For Richer, For Danger: a Broken Vows mystery officially releases September 1st, but it’s been available most of this month already. I received my copies August 8th when I came home from a week’s vacation and found the cartons sitting in the rain. Thankfully, just wet cardboard, not wet books.
For Richer, For Danger is the sequel to For Better, For Murder. It continues the saga of Jolene Asdale, her sheriff’s deputy husband Ray Parker, and her unpredictable younger sister, Erica.
In this novel, after years of ambivalence about parenthood, Finger Lakes sports car dealer Jolene Asdale is now driven to adopt her foster child, the daughter of fugitive robbery suspects. But some major roadblocks arise, including an open hit-and-run case and a recent murder—with the silent, uncooperative birthmother as the prime suspect.
I’m excited about this release but also continually reviewing the last year, during which I met a lot of wonderful authors and readers at Bouchercon and Malice Domestic, attended two fun book club discussions of For Better, For Murder, held a well-received library talk, learned my friends and family can be counted on to show up for book signings and to promote my books, met some great booksellers and librarians, heard from a number of enthused readers, and truly appreciated the total surprise and thrill of having For Better, For Murder named a 2009 Agatha Award finalist for Best First Novel.
The last year will be a tough act to follow.
But the year of For Richer, For Danger has started off early with a welcome first time review in Publisher’s Weekly, who called it a “winning second mystery.” Kirkus is still on board, although a little more cryptic this time in their comments. Both reviews are much appreciated.
Just last week I sat down for an interview with a reporter from a Finger Lakes area newspaper. No one has ever asked to interview me before—except for a job, of course. This kind of interview was way more fun.
And I had a lot of fun writing my first two books, as well as the third and fourth in this series which are now finished. Hopefully that fun shows in the work itself.
A local radio announcer closes his timeslot every day with the saying, “If you had fun, you won!”
That pretty much sums it all up.
And just for fun today, I’m offering a giveaway of For Richer, For Danger. If you’d like to enter the drawing, send me an email at Lisa@LisaBork.com with “Drawing” on the subject line. I’ll pick two winners randomly on Friday and send the books out promptly thereafter.
Showing posts with label For Better For Murder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label For Better For Murder. Show all posts
Monday, August 30, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
Why the Finger Lakes?
The Broken Vows mystery series are set in the Finger Lakes region of New York State for two main reasons:
1) It’s a beautiful area, worth recommending.
2) A lot of my happiest days occurred there.
My first book, For Better, For Murder, opens in Wachobe, a fictional town on the region’s western border. With a fictional town I hoped to write whatever I wanted without being corrected or offending anyone. But in the eastern Finger Lakes, Skaneateles hosts a Dickens Christmas that surpasses the Dickens Festival in my book.
In the second book, For Richer, For Danger, my protagonist travels to Canandaigua, where I spent childhood summers camping, swimming, exploring, and riding the carousel in the Roseland Amusement Park which closed in 1985. My family enjoyed the summertime Waterfront Arts Festival and the Canandaigua Art and Music Festival for years and the more recent holiday-time European-inspired Christkindl Market and Festival of Trees.
As kids, when not in Canandaigua, we spent weekends in the western part of the region on a hill above Hemlock Lake, where my grandfather built a cabin on ten acres across the road from his birthplace. We picked blueberries, played games, swam, planted sticks that magically grew into candy, etc.
1) It’s a beautiful area, worth recommending.
2) A lot of my happiest days occurred there.
My first book, For Better, For Murder, opens in Wachobe, a fictional town on the region’s western border. With a fictional town I hoped to write whatever I wanted without being corrected or offending anyone. But in the eastern Finger Lakes, Skaneateles hosts a Dickens Christmas that surpasses the Dickens Festival in my book.
In the second book, For Richer, For Danger, my protagonist travels to Canandaigua, where I spent childhood summers camping, swimming, exploring, and riding the carousel in the Roseland Amusement Park which closed in 1985. My family enjoyed the summertime Waterfront Arts Festival and the Canandaigua Art and Music Festival for years and the more recent holiday-time European-inspired Christkindl Market and Festival of Trees.
