Wednesday, 28 December 2011

Are you writing for you or others?



If writing can be judged from 1-10, I use to work on a 2-3 level: Lots of emotion, lots or raw text. No spell check. No semblance of order. No proper sentences. I wrote for me, no one else. I didn't correct my work. I actually didn't know how anyway. And didn't want to know or learn. My short stories needed so much work that they were more ideas rather than stories.
After writing and correcting my first novel through 4 drafts I entered level 5.
Then a friend studying writing, ripped through my work, I was then at level 7, and stayed there until I received feedback from a NZ publisher and Stringybark. After that I had to study and learn how to write even better. Now I believe my work ranges around 8-9 and sometimes dips into 10. And I think that anything below 8 isn't publishable. However, even 8 is touch and go.
My advice to anyone and everyone is to get some 'real' critiquing done so that you approach even a 5-7 standard, at this level people can enjoy your work when they read it rather than stumbling over the faulty mechanics of your writing.

Friday, 23 December 2011

Pressie, Christmas present, not absent

I just looked up the word present; so many meanings behind that little word. You can also see how the word present came to mean gift.
Consider: Present a person to your King. (Interesting to note that that also makes them present for that day, as in not absent). Then you present a gift to your King. Then dumb it down to, Here's your present.
There is a chance I just wrote all this on a whim because I am procrastinating over fixing up a part of my novel that has been said have too much dialogue with too much geek info. Publisher included.
I guess I better get to work.

Saturday, 19 November 2011

Writers of Melbourne - join us!


If you would like to become involved in Melbourne Writers' Social Group, go to: 
or

We meet every week in the city for a chat about writing and to also discuss opportunities to write in a published world.

Melbourne Writers Social Group

http://www.amazon.com/MWSG-Anthology-II-Melbourne-ebook/dp/B00AMPC70O/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1355349010&sr=8-3&keywords=anthology+melbourne


https://plus.google.com/u/0/114808982206132903247/posts

Wednesday, 9 November 2011

A publisher for you!

Hey, if you would like to get to know a publisher while she is starting up, then see this note directly from her:

"If you are not yet a member of The Story Mint go to http://www.thestorymint.com/ and register. This is an ‘invite only’ as The Story Mint is still in its early developmental stage."

There is an area you can submit a full length manuscript (novel) for her to consider.
A serial story that you can add to (although all chapters are taken for this current story - so maybe just give feedback on chapters already written, for now).
A place you can receive computer generated feedback on 250 words or so.

She is also looking for feedback on her site since it is only in its BETA stage and will need a lot of work before it is up and running correctly and is more appealing to the eye.
I hear the best way to getting published is to get involved with publishers that are just starting up. So now here’s your chance!!

Wednesday, 2 November 2011

Commas before a name (or sir, buddy, mate etc) and after a salutation

Long ago I didn't understand the idea of placing a comma before a name, such as: 'What are we doing here, John?'
It's why I tended to easily forget to add it. I still don't really understand why it is needed all the time, however I have come across a few instances where it would be confusing to leave it out. Therefore, I have realised that the comma is somewhat a necessity in these situations.

For example:
'That's a nice pen Dick.'
Be better if you did this:
'That's a nice Pen, Dick.'

I know, Dick, is not a name that is used often these days, but even if the name was Bob or Rod or Phil, it would still sound a little odd.

Check out this post by Rachel:
http://www.grammarerrors.com/punctuation/commas-in-direct-address/

Tuesday, 9 August 2011

Free writing & Stream-of-consciousness writing

To begin as simply as possible, start punching any and all words/sentences you can think of into your word processor (or pen to paper if you prefer), don’t worry about how insane what you type sounds, just type. Think of it as a dream you are having where anything can happen; you may be walking along a road that stretches for miles, then there is someone next to you and they're talking about how they love to travel, suddenly you are in Egypt, etc.
That’s very basic, don’t stop there, write anything that pops into your head. It could be that your arm becomes disconnected from your body and moves by its own accord, it finds a snake and they have a ‘romantic’ time together. An enormous tidal wave washes that away and you see from the corpses floating around you that the entire planet has been engulfed by floods killing all land life.
Sentences don't need to make sense, words don't need to be spelled correctly and a full stop doesn't need to be used at all. Just go!

Everything I have just mentioned sounds absurd, but this is how I first began to write. I later learnt that there were books written on this style/exercise of writing. It's called free writing or also stream-of-consciousness writing. Look it up if you like.
This should free up your mind and prove that you can write. After writing for fun with no direction, you can begin moulding a story that you are interested in and making it your first short story or novel.
Enjoy!

