On Starting a Publishing Business

 

If you follow me on Facebook, this is old news to you, if not, then you won't be completely bored by the following information. I've done some thinking and deciding, and planning. After successfully publishing the first book all by my lonesome, editing, doing the cover art, getting the ISBN numbers, copyrights, etc., I thought it might be time to start my own press. If one is going to ride the self publishing train, it seems like the next logical step. Reading up on it, it makes sense. No one wants to look on the inside cover of a book and see that the publisher is in fact, the author. It does in fact, look hokey.

So, with that in mind, I've set the wheels in motion to officially start my own press. I've got the name picked out. Research is done to make sure said name is available. Next week I'll be putting the papers in to claim the name and business. This might sound like a bigger deal than it really is. Officially, I'm just doing this for myself so that my own books have an actual publisher, instead of just me. However, if it so happens that some other newbie Indie authors want an actual publisher without going through the hassle of starting their own press, well, hey, I'll be available, and maybe I'll pick up some proceeds from it. Yes friends, it really is "All About the Benjamins." Though in my case, it'll probably be "All About the Hamiltons."

In the end though, it's not about the money (obviously because I'm not making any). I mean, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to be Stephen King or James Patterson rich, but if I can get a story out there, and entertain even one person, then that's what it's really about in the long run. It's also about perseverance. Following a story through to fruition, editing it, editing it again, and then one more time. Choosing your cover art, setting your price, your publishing platforms, filing all the paperwork. Being stubborn enough to get shit done. I did it once, and it was awesome. Awesome when it was done, mind you. Knowing that I had it in me. The during is what really grates on you. Having these ideas swirling through your brain, but never really knowing quite how to put them down on paper, or screen.

Case in point, the short story book, the first story is out there, it's started off on a gritty note, but I fear it's treading into the contrite shit realm. I don't know what the main problem of the story is going to be. I don't know who the antagonist is going to be. Maybe the main character? How? This is shit I just don't know. I can't stop thinking about it though. I make little notes, I scribble those notes out, I make more notes, I throw the page away. It's like throwing away your feelings.

It will be done though. Someday. Probably not this year. Sure, I can shoot for November. That would give me 6 or 7 months of writing and a couple weeks of straight editing. For the typical writer, that should be more than enough time, but I'm a procrastinator, I make excuses. I choose sleep over writing most of the time. However, I may be back on the evening writing train some time soon. But, it will be done.

On Giving It Away For Free and Always Working

It's not what it sounds like. I know what you're thinking, get your mind out of the gutter.

I've recently been alerted that this is "Read an e-Book Week." Who knew such a thing existed? Certainly not me. In any case, since I personally have an e-Book floating around the world, getting read by exactly no one, I took full advantage of throwing my book into promotion mix. For this week only, until March 7th, you can download a copy of my book for FREE! Yes homies, I said FREE! Not like paying for the sucker would break your pocket book. It's typically .99 if you're all about paying for things. But, now you don't have to regret throwing that dollar out the window and you can read my drivel for free! Much like reading this blog. To download your free copy, follow this link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/49360 and use the code: RW100 at checkout to get it for free on your e-Reader or computer.

Now that I've got the shameless plugging out of the way, I'll get down to brass tacks. I may never be a renowned writer, I may never have a best seller, hell, I probably won't ever be remotely popular because I don't write dumb ass sparkling vampire fiction or downright abysmal fan faction based on said sparkling vampire fiction. I've accepted that, it's ok, it really is. The point is, I like writing. Even if it's just for me. I like entertaining my small sphere of influence, even if they're just humoring me by telling me they're entertained.

I've been working a bit on my short story book. I still don't know what the hell it will be about in the long run, but that's part of the adventure. A lot of writers will outline the shit out of their pieces, they'll have everything planned out, and the story will be written exactly as it's been planned. I tried story boarding, I really did. I always stray from the plan and then I think, why did I bother in the first place? So, now I fly by the seat of my pants. The inspiration has been flowing lately. It's exhilarating. Some people get their kicks by jumping out of air planes, and swimming with sharks, or whatever else, but me, I'm electrified by ideas flowing through my mind and getting jotted down on paper.