As kids, when not in Canandaigua, we spent weekends in the western part of the region on a hill above Hemlock Lake, where my grandfather built a cabin on ten acres across the road from his birthplace. We picked blueberries, played games, swam, planted sticks that magically grew into candy, etc.
Nowadays, my family hangs out on Keuka Lake, where it is possible to:
- Buy tasty Mennonite baked goods and gorgeous handmade quilts
- Boat or drive to scenic restaurants and wineries with excellent offerings
- Go fishing, catch nothing, and still come home with a cooler full of fish because friends will share their catch
- Fall off your friend’s jet ski, be unable to climb back on, and have said friend swim out to rescue you, your small child, and the jet ski
- Have a dozen strapping young men appear on cue to carry your newly assembled boat hoist into the water and position it for you (several times) even if they have to stay under water longer than really wise
- Attempt to water ski, wipe out multiple times, and still have your neighbors cheer your success
- Find talented retiree labor when you need help installing drainage ditches, water pumps, wood flooring, etc.
- Swim all day—and not think about the fish, turtle, or snake that lives under your dock
- Relax by the water and have friends float by just to say “hi”
Mind you, I’m not saying all these experiences are mine or my loved ones. I’m just saying the Finger Lakes are a great place to be.
So, what’s your favorite summertime vacation spot? Favorite summer memory?
Monday, June 7, 2010
Fabulous People In My Book
I’m inordinately fond of twenty-three people. Who are they? Here are some clues:
* They’ve read a mystery.
* They know how to use the Internet.
* They can follow directions.
* They liked my first book enough to want to read the second book in the series.
Did you guess? These twenty-three people took the time to visit my website after reading For Better, For Murder and click on the link to request an email announcing the release of For Richer, For Danger.
Now you may be thinking “twenty-three people—big deal.” Well, it’s a big deal to me for a few reasons.
First, that’s twenty-three more times than I ever requested a similar announcement from another author and I’m a voracious reader.
Second, rumor has it Janet Evanovich once said she became a bestseller by telling five of her friends about her books and asking them to tell five of their friends and so on. I’m starting twenty-three voices ahead when my second book comes out, and whatever I can do to be like Janet is okay with me.
Third, these twenty-three people are independent confirmation readers visit my website. New authors are told they must have a website, but it’s hard to measure the return on investment. For a while, I watched the statistics to see if anyone visited. They looked encouraging. Then my daughter told me her best friend logged onto my site repeatedly to watch my book trailer. So much for statistics.
Finally, these twenty-three people approached me about the mailing list. They didn’t write me a check or participate in a drawing, inadvertently providing me with their address for future use. I didn’t automatically assume they would like to receive book announcements because they sent me an email about something else or joined the same group as me. They’re not on my Christmas card list [yet]. No, these people were excited about my first book and wanted to read more, excited enough to make the effort to seek out my website and send the email.
Now aren’t they fabulous?
Incidentally, For Richer, For Danger is now available for preorder!!
* They’ve read a mystery.
* They know how to use the Internet.
* They can follow directions.
* They liked my first book enough to want to read the second book in the series.
Did you guess? These twenty-three people took the time to visit my website after reading For Better, For Murder and click on the link to request an email announcing the release of For Richer, For Danger.
Now you may be thinking “twenty-three people—big deal.” Well, it’s a big deal to me for a few reasons.
First, that’s twenty-three more times than I ever requested a similar announcement from another author and I’m a voracious reader.
Second, rumor has it Janet Evanovich once said she became a bestseller by telling five of her friends about her books and asking them to tell five of their friends and so on. I’m starting twenty-three voices ahead when my second book comes out, and whatever I can do to be like Janet is okay with me.
Third, these twenty-three people are independent confirmation readers visit my website. New authors are told they must have a website, but it’s hard to measure the return on investment. For a while, I watched the statistics to see if anyone visited. They looked encouraging. Then my daughter told me her best friend logged onto my site repeatedly to watch my book trailer. So much for statistics.
Finally, these twenty-three people approached me about the mailing list. They didn’t write me a check or participate in a drawing, inadvertently providing me with their address for future use. I didn’t automatically assume they would like to receive book announcements because they sent me an email about something else or joined the same group as me. They’re not on my Christmas card list [yet]. No, these people were excited about my first book and wanted to read more, excited enough to make the effort to seek out my website and send the email.