Monday, 18 July 2011

A soldier who knows he is going to die

Take a read from this small story regarding a soldier that has been captured behind enemy lines and knows he is going to die:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpLn5Ci1aL4

Well, you don't have to read it, you can have it read to you instead.

Sunday, 17 July 2011

And another silly vid

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d27Jy83ARRs

This one is titled: Drunk
Reading a story while doing something else.
In a bar this time, trying to look normal but unfortunately looking like a dork.
The story is about a man that has lost his wife and likes to drink (excerpt from my novel, Wake. He isn't drunk in the novel, he instead has other worse problems).

Friday, 15 July 2011

Commitment


Lee clawed at the hands that held his head down and so received a knock to the back of the head as his reward. He tried to call out but instead breathed in water.
Lee’s body shook as he gagged. His head was then suddenly pulled up.
He coughed up the water from his lungs and said, ‘Oh god, oh god, oh god.’ Then threw up water from his stomach.
Karr, who was behind him, let go, causing him to fall to the floor. Lee lay on the ground while his body convulsed, putting his three fingered left hand to his face – the other two had been cut off. His right hand had been crushed with a hammer – he knew he would never have use of that hand ever again.
Lee had been in the military for over 12 years and had completed six tours, this was the first time he had been captured.
Karr picked up Lee’s semi-naked body and dragged it to the next room where the fire pit smouldered. Lee didn’t know if he could take any more pain. They were going to kill him, that was for certain, it was just a matter of when.
‘The clock’s ticking, my friend,’ the man in the shadows said. ‘If you can’t tell me where the next attack will come from, Karr will have to kill you.’
Lee said nothing.
The hot iron came towards him.
He closed his eyes as tight as they would go.

Wednesday, 8 June 2011

Cousins (It's a long one!)