So even when I'm working my day job, or I'm at home with my son, I'm always driving ideas through my head. I'm always thinking of the next book, the next story, the next disaster. The hopefulness of what that story might be is entrancing. It might not be much, but at least it's something. 

On A Month Deep Into 2015

Well... now that we've got that nasty bitch called January out of the way, why don't we breeze through February and March while we're at it too?

To quote Bill Murray in Groundhog's Day, winter in the Midwest and Northeast really will be cold, it's going be grey, and it's going to last you the rest of your life. At least... that's what it feels like when you're ass deep in it.

Then again, without the shitty Michigan winters, how can one truly enjoy the majestic pleasures of the summer and fall. You know, the nice four months, maybe five of warm weather you get to enjoy before you totally freeze your ass off for the rest of the year. Without one extreme, you really can't enjoy the other.

In any case, I've held true to my promise to myself. I sat my bony ass down in that chair and started my new project. It happened one day after work when I happened to have an hour or so to myself. No one was home, the house was quiet, I thought.. I... I might get to write right now. By golly, I'm taking advantage of this. I eagerly climbed the stairs and walked into my office that is still lined with boxes despite having moved in last May. I turned on my computer, opened the word processor, and looked at that blank white screen, that blinking cursor taunting me again. I felt a rush of fear, starting over again. Will it be any good? Will I see this one through to fruition? Will I write what I really want to write? Should I be worried if people will judge me? Piss on it, I thought, and started typing.

I'll be honest. I know this will be a book of short stories. Probably four good length ones in total. Aside from having a few quick ideas of how to start them, I really have no idea how any of the stories will turn out. I don't know the characters, I don't know the story lines, I'm really just swinging blindly in the dark. I know I want the stories to be real, to be visceral, gritty. I want to impose some sort of shock value, I want the reader to really imagine what it might feel like if the story on the page were real. Of course, don't all writers want that? Maybe... or maybe some of them just want to make boat loads of money and have their crummy stories being made into crummier movies. I won't lie, I'd love to make boat loads of money on my stories and have my best selling book made into a blockbuster movie, but I really don't think that's in the cards. I really just want to write to get people's imaginations churning.

While it will be slow going, I'm thrilled to be back at it again. It's somewhat invigorating to be at the beginning again. To go through the whole process. I'm looking forward to going through the finished project piece by piece, to edit, get the copyright information, register it, design the cover, put it out into the world. I think this one I'll work a little harder on advertising, I feel like this one might really be something. Or maybe it will be drivel, something only useful in starting your campfire. Time will tell.

On 2015 and Fake NYE Resolutions

Another year is almost over. I have no New Year's Eve plans. How about you? Oh, I could go to a party I suppose, but then I'd feel guilty about leaving G-Money with the in-laws, and I'd feel even more guilty if he spent the night which has been suggested. Why all the guilt? Can't a bitch go out and have some fun for New Year's? The answer my friends, is NO!

So, after the boy goes to sleep tomorrow night, I may imbibe in some wine, catch some Netflix, and call it a night, all before midnight, most likely. It sometimes makes me long for the days of partying half the night away while dodging shaving cream slaps in the face, and then being able to sleep in until noon the following day. Happy New Year!

On to my "resolution." With resolutions in the past, I always knew I was lying to myself, like oh, I'll stop swearing so damn much, or I'm going to give up caffeine...cold turkey. You know, something that seems so simple, but you know you're never going to do it anyway. Well, I think I've come up with a reasonable resolution, or maybe, a "promise to myself." I think by now, you all know I have a passion for writing. If she's so passionate, why hasn't the bitch written anything since that boy has been born? That's an excellent question that you muttered under your breath. Here's the answer: I use the excuse of, I'm so tired chasing after that little stink pot, that at the end of the day, I want to fall into bed with a book, which, honestly, most days I do, or I catch an episode of my stories, mon'.

I did start a second manuscript before G was born, and was half way through it actually, when I decided to shelve that shit. There might be some good meat in there somewhere, but I came to a giant blockade and couldn't go any further. I didn't like where the story was going and I just gave up.