Now aren’t they fabulous?
Incidentally, For Richer, For Danger is now available for preorder!!
Thursday, November 5, 2009
What Do You …Or Will You…Do?
How many social or business events have you attended where someone asked, “So what do you do?” Most people respond by talking about their job and maybe segue into their hobbies. Years ago, my answer would have been, “I’m the Human Resources Director at… or I work in Marketing at …” For seven years, I said, “I’m a stay-at-home mom.” During those years, depending on how exciting my day was, I might also have answered, “I’m the laundry frau.” I doubt many children aspire to be that. I know I didn’t.
But now I’ve published my first novel, and I can say, “I’m a writer.” I never said that until I signed my publishing contract. I feared if I did people would ask if my book was finished yet or when it was going to be published and I would feel pressure. Since I wrote for my own entertainment, I didn’t want any pressure. I didn’t want to feel like I was failing in some way when I was so excited about all the words I put on paper. I didn’t want to feel like the woman who says, “We’re trying to have a baby” because, let’s face it, it’s the kind of goal either ultimately achieved—or not.
Last month, I left my family (something I hate to do) to attend Bouchercon for four days and promote For Better, For Murder. Socializing was different there. Most people could tell from the bookmarks sticking out of my name badge that I was a writer—okay, author. No one started a conversation by asking what I do or about my interests. Readers, librarians, writers, and authors abounded. Popular authors drew crowds.
During my last hour of the conference, I realized one of my preferred authors, Harlan Coben, was standing behind me, talking with some readers. When I got home, I checked out his web site and his list of appearances. He spent March in Begium, France, and New York. April in California, Texas, Missouri, Illinois, Massachusetts, New Jersey, D.C., West Virginia, Florida, and Scotland. May in England. My first thought was the man’s an international sensation and a real star. Then I wondered, did he have to be away from his wife and kids for all that time? Then I read the statement at the top of his appearance list: “Any requests should be directed to Harlan's publicity people—Harlan does not choose where he goes.” And I thought, are you saying Harlan’s given up control of his life?
Days later I read an online story about Kenny Rogers. A man paid him $4 million dollars to sing “The Gambler” at his birthday party. Who wouldn’t accept that gig? According to the story, Kenny sang it twelve times. When the man asked a thirteenth time, Kenny drew the line. Me, I would have folded after three to four requests.
So what would you give up to be an international sensation and a real star? And where would you draw the line?
But now I’ve published my first novel, and I can say, “I’m a writer.” I never said that until I signed my publishing contract. I feared if I did people would ask if my book was finished yet or when it was going to be published and I would feel pressure. Since I wrote for my own entertainment, I didn’t want any pressure. I didn’t want to feel like I was failing in some way when I was so excited about all the words I put on paper. I didn’t want to feel like the woman who says, “We’re trying to have a baby” because, let’s face it, it’s the kind of goal either ultimately achieved—or not.
Last month, I left my family (something I hate to do) to attend Bouchercon for four days and promote For Better, For Murder. Socializing was different there. Most people could tell from the bookmarks sticking out of my name badge that I was a writer—okay, author. No one started a conversation by asking what I do or about my interests. Readers, librarians, writers, and authors abounded. Popular authors drew crowds.
During my last hour of the conference, I realized one of my preferred authors, Harlan Coben, was standing behind me, talking with some readers. When I got home, I checked out his web site and his list of appearances. He spent March in Begium, France, and New York. April in California, Texas, Missouri, Illinois, Massachusetts, New Jersey, D.C., West Virginia, Florida, and Scotland. May in England. My first thought was the man’s an international sensation and a real star. Then I wondered, did he have to be away from his wife and kids for all that time? Then I read the statement at the top of his appearance list: “Any requests should be directed to Harlan's publicity people—Harlan does not choose where he goes.” And I thought, are you saying Harlan’s given up control of his life?
Days later I read an online story about Kenny Rogers. A man paid him $4 million dollars to sing “The Gambler” at his birthday party. Who wouldn’t accept that gig? According to the story, Kenny sang it twelve times. When the man asked a thirteenth time, Kenny drew the line. Me, I would have folded after three to four requests.