The water moved quickly past their bare feet, shooting down through the eroded ‘V’ shaped crevice and around the bend and out of their site. Thomas was the first one to put his feet into the clear water; he flinched slightly but tried not to let Kate see.
‘Is it cold?’ Kate asked.
Thomas wondered if she had noticed the slight hunching of his shoulders when he had put his left and then right foot into the water.
‘No, it’s fine once you’re in,’ he replied telling her only a half truth.
‘Are you sure? It looks like it would be cold.’
Thomas sighed and said, ‘How can you tell that it’s cold by looking at it? Put your foot in and you’ll know soon enough!’
Kate watched the water flow by a little longer. It was quite a lot of water, she didn’t know where it came from but knew that it started off cold and got warmer the further it went downstream. Usually it was warmer than this in July, the water as well as the weather, after being so warm in bed only an hour ago, the idea of putting her foot into water now sent shivers all through her body.
A splashing noise suddenly sounded, Kate could see Thomas running towards her with large amounts of water flying up all around him, drenching his pants and threatening to drench her too. Gathering all the courage she could muster she put a foot into the water.
She almost screamed at the chilliness of the icy water but managed to suppress it.
‘I... I’m in. Don’t splash me!’ Kate said in a commanding voice, if not with a little stutter due to the water’s cold grip.
The other foot went in and she was now getting use to the cold. She walked around a little and decided that it wasn’t that bad after all, just a little cool maybe.
Thomas was up the stream a little further away from Kate where an old branch had become wedged across the fast flowing water, which had created a small dam and a pool that was deep enough so that the water almost reached his knees.
On the other side of the damn, where the water toppled over the top of the branch and downwards, it had created another small pool that was about half as deep as the dam. Kate was behind him with a stick and was poking the bottom of the bubbling water to see how deep the little pool went.
‘It’s not deep, you can go in there,’ Thomas said and then bravely stepped into the pool of water to show her that it was safe.
Kate, not yet 11, was younger than her cousin of 13. They had been friends from when they were only little. Playing whenever their parents took the long drive to either of their homes. Kate lived in Chicago with her mother and father and her older sister. Her older sister had been friends with Thomas for a few years as well but now that she was 16 she had out grown him.
Thomas was an only child, brought up by both parents in the rural district of Dwight, south from Chicago off route 66. Having four lots of cousins to play with, some in Dwight, he was not short of playing companions, however.
It was Dwight where the two played now. Even though the area was rural, Thomas’s parents lived in a regular sized home adjacent to the paddocks. The farmers of the immediate area were happy enough to let the children play in their paddocks as much as they wanted, as long as they didn’t get into too much mischief.
Thomas had known a stream was nearby and had found it while he had been out riding on his aging dirt bike, now that Kate was here he was thinking they could do something fun with it today.
‘We should make our own dam!’ Thomas said feeling very excited at the prospect.
Kate was still young and adventurous enough to think it was a good idea as well, even if it did involve playing in the water and mud, and so said that she could help him.
‘You find some mud and stuff and I’ll get some large rocks to make a wall,’ Thomas said while looking for a suitable place to start.
‘Okay,’ Kate said enthusiastically.
They both wandered off looking for what they could. Thomas was only able to find a few smaller rocks, so decided he would try and gather up clay clumps that could possibly be just as good for building the wall.
The first one he picked up crumbled in his hands. The sun had been quite strong the last week and was sapping all the moisture from the ground. Thomas found another one but experienced the same problem. He looked over to where his cousin was to see if she was fairing any better.
She had found an area next to the stream where it wasn’t so wet that the mud dribbled between her fingers, but also not so hard that it couldn’t be picked it up. Her pile of mud was growing but at a very slow pace. It was barely three handfuls and they were her handfuls – small ones – so it was going to be long going.
A wind blew up and lifted his cousin’s skirt over her head so that he could see her underwear and her bare back. He stay staring at her while she kept digging, seeming to not care about what her skirt was doing.
Eventually she stood upright and let her dress fall to where it should have been. She looked over at Thomas and saw him looking at her.
Oblivious to what Thomas had been staring at, she said, ‘I’ve got a little bit of mud here I guess, but I don’t know if it’s going to help much.’
Thomas stopped staring and looked back at what he was doing. His mind pressed him to think about what he had just seen as hormones stirred. The image of his cousin’s underwear and bare skin sat as a still picture in his mind, a few seconds ticked by and he was finally able to dismiss it. He was 13 and becoming more aware of what happened with a boy and a girl and the feelings he got when he saw a girl that he liked. None of those feelings were there when he saw his cousin. It wasn’t because she wasn’t pretty enough, because he believed she was, it was just that she didn’t give him the funny tummy feeling he would usually get.
Not that it mattered, he knew cousin’s weren’t allowed to marry, same as a brother and sister. Plus he liked the way things were right now; she was a friend, someone he could play in the water and mud with, and Kate didn’t care if she got dirty.
Her older sister had always liked this sort of thing as well, but not anymore.
‘I can’t get any good rocks around here. It’s hopeless!’ Thomas yelled to Kate while still searching.
They both walked around a little more and found their way to a small patch of grass near where the stream funneled into a narrow but deep part of the stream. Thomas bent down and tried to pickup some mud since it was a soft soil rather than clay. A clump of dirt and roots and a small tuft of grass came up in his hands.
He held it up for Kate to see with an exasperated look. Thomas was ready to give up. ‘It’s getting close to lunch time anyway, probably,’ Thomas said looking up at the sky as if he were able to tell the time from the position of the sun.
‘I don’t think it’s that late,’ Kate said and then also tried to pull up a clump of dirt.
She lent back as she pulled on the side of the creek bed and almost fell backwards as it came up in her hands. It was a sizable amount of dirt and grass she held. She offered it over to Thomas who took it in his own hands.
They both walked over to the area where they had decided to dam the water and put down the almost square chunk of earth with grass sprouting healthily out of the top. Instantly the water pushed around the clump but did not wash over it and also did not push it down the stream.
‘Yes!’ Thomas called out, shooting his fist into the air.
Kate giggled and held her dirty hands up to her face. She realised then that she had left dirt on her chin and quickly tried to rub it off. She didn’t usually mind getting muddy, but she still didn’t want anything on her face in case she grew to be as pretty as her older sister.
Boys liked to see a girl’s face when they were pretty, that’s what her sister had said. She also said that they liked it when you wore tight tops. She didn’t know why exactly but it was certainly something to do with breasts, although she guessed she would understand that when she got breasts as well.
They both went over to the grass patch and began to pull up more of the grass and dirt. They kept at the gruelling work for the next hour, although at one stage Kate lost interest and went for a walk up the stream for a little way only to be followed by Thomas shortly after.
Once Thomas had gone to join Kate and saw that she was looking out over the other paddocks from up top of the ridge of the stream, he decided to stand next to her. They both stood there quietly for a while. Thomas couldn’t see what Kate was looking at exactly but tried to anyway.
After a few moments and becoming bored at just staring, Thomas said, ‘I was only able to pull up another five clumps and two of them were pretty crappy. I think we need to come back with some tools from my dad’s shed.’
‘Okay, although it will have to be tomorrow. I heard my parents talking about all of us going out somewhere this afternoon. We won’t be back until late. We’re having dinner in town. Also, I think we might be seeing a movie.’
Oh, cool. I hope it’s Thor! It looks cool!’ Thomas said enthusiastically.
Kate giggled, and her hands went to her mouth again as she did so, dirtying her face once more. She wiped her face afterwards and they wandered off along the paddock back home.
‘Hey, you wanna go the long way?’ Thomas asked?
‘Sure,’ Kate replied wanting to walk around the fields forever if she were only allowed to.