I thought the solution was... start a new project, get new ideas flushed through, that might bring new ideas to the other project. Of course, I misjudged just how tired I would be all the time and decided sleep overruled writing. So... here we are, a year and a half without a word written. Some writer I am. 

What does all this mindless babble mean to you guys? Well, quite frankly, probably nothing, but, I'm making a personal vow to myself that in 2015, I will sit my ass in that chair, whether it's in the middle of the afternoon on a weekend while the boy naps, or after the boy goes to bed at night and get some words on the page. I will follow through with my book of short stories and get it published. Probably not in 2015... let's not get ahead of ourselves here, but it will be done. I did it once, and I certainly don't want to be some single publication sucka.

In closing, it's been a roller coaster year. We mourned the loss of my grandfather, we celebrated G-Money's first birthday, along with several other of his milestones, walking, talking, eating like a man, climbing, and so on and so forth. We sold our first home and bought another one. We've been sick, we've been healthy, we've been stressed, we've been cool as a cucumber. I always like to think the next year will be better than the last, but that's always a crock of shit isn't it? Has anyone ever had a stellar year, the whole year long? You get the same problems, but in a New Year. I'll just be hoping for no major shit going down, and I'll be happy.

On Christmas and a 17 Month Old

Ah, the Christmas Season is upon us again, and has been since Halloween. Those old Christmas carols have been on repeat since November 1st. I mean, what the hell? How can you get into the Christmas spirit when you haven't even disgustingly gorged yourself on Thanksgiving food until you feel like you want to die. I just don't get it.

I'll admit, I broke down and started listening to Christmas tunes a few days before Thanksgiving, only because it was sub-zero outside, and I felt jolly. Not to mention, the jingle bells and shit made the kid bop his legs in the back seat. Anything that makes for a peaceful car ride I'm down for.

Speaking of the kid, he is 17 months old today. I'll call him a year and a half, he's close enough. I'll call him a year and a half until June, when I'll say, he's almost 2. I really hate it when parents say, "Oh, Mindy is 47 months, and Carson is 76 months." Nobody cares! It's like me saying I'm 376 months old. Phew, with that out of the way, I must mention, this child really is his father's son apparently. He's a bonafide hot dog. Climbing and testing his physical limits. He invokes mini-heart attacks on the daily. He's repeating everything, and has been for a while, which is limiting for his mother who typically swears like a sailor. He's a bit of a character, running around the house with a smirk on his face, being independent playing alone in his room, sitting and building shit with his blocks, he's really his own man. I also really appreciate that he's an observer, he really has to stand back and really take in a situation before he decides whether or not he wants to be involved. That's pretty good for a kid of his age.


Back to Christmas. The tree and decorations went up Thanksgiving weekend. I thought for sure the tree would have come down at least 5 or 6 times by now. Not the case. However, the boy loves ripping the ornaments off the tree and yelling "BALL!" and giggling as he gallops away with the goods. Which is why, all our ornaments are plastic. This year, he's more engaged in Christmas. He admires the lights, he explores the tree, which makes me think... I won't be able to put presents under the tree because all that shit will be open in 3.5 seconds.

And now, for the sentimentality of it all. Christmas is a magical time of year. Maybe it's the lights, the snow, the frigid temps, the stupid Christmas music, or maybe it's being lit up by holiday cocktails, but even at my age, I still feel something in the air around Christmas time. Of course now, presents aren't a priority, it's about hanging out with family and friends, going to holiday parties, imbibing, dancing, celebrating, and enjoying being alive. I find myself looking forward to holiday parties, instead of dreading them, I'm even looking forward to hosting Christmas dinner at the new house even though I have no idea what the hell dinner will be. I'm looking forward to laughter and good stories that may or may not be remembered. That's what Christmas is all about after all, right?

On Inspiration

Should it surprise you that I've been running my mouth about getting back to work on my writing, and I haven't done shit about it? I know it doesn't surprise me. I come up with new excuses every day for not sitting down in the chair and starting the new project.