So what would you give up to be an international sensation and a real star? And where would you draw the line?
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Is It A Goal Or A Quest??
In August I blogged about my goal to read all the 2009 Anthony Award nominated works in preparation for Bouchercon this October. At that time, I had read only four of the twenty-three nominated books, and none of the short stories. I’m happy to say that after multiple visits to three libraries and a bookstore, I now have read twenty-two nominated books and all six short stories.
The nonfiction critical works presented the biggest challenge, because our county library system didn’t carry two of them. My local librarian was able to jump on WorldCAT (which I could have done from home if only I were that clever) and tell me that these two books were available at our two largest local university libraries. That would be one book at each library, not one library with both books available (life is never that easy). Good news, I graduated from both these universities, and rumor was I had alumni privileges to check out books.
I verified this fact by phone first. One university library said, “Come right in.” The other said, “Stop at the registrar’s office first and get an alumni identification card.” Rats.
Visiting your old university stomping grounds could be a pleasant trip down memory lane for some people. Not me.
The first university is within city limits, which makes it the picky parking university. Back in my day, it had a free-for-all parking situation on the city street running alongside the campus and issued parking privileges on-campus only to those who paid for them. Now the university appears to own that street, and they installed meters. (If you want to know how I feel about metered parking, read my debut novel, For Better, For Murder, to get the gist.) The day I visited, I had only twenties in my wallet. The helpful information guard said I could park in one zone with my flashers on for fifteen minutes, which meant I had to hustle.
In the library, I approached their information desk and showed the Dewey decimal classification to the girl. She said, “Oh, follow the yellow lines on the floor to the elevators, then go down in the stacks on the mezzanine level.” I remembered the yellow lines and the subterranean stacks, but not much else after twenty-three years. When I craned my neck looking for the yellow lines, she took pity on me and led me to the elevators.
The stacks were as lonely and creepy as ever. All the lights are motion sensitive, and I was the only motion…sound…presence. I like to be alone, but not quite that alone. It took me a while to find the right aisle, call number, etc. Then I panicked because it looked like the book might be on the top shelf—well out of any normal human being’s reach. But, no, it was on the bottom shelf.
I grabbed the book, pleased to see it was relatively short, and took off for the elevators, my flip-flops slapping the gleaming floor.
I turned a corner and almost smacked right into another woman. My heart skipped a beat. I gasped then laughed. She apologized for scaring me.
The girl at the checkout desk asked for my alumni ID card and gave me a little talk about the need for one when I failed to produce—so much for calling ahead to get their requirements—then let me check out the book for four weeks without any kind of ID whatsoever.
Now I was off to my second institution of higher learning, the one I attended only at night. It looks different in the daylight—and after fourteen years. But the parking is still free and plentiful.
First I got in queue at the registrar’s office with the incoming students to obtain my alumni ID card. Their parents all smiled at me, undoubtedly because they recognized a woman of their own age group. I got the card. Nice picture; just doesn’t look much like me.
Then I walked over to the library, and the circulation desk attendant directed me to the dark, claustrophobic (my closet’s bigger and I’m not bragging) elevator and the third floor. I turned right as I exited the elevator. (Yes, I’m right-handed.) Shoulda turned left. I found the book…eventually.
Of course, the library’s computer didn’t recognize an ID card issued fifteen minutes prior, but another girl fixed me right up. So fast I wondered if I’d really needed that ID card after all.
By now I was re-thinking my choice of footwear. My bad knee ached, causing a slight limp. Plus, I needed a restroom. I decided that urge could wait until I got home.
Did I mention I was now almost as far from my home as one can get without leaving the county? Or that, in fact, almost every road in the county was under construction, causing motorists delays?
You may wonder why I’m going to all this trouble. I wondered, too. I don’t go to this much trouble for much of anything, including presidential elections. Here’s why I am this time.
First, I said I would do it, which means I have to do it. One is only as good as one’s word, right? Second, this time I’m one vote amongst, what, 1,400 instead of one vote amongst millions (with no electoral college involved as far as I know). Finally, in theory, these Anthony award-nominated works should come from our genre’s best and brightest writers, people I can learn something from. These authors can tell me about their cleverness at Bouchercon or show me through their work. I’m a “show me” learner. Always have been.