She had thought about what it would be like to live in the country. She had even stayed over at her cousin’s house a few times for a week. It wasn’t far so her parents didn’t mind taking a trip down to Dwight two weekends in a row.
Her uncle and aunt were great. They always let her and Thomas do whatever they wanted. Thomas had told Kate that it was because he was an only child. She wondered how that mattered but had not thought on it further.
‘There is one other thing,’ Thomas said as they were walking across the paddock. ‘They sometimes let the bull out in this paddock to run around. Usually it’s after lunch, but sometimes it’s earlier. If we see the bull we have to run to that tree up there and then down to the fence over there, okay?’
‘Oh, okay,’ Kate said trying not to show her fear to Thomas.
‘I’ve done it before. He’s never caught me, you just have to run as fast you can, okay?’
Again Kate said okay, feeling only a little assured that Thomas had been in this situation before. She didn’t like the idea of outrunning a bull, but still, it may be fun because it was just a little dangerous.
‘Oh no, it’s here. You see up there?’ Thomas said pointing off into the distance.
‘Kate had barely a moment to look before Thomas yelled at her, ‘Run!’
Thomas ran and was well ahead before Kate had begun running herself. Her legs pumped as hard as they would go but Thomas was well ahead of her and getting further away. She didn’t yell out or cry, she just ran – her lungs were burning already.
Thomas had only just reached the tree that they were running to when Kate was ten feet from him, she began to feel better that Thomas would be with her for the rest of the way, but then he was off again, running down the hill towards the fence – which was twice as far as the distance to the tree. Thankfully it was downhill.
Kate reached the tree and looked around for the bull but saw nothing close by. She didn’t pause for more than a few seconds before she started her run down the grassy slope to where Thomas was, already halfway to the fence.
No matter how hard she ran and no matter how much she concentrated on running quicker, Thomas got further and further away. Panic started to set in and then worsened when she saw Thomas look back and wave her on in a hurried motion. She didn’t dare look around the paddock in case the bull was charging them.
She reached the fence, of which Thomas was already over the other side, and then he told her to hurry but to also watch out for the electric wire.
‘Where... how do I put my foot in the right place to get over!’ Kate yelled at Thomas hysterically.
Thomas laughed at this but then covered up his smile and showed Kate what to do. Finally she was over the fence and safe. She turned and saw only green grass in every direction. Where was the bull? she wondered.
As if Thomas had heard her silent question, Thomas said, ‘The bull didn’t even move he’s still over the other side of the hill. I don’t know if he saw us or not but he didn’t come for us anyway.’
‘Oh, I didn’t even see him,’ Kate said.
‘Well we’ll see if we can see him again tomorrow,’ Thomas replied and then started walking back up the stone road to his home.
On their way they kicked stones and talked about what tools they would need for tomorrow and if maybe they should take lunch with them next time, especially since they would probably be working there for a while.
Once back at Thomas’s they both went in and cleaned up. Both of them wondering what movie they would see tonight and then how much fun they would have tomorrow.
Thomas pushed his father’s shovel easily into the grassy earth and sectioned off a square chunk. He then slid the shovel underneath the dirt cutting off the grass roots so he could lift it up without it clinging to the ground.
He had created over ten of the square patches of earth, all good sized. Kate was assembling the dam with the pieces of earth across the stream and had no trouble deflecting the water the way they had agreed. Thomas created another square clump by slicing into the earth four times and again lifting it up.
He was getting tired. He had been working at this for the last two hours or more. As he dug each clump up he would have to walk it over to Kate but only if she was ready for another one, or otherwise take it to the holding area away from the water and grass until she called out to him.
‘The water’s going to just go over the top when we get to the side of the cliff,’ Kate said pointing to the clay walled edge of the creek.
Thomas looked at where he had been digging up the grass clumps in a straight line parallel to the stream and suddenly got an idea.
‘I know, I can connect the stream to my little track down here, that will stop the water from building up on your dam, then when we’ve finished building it we can block off this track of mine. You can build it double or even triple in height! Thomas said with glee. ‘And then we can create a little pathway for the water to follow when we let it out of the damn!’
Kate laughed and said,’ I buzz making the track for the water to follow when we let it out!’
Thomas shrugged but smiled back. He was the man so he had to do all the big work anyway, he thought. Although he would have still liked doing the track as well. Kate would let him help later, he realised.
It was an hour later when Thomas said he was going to take a break and eat some of his lunch. Kate was busy at work, although barely completing the third level of her dam let alone starting her track for the river to follow.
It was only after Thomas had washed his hands and began walking up to the top of the creek ridge that Kate called out to him. ‘Hey, where are you going?’
Thomas mimed eating with his hand and mouth and then turned and kept climbing upwards.
Kate put another grass clump down and then washed her hands realising she was hungry as well. She walked over to the picnic basket that Thomas’s mother had made up for them and took out a ham, cheese and tomato sandwich for herself.
Suddenly a shriek sounded from Thomas from up on top of the ridge and he sounded scared, Kate had never heard him sound afraid of anything.
‘Kate, Kate! Look, look!
Kate wondered if it was the bull that had come down to drink the water, although how it was going to get down the slope she wasn’t sure. It took some time to get to the top of the ridge because she was moving hesitantly in case it was indeed the bull, but she saw nothing.
‘What?’ she asked, now wondering if he was just playing another one of his tricks.
‘That, there! Can’t you see it? Look!’ he said sounding annoyed.
Kate sighed and looked to where his finger pointed. Then she saw it.
‘Is that someone there?’ she asked suddenly horrified.
‘It is, I think. I’m going to go closer. You coming? Thomas asked.
‘I, I guess,’ Kate replied, still unsure if she actually was going to follow.
Thomas walked the distance to where a person lay on the ground. As Thomas got closer it was apparent that this person was lying face down. He was also wearing a blue uniform and had a gun in his hand.
‘I think it’s a policeman,’ Thomas called, but did not look back to see if Kate had followed. Then to the man on the ground, ‘Are you okay, err, mister?’
He didn’t stir. Thomas wondered now if he was dead. He took a step back and bumped straight into Kate. Her face was expressionless, at least from what Thomas could see of her since she had let her long her down to cover her face.
Thomas walked around the body and kept walking.
‘Where are you going?’ Kate called out after him once she had found her voice.
‘I think I see lights,’ he said back to her.
He kept walking so he could see more of the paddock further down the hill and what he saw looked like a scene from a movie. There were three police cars, all with doors open, two other cars and a van. And there were more people lying down on the ground. No one was standing.
Suddenly he fell backwards after feeling something hard hit him. He landed on his back with a soft grunt. He couldn’t breath for a moment and wondered if he would ever breath again. He panicked and started to call out for his mum as tears welled in his eyes.
Then he heard a voice scream and wondered if it was from a dream, ‘Thomas!’
Kate was at his side looking down at him. Somehow he had begun breathing again, he just couldn’t remember why or what had allowed him to start. Kate was crying. He could see now.
He touched the part on his body that was sore and felt something warm and sticky. It was probably just mud, he decided. Then his hand came away and he saw it was red.
Thomas tried to get up but felt dizzy on each attempt. His dad would be angry about him hurting himself, his dad had seemed a little unsure of whether to let he and his cousin have his tools. Although, Thomas hadn’t actually hurt himself with the tools at least. He now just wanted to go to sleep.
‘Get mum,’ Thomas said with slurred speech to Kate hoping that only his mum would come and not his dad. Maybe his dad wouldn’t even need to find out about him being hurt.
Kate dashed off without another word but still crying as she navigated the sloping creek bed back to the track that would lead her to Thomas’s home. Thomas closed his eyes. The sun was not warming him like it usually did. He felt so cold. And suddenly he was floating in a blackness not knowing where he was or how he got there.
Author’s note: Yes, that’s the end. However, I have written a part 2 just for kicks Coming soon :)