• I sit at a computer all day at work
• I have to wait until G-Money goes to bed to maybe get an hour of work in. By then, I'd rather watch Mad Men (which I'm addicted to and will probably be addressed in another post.)
• Gah! I just want to relax by reading a book (I'm gaining a small stack of "to read" books that I'm anxiously wanting to burn through)
• I want to go to sleep
• It's pointless to sit in the chair because I'll just watch the clock until I decide it's time to go to bed.

The thing is. I'm working everything out in my head. I know I'm doing a book of short stories. I know I want it to be dark. Like, twisted, haunt your dreams kind of dark. I suppose I'm apprehensive about how far I can really go without having people think I'm some sort of crazed lunatic writing about what I really think. Well, let's be honest, whenever someone writes something, there's always an element of truth in the writing, a little part of that person mixed in with the characters. In any case, I don't want people looking at me stranger than they already do. Ah, I kid. I'm at a point in my life where I shouldn't care about what people think. I mean, anyone who has given birth knows your dignity and caring what people think go right out the window since you've got a team of people all up in your business.

This is another excuse I tell myself. I'm withholding writing what I really want because I don't want to expose any sort of vulnerability. On the other hand, it might be fun to keep people wondering about me. There's two sides to every person. Their mask, which they wear for everyone around them, and what's underneath the mask, their true selves.

On the plus side, I can pacify myself by saying that I'm constantly pulling ideas from everyone and everywhere. Sometimes it's nice to be that quiet person lurking in the corner observing instead of being in the center of it. It really makes for great material.

On "Mommy Guilt"

Okay, I have to admit, I've fallen prey to the made up moniker of "Mommy Guilt."

Mommy guilt is an equal-opportunity affliction, the experts say — it strikes whether you're 20 or 40, CEO of your home or a Fortune 500 company, living in the big city or on Main Street USA.

If you ask me, it's bullshit. Do daddies feel "Daddy Guilt?" I didn't think I would care about being out of the house so much at work. I thought, ah, distance will make the kid's heart grow fonder, maybe he'll be a perfect little angel during the time we are together... that's a lie, I had no preconceived notions that G-Money would be perfect 100% of the time, though, to his credit, he is awfully sweet, like 97% of the time.

So, "Mommy Guilt" struck me when I started working even more hours at the office, and then I piled more work on top of that. Work, after work, and on the weekends. It's gotten to the point that the boy is so used to me leaving, I put a coat or sweater on and he's like "Bye-Bye Mama," and waving me out the door. I feel like I'm missing out on precious bonding time, time that I won't get back because he will grow and lose interest in his parents and will gain interest in girls. He won't want to hang out with mom and dad, he'll want to hang out with his friends, doing God knows what.

It's all sentimental drivel. Most of all, I feel like in a way, I'm abandoning him by working so much. Though, I know in the long run, maybe he'll be able to be one of those men who don't objectify women and place them in one category or another ie: career bitch, or house bitch. Maybe he'll see that women can be strong working mothers who support their kids and don't have to be just a career bitch or a house bitch, they can do both, or only one, the options are limitless, and hopefully he'll see that one day.

On Writer Troubles

Now that I've decided to shelve my novel for a while and start a new project of short stories, I find that I'm "totally geeked, dude." I've got ideas swirling around my head, and I really, really want to get to work.

Trouble is, my window for writing is very small. Like, fleas on your dog small. I have to work a "real" job, five days a week. I have to come home and be a "mom" from the time I get home until I go back to work, and even at work, I'm still a mom. This leaves me with the time my kid takes a nap to get something done, which usually entails housework or the like. More often than not, I can be found napping when he is. Also, there's the time he goes to bed for the night which usually occurs anywhere from 8:00pm-9:30pm. Maybe I'm just not passionate enough, but I'm so tired at the end of the day, all I really want to do is curl up in bed with a book for a few minutes before I pass the hell out.

So, hypothetically, if I didn't have a "real" job, I'd still have to you know, raise a kid, which in and of itself is a 24/7 job, y'all know that. I'm making excuses. If I were really geeked as I claim to be (liar), my ass would be in that chair after the boy went to sleep, even if it's just for 30 minutes. To hell with my desire to plop down and read the big ass book I'm entrenched in right now. Work bitch, work!