Now if only I can only reach the top of the library’s reserve list for The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.
The nonfiction critical works presented the biggest challenge, because our county library system didn’t carry two of them. My local librarian was able to jump on WorldCAT (which I could have done from home if only I were that clever) and tell me that these two books were available at our two largest local university libraries. That would be one book at each library, not one library with both books available (life is never that easy). Good news, I graduated from both these universities, and rumor was I had alumni privileges to check out books.
I verified this fact by phone first. One university library said, “Come right in.” The other said, “Stop at the registrar’s office first and get an alumni identification card.” Rats.
Visiting your old university stomping grounds could be a pleasant trip down memory lane for some people. Not me.
The first university is within city limits, which makes it the picky parking university. Back in my day, it had a free-for-all parking situation on the city street running alongside the campus and issued parking privileges on-campus only to those who paid for them. Now the university appears to own that street, and they installed meters. (If you want to know how I feel about metered parking, read my debut novel, For Better, For Murder, to get the gist.) The day I visited, I had only twenties in my wallet. The helpful information guard said I could park in one zone with my flashers on for fifteen minutes, which meant I had to hustle.
In the library, I approached their information desk and showed the Dewey decimal classification to the girl. She said, “Oh, follow the yellow lines on the floor to the elevators, then go down in the stacks on the mezzanine level.” I remembered the yellow lines and the subterranean stacks, but not much else after twenty-three years. When I craned my neck looking for the yellow lines, she took pity on me and led me to the elevators.
The stacks were as lonely and creepy as ever. All the lights are motion sensitive, and I was the only motion…sound…presence. I like to be alone, but not quite that alone. It took me a while to find the right aisle, call number, etc. Then I panicked because it looked like the book might be on the top shelf—well out of any normal human being’s reach. But, no, it was on the bottom shelf.
I grabbed the book, pleased to see it was relatively short, and took off for the elevators, my flip-flops slapping the gleaming floor.
I turned a corner and almost smacked right into another woman. My heart skipped a beat. I gasped then laughed. She apologized for scaring me.
The girl at the checkout desk asked for my alumni ID card and gave me a little talk about the need for one when I failed to produce—so much for calling ahead to get their requirements—then let me check out the book for four weeks without any kind of ID whatsoever.
Now I was off to my second institution of higher learning, the one I attended only at night. It looks different in the daylight—and after fourteen years. But the parking is still free and plentiful.
First I got in queue at the registrar’s office with the incoming students to obtain my alumni ID card. Their parents all smiled at me, undoubtedly because they recognized a woman of their own age group. I got the card. Nice picture; just doesn’t look much like me.
Then I walked over to the library, and the circulation desk attendant directed me to the dark, claustrophobic (my closet’s bigger and I’m not bragging) elevator and the third floor. I turned right as I exited the elevator. (Yes, I’m right-handed.) Shoulda turned left. I found the book…eventually.
Of course, the library’s computer didn’t recognize an ID card issued fifteen minutes prior, but another girl fixed me right up. So fast I wondered if I’d really needed that ID card after all.
By now I was re-thinking my choice of footwear. My bad knee ached, causing a slight limp. Plus, I needed a restroom. I decided that urge could wait until I got home.
Did I mention I was now almost as far from my home as one can get without leaving the county? Or that, in fact, almost every road in the county was under construction, causing motorists delays?
You may wonder why I’m going to all this trouble. I wondered, too. I don’t go to this much trouble for much of anything, including presidential elections. Here’s why I am this time.
First, I said I would do it, which means I have to do it. One is only as good as one’s word, right? Second, this time I’m one vote amongst, what, 1,400 instead of one vote amongst millions (with no electoral college involved as far as I know). Finally, in theory, these Anthony award-nominated works should come from our genre’s best and brightest writers, people I can learn something from. These authors can tell me about their cleverness at Bouchercon or show me through their work. I’m a “show me” learner. Always have been.
Now if only I can only reach the top of the library’s reserve list for The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Now What?
Having a book published is a lot like getting married or giving birth. Even if I don’t remember all the details, I know I was there. Important words were exchanged and actions taken, and in the end, it’s a done deal. But it’s a surreal experience in many ways. And at times a little nauseating.