How to publish your own book. Includes legwork!


Self publishing is something I have left as a last resort, but if you're now at that point then you may wish to consider createspace.com or Kindle Direct Publishing which is through Amazon. Then there’s smashwords.com which also allows you to sell your stories. I’m not sure what sort of success rate they have, but it’s worth a try just to get your book out there.
If you are not from the USA then you will have to pay some hefty cash just to get a cheque (check) mailed out to you. Smashwords uses PayPal, which is much easier.
Something that’s a little more DIY and should give you more results, is to have your books printed up and circulate them to bookstores yourself. This is a long hard process but certainly worthwhile even if you sell only a few books – it actually means people want to read what you write! Matthew Reilly did this before he was able to obtain a publishing deal. He printed up 1,000 copies but I’m pretty sure the number sold was quite low, around the 80 mark.
I don't know how he went about self publishing, but I spoke to a friend who is a manager of an Angus and Robertson store and asked him how he would like to be approached from an independent author.
There are two main options available; the first (which is the advice I received) is to find a printing company that will print you 50-500 books at a low cost but still deliver quality bound books. Oh, and I should mention that this is assuming you have finished the book and have a print ready PDF, or at worst a MS Word document.
Once you check over the proof (rough-copy of a physical final product) they have supplied you, you will sign it off as okay. They will then print you your finished bound books of what ever quantity you decided on. Make sure you include the ISBN (International Standard Book Number) Check this site out for an explanation: http://www.nla.gov.au/services/ISBN.html or http://www.thebookconsultant.com/LPMArticle.asp?ID=240 and this for more on EAN13 barcodes: http://www.bookpublisherscompared.com/bar-code/
Hunt down a place in your country that can supply you with one as either a vector file, which you can place into your book through your desktop publishing program. Or a sticker that you can stick onto each of your books.
But, make sure you check a sample first with a bar code reader at a bookstore/distributor. You don’t want to get something printed and find it doesn’t work!
Now comes the hard part: Bookstores don’t want to ring YOU if they are going to make an order, they want to ring a distribution company. Which is what they already do for the majority of their books (although this will differ from independent stores to chain stores to privately owned chain stores).
So now you need to find a distributor that’s happy to have a box of your books sitting in their warehouse with your ISBN on each one. Your business details will stay with the distribution company, so you will of course need a business identification number (ABN if in Australia).
At this point you will strike up a deal with the distribution company regarding what they make if a book is bought buy a book store. How much you make from each sale will depend on what the distributor is willing to part with - don’t be too strict on the deal; they’re your only hope! This is a venture to get your book and your name out there, not to make millions of dollars.
The distribution company will then take care of invoices, distribution (obviously), phone calls, etc. Plus it will appear more professional to your buyers. Lastly, you will need to have a brochure printed up (We Print It have some good prices, or use the same company that printed your bound books). This brochure will be what you arm yourself with when visiting all the stores in your area.
The brochure will show the front cover of your book, retail price, synopsis, the distributors details and maybe some details about you. If you are unsure of what to put on your brochure, walk into a book store and look at their brochures that advertise their books. Then model yours on the same wavelength but with only your book on the front.
When you arrive at a book store, ask to speak to the manager and show them the brochure. If they seem interested in your book then you may be able to sell them a copy/s right there and then and not use the distributor for that particular sale. Or if you don’t mind parting with a sample, give them a book and tell them you’ll visit again in a week to pick it back up, and they can make a purchase after they've read it. Or, during that week they can call the distributor instead and order copies if they want to have it in their store before you return.
You can also post off the brochures to book stores that are not within driving distance, in and around your country and possibly even follow it up with a phone call to the manager to make sure the brochure was received.
When visiting a bookstore, try and be there when the manager is there. You will find that he/she is there most days, but will have two days off during the week. You can ring up before hand and make sure they will be there, or just turn up on a Monday, they are there most first days of the week.
Any advertising or self promotion after that is entirely up to you.

