
Johnny shook his head.
“So something is missing?”
He shook his head again.
“Hold up one finger if you can’t see anything missing, two fingers if you can.” Sometimes working with a deaf-mute dead law enforcement officer is downright exasperating.
Johnny held up one finger. It is a mark of the level of gentleman that his mother raised that he used his index finger instead of a more demonstrative digit.
“So somebody broke in here just to…what? Track mud all over my kitchen? Hell, they could have waited until morning and come to the front door. Really piss me off and track dirt across the carpets.”
“I think they were looking for this stuff,” Jenny said. She stood at the dining room table, looking over the notes I had written from my interviews and the crime scenes. I walked over to join her and picked up one of the yellow legal pads I kept all my thoughts and theories on.
“What makes you say that, Jenny?” I asked. I saw Johnny standing behind the girl nodding, so obviously he thought the same thing.
“Everything is a little too neat. You left things kinda lying all scattered around, because you knew wasn’t nobody but you going to need to use the table. But now everything is in neat stacks, with everything perfectly straight.
I took another look at the table. With the exception of the legal pad I’d just laid down, she was right. Everything was at perfect 90-degree angles, and every pile was now a neat stack. I looked a little closer, and all the stacks were organized by type of information, too. Interviews were in one stack, crime scene notes in another, stuff I thought of while talking to Jenny in another. Whoever went through my things left my house in better shape than they found it, except for the broken glass.
“Well, shit,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” Jenny asked. “I mean, besides the obvious.”
“Now I have to call Willis. And I was going to make him call me.”
by john | May 26, 2017 | Book Spotlight, Evolution, Writing
You could blame it all on Bram Stoker. He invented the Brides of Dracula, though they’re never actually called that in the novel. They don’t even get names. I devoured Dracula over the course of two days at an impressionable age. I fell in love with the dark and brooding atmospherics, but it’s more than just a scary story. Dracula is a brilliant critique of Victorian society, commenting on sexual mores, class conflict, even British foreign policy toward Eastern Europe. My vampire trilogy Daughters of Shadow and Blood is in many ways an homage to Bram Stoker’s original and explores many of the same themes, including the dangers of obsession, the conflict between the desire for freedom and the constraints of society, and the redemptive power of love.
You could also blame a movie called Van Helsing. In my opinion, this is a very bad movie, despite the presence of Kate Beckinsale, but it sparked the idea for Daughters of Shadow and Blood. In the movie the Brides have names and distinctive costumes. One of them is even dressed as a Turkish harem girl, which got me to thinking. If Dracula is immortal, there’s no reason the Brides have to all come from the same time period, and the Balkan Peninsula is such a crossroads of cultures, they could be from anywhere, too. I decided I would give each Bride her due and let her tell her story.
Then again, you cold blame my obsession with Balkan history. They say truth is stranger than fiction. Balkan history plays that out.
There is a small mountain range in Greece called the Unwritten. It’s called that because when the Ottoman Turks conquered the area, the resident Greeks took to the high ground and waged guerrilla warfare on their would-be conquerors for the next five hundred years. Rather than embarrass the Sultan by showing him an area of his empire not entirely under his control, his cartographers simply left the entire mountain range off the official maps.
The mountain range that separates Albania from Kosovo is called the Accursed Mountains. Tell me that name wouldn’t be at home on a map of Middle Earth.
There’s also the story of the epic rivalry between the Karageorgevi? and Obrenovi? families for the throne of Serbia and later Yugoslavia, better than any soap opera.
Oh, and the word vampire comes from Serbian.
I included as many such weird little nuggets in Daughters of Shadow and Blood as I could, seemingly odd historical events that could have been the result of a vampire’s not-so-benevolent intervention. You can’t prove otherwise.
Follow these links to get the trilogy:
Book I: Yasamin https://www.amazon.com/Daughters-Shadow-Blood-Book-Yasamin-ebook/dp/B00T27F00W/
Book II: Elena https://www.amazon.com/Daughters-Shadow-Blood-Book-Elena-ebook/dp/B01D0UD0XA/
Book III: Elizabeth https://www.amazon.com/Daughters-Shadow-Blood-Book-Elizabeth-ebook/dp/B07257D727/
Follow me on twitter: @jmattsaunders
by john | May 23, 2017 | Business of publishing, How to Sell Books, Promos/Giveaways
Let’s talk about social media, shall we? I know, you’re probably tired as fuck of hearing about social media. You’re either baffled by the idea of social media, because you don’t really do the technology thing, or you’re paralyzed by anxiety about social media, because you hate dealing with people and are terrified that someone might talk to you, or you’re annoyed with social media, because people like me keep telling you to use social media and you have no idea what is the right way to do it, and you wish someone would just tell you exactly what to do and then you could do it and get on with your life, but you don’t want it to take up too much of your writing time, because you already have a day job, and kids, and hobbies, and other family, and can barely squeeze in an hour each day to write, and now some asshole has you reading these blog posts every week about how to sell books when what the fuck does he even know about how to sell books anyway?