Bottom line is, sooner or later (later), there will be another book of mine out in the world. At this point in time, I'm projecting two years. That seems like an inordinate amount of time to write, edit, design, and publish a book doesn't it? Well, what can I say? I'm busy. I guess I'll always just be a part-time writer.

On Having a License to Thrill

Well, I finally did it. I've become a "licensed real estate salesperson." What does this mean exactly? Not much. Except, if you want to find a pad to live in, or sell your current pile, I could possibly be your go-to home girl. You know, if you're in to that sort of thing. For those of you that don't know, my day job revolves around real estate. I work for a broker, and have been for the last (9) ::gasp:: years. I figured, it was high time to lay it down and get licensed myself, simply because, it seemed like a logical next step, right?

In any case, don't you worry my pretties, my true passion still revolves around writing, which let's be honest, I've done none of for the last year and a half or so. However, G-Money is growing like a weed, becoming his own man, I've got that dark licensing cloud out from over my head, I think I'm overdue to jump back into the writing pool.

Before cooking up my gorgeous little homeboy, I was deep into my second novel. I thought the plot was interesting, something refreshing. It's totally different from "Stress Test." However, the more I got to re-reading it, the less I liked it. It sounds trite, like it's been done. It's not daring enough. I'm looking for shock value, people. This isn't to say I could keep something of the same premise, but otherwise totally rewrite it, and I just may, but, I'm thinking of maybe starting fresh, something completely new. I'm thinking, maybe a book of short stories. I've got an idea for two different books, the first, would be horror, obviously, the other idea is sort of comedy/satire book. In any case, this will probably be my project as we dip into fall and the nights are longer, and maybe the boy sleeps a little longer.

On First Overnight Separation

Last week, Thursday, I was presented with the idea of my husband taking G-Money up north a day early, leaving me completely alone until roughly 7pm Friday night.

At first, I was in a tizzy. What the hell do you mean you're taking my baby up north without me? He'll miss his mommy! I came to my senses shortly thereafter.

Just think of the things I could do totally unencumbered. I wouldn't have to worry about planning meals, bedtime, sleeping curled up in the fetal position fearfully waiting for the boy to wake up. I could do whatever the hell I wanted! Immediately I sent the word out. I was desperate to go out for a cocktail, on the fly, not having to worry about being home for bed time. I got home from work, itchy to start my child-free day as soon as possible. I waited and waited for responses. When I heard nothing, I began to feel deflated, like I was going to be wasting my "day off" just hanging out at home. I cleaned the house (though much quicker since G wasn't there to "help me.) I did some laundry, changed the sheets on my bed. I packed for the weekend. Then I started to sulk. WTF, where was everyone? I started to accept the fact that I might not be doing anything that night.

Finally... a simple text... "You coming?" Holy hot shit! A response! I ran out of the house on the fly, something which I haven't done in a year, honestly, most of my life because I'm perpetually late. I eagerly drove down the road and met my best pal for a couple cocktails and dinner. I didn't think about the kid once while I was there, except for the time or two I mentioned him.

When I got home to go to bed, I thought, oh, maybe I'll be upset because he's not around. Surely I won't be able to sleep knowing he's not in the house. I'm going to cry myself to sleep. Wrong again, my friends! I slept like a friggen' log. That is, until about 5:30 when I had a half hour coughing fit that totally ruined my slumber. Of course the whiskey might have had something to do with my fitful sleeping.

The next morning, I got out of bed without having to worry about the cat and dog waking him up. I got to eat my entire breakfast without my little scavenger begging for scraps. I got to leave the house without feeling guilty about leaving him again. It was all very refreshing.

I was expecting some huge fanfare when we got back together Friday night. I was expecting him to be so geeked, for him to run up to me and not let me go. Boy, was I disappointed. Sure, he was thrilled to see me. He had a big smile on his face and came over and gave me a big hug, but after a few minutes, he tossed me aside like yesterday's bitch.

Yes, I'll admit it. I missed G while he was gone... but, I certainly won't turn down another opportunity to be child free if his daddy wants to take him somewhere over night sans me.