The second option with self publishing is to approach a company that does everything for you, depending on what you want to spend. They can have a designer take care of your front cover, they can organise the bar codes, they can set up print on demand for you, they can even have something set up for you where you/your book are promoted in your country as well as others. The cost will grow depending on how much you want done for you, and realistically I don’t think it is money well spent. Plus you will never be able to gauge what people think of your book if you’re not doing the work yourself.
In saying that, having someone, or a company, set up your book with professional typesetting, cover design and proper use of bar codes will give you a more professional finish and also free your time up for other things, such as writing!
One issue with print on demand is that you will only get a dollar or two for each book sold. But I guess at least your book will be out there!
You will need to decide on what is best for you. I’m still not sure if I’m going to venture into the world of self publishing myself at this stage. Time will tell.

P.S. A print ready PDF is an Acrobat PDF that is at the correct size you want it to print at, is in cmyk format, includes page numbers, chapter headings, title and will include all the information in a standard novel. Everything will be in its correct place and set with the font you want it to print with. You will also need to have cover pages ready and illustrated and included within the document. If you have more questions let me know. I worked in the printing industry for over 15 years so I should be able to help you out with any and all questions. I also have some designer friends that I can put you in contact with. These people also have printing contacts (so do I, but I don’t want to appear as if I’m selling anything on this blog. This site is just a place of information, nothing more).

Good luck!

Sunday, 5 June 2011

It's your book! You should do what you think is best.