When I saw my son for the first time, I remember looking at my husband. We were both thinking the same thing, “Now what?” All that waiting and anticipation had led to the big day, but we hadn’t thought too far beyond it.
This week, after months, years really, of anticipation, my debut novel For Better, For Murder is published and on the market. And again I’m thinking “Now what?”
I’m also thinking, “Will it sell?”
Good news, it did get positive reviews. CrimeSpree Magazine said, “Lovely book.” Kirkus Reviews said, “Bork juggles multiple puzzles deftly in her witty debut.”
My ten-year-old daughter read the Kirkus review. She said, “What does deftly mean?” I knew the answer—I’d already looked it up just to make sure.
“It means skillful.” She scrunched her forehead. “It means I’m a good writer.” She nodded.
Then she asked, “What does witty mean?” I knew the answer to that one, too. Yes, I looked it up, just to ensure I understood all the nuances.
“It means very clever and humorous. It means my book is funny. That’s what I wanted it to be.”
She smiled. All was good in her world. I could only hope the same for mine.
I know “Now what?” includes promotion. I’m doing my best. I don’t really like to toot my own horn, but it’s hard to stand out in the crowd of mystery writers without making the effort. I’ve sent email announcements to book clubs, flyers to independent mystery bookstores, and registered for Bouchercon. I’ve contacted my alma maters, the local press and booksellers as well as visited with my town librarian. I’ve written guest blogs, posted announcements on all my yahoo groups, and scheduled my first signing. Everyone has been very nice and receptive. I can only hope it pays off in book orders.
I do have a few other self-promotion ideas, all of which require me to be less reserved than usual.
Did I mention I’m a homebody, perfectly happy to be the solitary writer? Not so eager to be the worldly promoter? But I’m doing it nevertheless.
I’m doing it because I enjoyed writing For Better, For Murder, and I think people will enjoy reading it. It is a murder mystery. It’s also part romantic suspense, part family saga, part tourism, and part car trivia. It’s fast-paced, light-hearted and cozyish. The protagonist, Jolene Asdale, is interesting, smart, and capable, not to mention attractive and unwilling to suffer fools. Overnight, her life is filled with murder and mayhem, but she’s up to the task. Her almost-ex-husband is uncompromising, an honest deputy sheriff who takes his job seriously. Her sister, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. The three of them are a potent combination.
Now I can only hope skillful, clever, and humorous is an equally potent—and selling—combination.
When I saw my son for the first time, I remember looking at my husband. We were both thinking the same thing, “Now what?” All that waiting and anticipation had led to the big day, but we hadn’t thought too far beyond it.
This week, after months, years really, of anticipation, my debut novel For Better, For Murder is published and on the market. And again I’m thinking “Now what?”
I’m also thinking, “Will it sell?”
Good news, it did get positive reviews. CrimeSpree Magazine said, “Lovely book.” Kirkus Reviews said, “Bork juggles multiple puzzles deftly in her witty debut.”
My ten-year-old daughter read the Kirkus review. She said, “What does deftly mean?” I knew the answer—I’d already looked it up just to make sure.
“It means skillful.” She scrunched her forehead. “It means I’m a good writer.” She nodded.
Then she asked, “What does witty mean?” I knew the answer to that one, too. Yes, I looked it up, just to ensure I understood all the nuances.
“It means very clever and humorous. It means my book is funny. That’s what I wanted it to be.”
She smiled. All was good in her world. I could only hope the same for mine.
I know “Now what?” includes promotion. I’m doing my best. I don’t really like to toot my own horn, but it’s hard to stand out in the crowd of mystery writers without making the effort. I’ve sent email announcements to book clubs, flyers to independent mystery bookstores, and registered for Bouchercon. I’ve contacted my alma maters, the local press and booksellers as well as visited with my town librarian. I’ve written guest blogs, posted announcements on all my yahoo groups, and scheduled my first signing. Everyone has been very nice and receptive. I can only hope it pays off in book orders.
I do have a few other self-promotion ideas, all of which require me to be less reserved than usual.
Did I mention I’m a homebody, perfectly happy to be the solitary writer? Not so eager to be the worldly promoter? But I’m doing it nevertheless.