Does that pretty much sum it up?
I thought so. Look, social media is, at its core, two thing. It is a way for friends to communicate with each other, and it is a way for companies to get their name out in front of customers. There are a lot of types of social media, and it is very easy to drive yourself absolutely bonkers trying to keep up with what the cool kids are using. Is it Instagram? Is it Tumblr? Is it Pinterest? Is it Twitter? Is it Facebook? Is it MySpace?
Here’s a hint – it ain’t MySpace. But any of the others are perfectly valid places to spend time interacting with people and telling them about your books, your life, your cat (people fucking love cat pictures), your poop (less love for the poop pictures), or your kids (they might love or hate kid pictures). It’s all about what you want to focus on. For the purposes of this article, we’re going to focus on scheduled posts on Facebook and Twitter, because that’s what I do. I do scheduled posting on Facebook and Twitter because it’s easy and I can do it without taking up too much of my writing time.
A lot of people will tell you that this kind of shotgun, junk mail posting on social media is worthless, annoying, and will alienate fans. I will tell you that on weeks that I do not do scheduled posts, I see an average of 10% less sales than on weeks where I do scheduled posts. I sell between 30-50 books per day, depending on the month and the recent releases, so we’ll say I average 275 books per week. So I sell about 28 books more in weeks that I do scheduled posting. That’s worth around $75 cash.
That is more money than I am willing to leave lying on the ground for the hour that it takes me to schedule a week’s worth of Facebook and Twitter posts.
I also do a lot of organic Facebook posting, sharing, and interacting with people. I don’t hang out on Twitter a ton, but I go on there every once in a while and go on a retweet or liking binge. But I hang out on FB a lot, so I do a lot of organic activity there in addition to my structured posts.
Here’s the way I set it up each week. I block out about an hour on Saturday or Sunday (the days of the week I am most likely to not write) to do my social media. I have created Word documents with pre-written tweets that I copy and paste from. Yes. this is time-consuming on the front end, but if you write 2-4 different tweets for every product you release, and save them all in a master document, it’s really easy to stay on top of it. If you’re coming into this with 25 backlist titles, that’s going to be a pain. Too bad. It’s still worth it.
All this is my opinion. None of my opinions are humble. That’s your last caveat. From here on out, we’re presenting this as the Gospel According to Hartness. Don’t like it? You don’t have to read it. You are welcome to do your social media however you like. This is what I do, and how to copy what I do. If you want to do it, go for it.
So – I have a Word document with 2-3 prewritten tweets for each thing that I have out there. That’s every book, every audiobook, this website, my Patreon, my mailing list, and my podcast. I don’t promote everything every week. Some stuff is older backlist stuff that I just promote when I don’t have a new release. Some stuff I just rotate through. My Patreon gets promoted every week, my newsletter gets promoted every week, and this website gets promoted every week, These things are evergreen, and I always want as many eyes on them as possible, so I make sure they get promoted. Any new releases get promoted first, then new audio releases, then most recent releases. I try to promote at least one product from each of my three main series every week.
I use Hootsuxte to aggregate my tweets and auto-schedule them. Because I’m an early adopter, the plan I’m on costs me less than $10 each month. The same plan now costs $15/month, which is still a bargain. Because ain’t nobody got time to sit down every day and schedule a shitload of Twittering.
I set things up so that I send out a tweet (which cross-posts to Facebook on my timeline, my author page, the Falstaff Books FB page, and the Falstaff Twitter feed) every hour on the hour between 9AM EST and 6PM EST. That’s ten messages every day promoting me and my work. I do this Monday – Saturday, with the idea that fewer people look at Twitter on Sunday, so that’s often the day I’m using to build the following week’s posts.
Then I go back through and send one message per day for every product that Falstaff Books has published or has scheduled for pre-release. Every book we’ve ever done gets promoted every day, once per day. It’s all I can do, because we have a promotional budget of somewhere near seventy-five cents, and this fits within that budget.
I try to make the messages funny and interesting. I use Bit.ly to build all the links, because I can shorten them, and it offers some tracking. I used to embed my Amazon Associates link in the messages, but someone pointed out that it was against the Amazon Associates TOC, so I stopped.
But that’s it. I end up programming somewhere in the neighborhood of 150 tweets per week, and it takes me less than an hour. It will take you time to get the list of messages built, but once you have that established, you can get all this done in not a ton of time.
Is this better than real engagement with your buying public? Not by a long shot. Is this better than sitting around bemoaning the lack of sales? Yes, by a long shot. If commercials and junk mail and spam weren’t effective, we wouldn’t get so much of it. And you’re not just sending out ads for dick pills, you’re telling people who actually like you and/or your work what’s going on with you. This is much more targeted than that email about your schlong or the RedPlum flyer in your mailbox yesterday. So give it a shot. I find it valuable, maybe you will too.
By the way, I’m working on the page to let y’all buy autographed paperbacks from me. If you want to check it out, click the link that says “Autographed Books” at the top of this page. Thanks!