This has been written mainly for novel writers and short story writers, however I’m sure the majority of it can be adapted to what you may have written outside of these areas.
Please make sure you fully research any decision you wish to make and don’t go by my words alone. Whatever you decide should be your choice. Anything I have suggested within my blog is exactly that, a suggestion, nothing more.
I only wish to point this out because I don’t want anyone making a mistake because of something I may have mentioned. It’s your book, you are in control!
Good luck to you all!

Information on getting your book published


Writing a novel is the easy part, getting someone to print it is almost impossible!
However, these points may help you improve those odds:
Write at least 3 full length completed and revised novels. As soon as you have finished the first one, send a query letter around to any agents and publishers you can get hold of (in all English speaking countries starting with your own country). Explain a little about yourself and the manuscript you are proposing to submit. You will need to ascertain what publishers/agents want your genre or style; there’s no use sending to someone that won’t be interested.
They get many hundreds of manuscripts a week, as you may have guessed, so you may as well send to places that would want to publish your book. Also, once you get approval to send in your manuscript, you can only send to one at a time (otherwise risk getting a bad name).
By the time you have sent your query letter, synopsis or 3 chapters - depending on what they asked for - then a year will have passed. Now you are ready to send off query letters for your second novel.
Also, during that year, enter every writing competition that you can find - I’m entering 3-8 short stories a month at present, just to get my name out there. Also create a webpage, blog, Facebook page, to promote yourself. Lastly, cross your fingers!

Check this site out for Australian listings:
http://austlitagentsassoc.wordpress.com/members/
http://www.spacejock.com.au/LiteraryAgent.html

Check out this for samples of manuscript submissions:

http://misssnark.blogspot.com/2006_01_01_misssnark_archive.html#113615544692769930


More info:

http://www.how-to-write-a-book-now.com/how-to-write-a-synopsis.html



Competitions worldwide:
http://www.austwriters.com/AWRfiles/competitions.htm

Tuesday, 31 May 2011

Splitter


It was almost midday. Soon the cycle would start again. His forehead was already shiny with beads of sweat that trailed down into shallow riverlets to the tip of his nose and dripped onto the paperwork in front of him. He wiped at the splash of water smearing it across the semi-dried ink while still writing with his other hand.
The itching had already begun at the peak of his scalp just like it had done over the last three times at seemingly random times during the 36 hours since he had drank the vile concoction. He felt the top of his head with his left hand while he continued writing with his right. There was a split there now. It was starting. His body convulsed as the drug in his body took effect and began to change him.
Doctor Ferris Balder, theoretical scientist, not commonly found to be testing his own theories with physical experiments, found himself to be doing just that and it had worked! However, it had not worked in the way he had expected.
The itching became a tearing and he felt his face split directly down the middle. His left hand explored the area where his nose should have been; it was in two halves, no longer one single nose. Each half began to grow skin and cartilage to become two separate wholes. The rest of the two seperated faces grew more skin, lips, a new eye, hair and an ear until there were two heads.
Balder had spent the last seven months researching the idea of being able to regrow organs from the damaged hosts body so that there would be no need for organ donations and then no risk of organ rejection. He had finally been able to find limited success from his own calcualtions as well as the biology team that had undertaken physical experiements using rats. The doctor had looked over the results from each experiment and had finally been sure that this last serum would be the answer to every surgeon’s and waiting organ transplant recipient’s dreams.
Doctor Balder collapsed to the floor, not because of shock or because he could not cope with the changes occuring within his body but because he had successfully split himself in to two.
The body on the left went further into spasm as more parts of the body on the right were formed. The half that lay on the other side of the chair, with the right hand still gripping the pen, moved in an almost identical way while the new skin, bones and ligaments grew at an impossible rate to make him a whole person.
Moments later the two men that were once one, stood. They looked over at the other identical men that had also experienced the same process. Now there were 16 people in the room and they were all him. As one, the doctors shook their heads and said quietly, ‘We’re going to need a bigger room.’