I’m doing it because I enjoyed writing For Better, For Murder, and I think people will enjoy reading it. It is a murder mystery. It’s also part romantic suspense, part family saga, part tourism, and part car trivia. It’s fast-paced, light-hearted and cozyish. The protagonist, Jolene Asdale, is interesting, smart, and capable, not to mention attractive and unwilling to suffer fools. Overnight, her life is filled with murder and mayhem, but she’s up to the task. Her almost-ex-husband is uncompromising, an honest deputy sheriff who takes his job seriously. Her sister, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. The three of them are a potent combination.
Now I can only hope skillful, clever, and humorous is an equally potent—and selling—combination.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Goals and Dreams
Last year I watched with amusement as Ellen DeGeneres set out to entice the elusive George Clooney onto her television show. She eventually succeeded. This year Ellen set her goal to be on the cover of Oprah’s magazine. It was almost too easy. Then Ellen needed a new goal.
Goals are a very hot topic in life. We all know about New Year’s resolutions, which are just a different term for goals. Weight loss is always associated with targets or goals. And who hasn’t been asked in a job interview about their short term and long term career goals?
Writers talk a lot about goals. Some make themselves sit for a certain amount of time each day, writing words—whether they’re publishable words or not. Others force themselves to write a certain number of words per day, no matter what. Ever wonder if some days they write #*!!**# over and over?
Often writers give themselves one year (or two or more) to finish a book. They talk less about what the term “finish” means. Is it 80,000 words, perfected, proofread and ready to publish? Or is it an unedited stream of narrative, description and dialog that will need another year (or more) of revisions before it can be marketed?
When I decided to write a book, my goal was to write a mystery that a publisher recognized by Mystery Writers of America would deem worthy of publication. (Note that my goal was not to be published—that’s a goal fraught with peril, IMHO). For Better, For Murder will be released in September. For Richer, For Danger will follow in 2010. The third book in the series is ready for market, too.
Now I need a new goal. It can’t be too easy, like the Ellen/Oprah magazine cover. And it has to be measurable, reasonable, and attainable. Otherwise, it’s not motivating, and a goal should be motivating. And fun, because life should be fun.
I could write more books in this series. That would be fun, because I love these characters. They talk to me in the shower and the car and sometimes even when someone else is talking to me. But I don’t see any point to it yet, so it’s not motivating. Maybe if the sales on my first book go wild by year end, I’ll get busy on book four. Still, I need a goal now.
I could set a goal to write a different standalone book or series. Now here’s the rub. I don’t feel like it. Plus the characters from my Broken Vows mystery series might get jealous and stop talking to me.
I’m thinking about a goal to write a saleable screenplay. I have no experience or training in writing one of those either. But I love movies almost as much as books and I bought a book on how to write screenplays. That’s a start. And I understand and appreciate formulas, which seems to be what Hollywood is sticking to at the moment. Who can blame them? Formulas work.
And if my screenplay should by some miracle get the green light, maybe I could get Ellen to set a goal to entice George Clooney to star in the movie.
Dream big, right?!
Goals are a very hot topic in life. We all know about New Year’s resolutions, which are just a different term for goals. Weight loss is always associated with targets or goals. And who hasn’t been asked in a job interview about their short term and long term career goals?
Writers talk a lot about goals. Some make themselves sit for a certain amount of time each day, writing words—whether they’re publishable words or not. Others force themselves to write a certain number of words per day, no matter what. Ever wonder if some days they write #*!!**# over and over?
Often writers give themselves one year (or two or more) to finish a book. They talk less about what the term “finish” means. Is it 80,000 words, perfected, proofread and ready to publish? Or is it an unedited stream of narrative, description and dialog that will need another year (or more) of revisions before it can be marketed?
When I decided to write a book, my goal was to write a mystery that a publisher recognized by Mystery Writers of America would deem worthy of publication. (Note that my goal was not to be published—that’s a goal fraught with peril, IMHO). For Better, For Murder will be released in September. For Richer, For Danger will follow in 2010. The third book in the series is ready for market, too.
Now I need a new goal. It can’t be too easy, like the Ellen/Oprah magazine cover. And it has to be measurable, reasonable, and attainable. Otherwise, it’s not motivating, and a goal should be motivating. And fun, because life should be fun.
I could write more books in this series. That would be fun, because I love these characters. They talk to me in the shower and the car and sometimes even when someone else is talking to me. But I don’t see any point to it yet, so it’s not motivating. Maybe if the sales on my first book go wild by year end, I’ll get busy on book four. Still, I need a goal now.
I could set a goal to write a different standalone book or series. Now here’s the rub. I don’t feel like it. Plus the characters from my Broken Vows mystery series might get jealous and stop talking to me.
I’m thinking about a goal to write a saleable screenplay. I have no experience or training in writing one of those either. But I love movies almost as much as books and I bought a book on how to write screenplays. That’s a start. And I understand and appreciate formulas, which seems to be what Hollywood is sticking to at the moment. Who can blame them? Formulas work.
And if my screenplay should by some miracle get the green light, maybe I could get Ellen to set a goal to entice George Clooney to star in the movie.
Dream big, right?!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Do You Read Books in Reverse?
I belong to my neighborhood book club. Every six weeks or so, eleven of us get together at one of our homes and discuss the book that the meeting hostess selected. Yummy snacks and adult beverages are always available. Opinions fly freely.
A book club is a great place to find out what attracts some readers to a book and repels others just as fast. It’s rare for the entire group to agree on every aspect of a book. The first hint of trouble is usually that one of us didn’t buy into or like the premise of the story. Or worse, didn’t take to the main character.
In the course of these discussions, I learned some of the club members read the book’s pages out of order, most often when they can’t get into the story or find it confusing and want to know where the story is going. A few even admit to more than once reading an entire book in reverse page order—and enjoying it more that way!
This revelation was a shocker. I’ve only recently matured to the point in life where I am willing to put down a book I’m not enjoying. In many, many years past, I would read it to the end no matter what, maybe skimming along as much as possible.
But I always, always read the book’s pages in order. For me, it’s cheating to read the end first. If I read the last page first, what do I have to look forward to? I like a story where I wonder how it’s all going to turn out, where I’m reading to learn where it’s all going. I prefer the journey and a destination or two, preferably a surprise destination. So much the better if a little unexpected twist occurs at the end, where reading the pages out of order would ruin the whole effect.
Now let me give you a big hint: I try to write the kind of books I enjoy reading. To receive maximum value, For Better, For Murder should be read in the order the pages are numbered. If you pick up the book in the library or bookstore, read the back cover. Read the first few pages. Please don’t read the last page. If the storyline intrigues you after reading the back cover and the first few pages, take the book home and read the story from start to finish.
But if you read the last page first or my whole book in reverse, please keep it to yourself. This time I really don’t want to know.
A book club is a great place to find out what attracts some readers to a book and repels others just as fast. It’s rare for the entire group to agree on every aspect of a book. The first hint of trouble is usually that one of us didn’t buy into or like the premise of the story. Or worse, didn’t take to the main character.
In the course of these discussions, I learned some of the club members read the book’s pages out of order, most often when they can’t get into the story or find it confusing and want to know where the story is going. A few even admit to more than once reading an entire book in reverse page order—and enjoying it more that way!
This revelation was a shocker. I’ve only recently matured to the point in life where I am willing to put down a book I’m not enjoying. In many, many years past, I would read it to the end no matter what, maybe skimming along as much as possible.
But I always, always read the book’s pages in order. For me, it’s cheating to read the end first. If I read the last page first, what do I have to look forward to? I like a story where I wonder how it’s all going to turn out, where I’m reading to learn where it’s all going. I prefer the journey and a destination or two, preferably a surprise destination. So much the better if a little unexpected twist occurs at the end, where reading the pages out of order would ruin the whole effect.
Now let me give you a big hint: I try to write the kind of books I enjoy reading. To receive maximum value, For Better, For Murder should be read in the order the pages are numbered. If you pick up the book in the library or bookstore, read the back cover. Read the first few pages. Please don’t read the last page. If the storyline intrigues you after reading the back cover and the first few pages, take the book home and read the story from start to finish.
But if you read the last page first or my whole book in reverse, please keep it to yourself. This time I really don’t want to know.
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