Heart


The unashamedly trinket adorned home had an ancient lived in smell of old things. Not stale nor dusty however, the opposite in fact; it was spotless and tidy. There were no sounds emanating from anywhere inside; he had taken the time to make sure of that and listen for at least a minute once he had broken in. He also knew that no one had come or gone once the old woman had been taken away.
The source of his knowledge had come only a few days past, after overhearing her neighbours talking near an ambulance – there was always an opportunity if he just kept his eyes and ears open – they had said that she had phoned for help complaining of a tightness in her chest and shortness of breath.
This had given him absolute freedom to search through her home for anything of value. It had been easy to force the back door open, he had pushed with his shoulder only a few times before hearing a cracking of the dry worn timber.
He walked casually into a room that looked as if it were being used as an office. Papers were piled neatly on the desk but were oddly covered in a heavy dust. A picture of the old woman and a man – possibly her deceased husband – also sat on the desk.
One desk drawer was slightly ajar. He peered inside and was amazed to see loose change and notes stuffed inside. It was so full that the drawer jammed when he tried to open it, but he persisted until it shot open and then he began filling his pockets. Then a noise! He looked up and saw that a closet door had creaked opened on unoiled hinges. It was dark in there. He crept forward to investigate and possibly discover if it was a cat or rodent that was hiding within.
A white face poked out from the dark shadows and growled. The face was human and of an old man.
The thief stumbled backwards into the work desk too stunned to do anything but stare dumbly. The old man leapt from the closet with frothy saliva spitting out as he spoke with unintelligible words. His eyes were frightfully haunted and his stare was equally horrifying.
Cold hands clasped about the thief’s throat, then pressure until a crack sounded, followed by another, then finally a sickening crunch. The old white-faced man released his grip and let the body fall to the ground with a thump, then walked slowly back to the closet with his head drooped as if tired. Once inside the closet he closed the door so that he was again in darkness.

Mend


White clothing, needles injecting, hospital equipment, people lying on surgical beds.
The doctor wrote with a green pen on his clipboard, notes referring to test subjects, details relating to vile W-7.06.
The clipboard lowered from the doctors view revealing a man lying on a hospital bed dressed in a white gown with pale blue stripes. He was awake and alert with sensors taped to his head and body.
Early thirties male, weight at approximately 80 kilograms, height 180 centimetres, Caucasian, and was noted down on his clipboard as fit and healthy.
Red swelling had appeared on the surface of his arm around the break but the bone had not broken through the skin. The patient appeared a little nervous but calm enough to receive the procedure.
Presently the patients concentration was on the lights above him, it was possible he had not been informed of why he was here and so was confused, but that was of no concern to the doctor. Slowly the patient lowered his eyes from the bright lights and saw that a doctor had arrived at the end of his hospital bed.
‘Everything looks good here Mr Tyson, soon we will begin the procedure with an injection that will slowly send the serum around your body,’ the doctor with the clipboard explained with a comforting smile. ‘Just sit back and relax, it won’t last too long, I promise.’
The patient nodded, ‘Thanks doc.’ He was nervous but smiled back anyway.
The patient breathed in deeply before letting his breath out again and appeared quite relaxed afterwards. A young female doctor dressed in a business suit with a white overcoat administered the injection while smiling to her patient, she then wiped the needle mark with a white cotton ball. She looked back at the doctor, nodded and left for another room.
Sweat began to drip from the patients face as his heart rate increased to over 100 beats per minute. His calm demeanor disappeared. Rivulets of sweat rolled down and onto the blue hospital pillowcase darkening the fabric.
Suddenly the patients arm cracked and squeaked under the skin. A startled expression crossed the patients features as he looked up into the doctor’s eyes, then back down at his arm. They could both see movement under the skin as repairs took place. The patient looked as though he was about to ask an urgent question, but then dizziness swept in, his eyes rolled upwards and he fainted. Only the rise and fall of his chest disputed the possibility that death had swept in to take his life away.
The doctor’s probing fingers moved over the patients arm, he felt skin, muscles, tendons, and then deeper: bones; all in tact. Nothing was out of the ordinary. He quickly scribbled something on his clipboard and walked away satisfied with the results of the new drug.

Commitment


Lee clawed at the hands that held his head down and so received a knock to the back of the head as his reward. He tried to call out but instead breathed in water.
Lee’s body shook as he gagged. His head was then suddenly pulled up.
He coughed up the water from his lungs and said, ‘Oh god, oh god, oh god.’ Then threw up water from his stomach.
Karr, who was behind him, let go, causing him to fall to the floor. Lee lay on the ground while his body convulsed, putting his three fingered left hand to his face – the other two had been cut off. His right hand had been crushed with a hammer – he knew he would never have use of that hand ever again.
Lee had been in the military for over 12 years and had completed six tours, this was the first time he had been captured.
Karr picked up Lee’s semi-naked body and dragged it to the next room where the fire pit smouldered. Lee didn’t know if he could take any more pain. They were going to kill him, that was for certain, it was just a matter of when.
‘The clock’s ticking, my friend,’ the man in the shadows said. ‘If you can’t tell me where the next attack will come from, Karr will have to kill you.’
Lee said nothing.
The hot iron came towards him.
He closed his eyes as tight as they would go.