Ahead of the Curve, But a Long Way to Go

I recently read an interesting article in Galleycat that compared the levels of income made by various types of authors. Their information was taken from Digital Book World. Here's the chart I found most interesting.



It might be a little difficult to interpret. The four bars are different types of authors. I'm not sure how aspiring authors make anything... but I suppose some people label themselves as aspiring even if they make a little money. The blue color is the percent of authors in each category that make nothing. As in $0.00 a year. Zero. One would expect that for aspiring authors. But look at the blue color in the Self-published bar. It's 20%. That's a fifth of all self-published authors who make not one penny from all their work. (And it's almost that many for traditionally published authors- getting a publisher does not guarantee money.)

Now look at that pukey-green color. It's the biggest band of color for the Self-published authors. It goes all the way up to about 78%. Now subtract out the 20% that make nothing, and 58% of indie authors make something, but less than $1000 a year. I guess that's ok if you want to write for a hobby, but it's not even a dent in any kind of income to sustain a person.

So the blue and green together show authors who make under $1000 a year. That is over 50% of traditionally published authors. That suddenly doesn't look so magical, does it. Those who are hybrids- use both self publishing and publishing companies manage to drop that to about 45%, but still not great. For complete indies it's almost 80%.

I think there's an error on the chart for the next band. The band-aid color is the next one up, but in the legend it's pale blue. I suspect the legend is wrong. So look at the band-aid band (who chose those colors, anyway?). This is authors who make between $1000 and $2000 a year. For indies, it's about 10%. And it's the band where I fit.

I'm very encouraged by this. Sure, I'd like to be higher. My goal at the moment is to be in the orange band, but I had no idea that I'm already doing better than about 80% of self-published authors.

Thanks to all my readers, editors, promoters, and fans for getting me there!

You can read the entire article at Most Authors Make Less Than $1,000 a Year: DBW

Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp out to Beta Readers

I am delighted to be able to say that Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp has gone out to my beta readers for this book.

What does a beta reader do? After an author has completed a manuscript and gone through it at least once looking for errors that need fixing, it should go to several people who have writing skills and critical reading skills. They will look for plot inconsistencies, things that are beyond belief, grammar and punctuation errors. And of course, those ever-present pesky typos.

I recently read a traditionally published book, by an author who has been on the New York Times Bestseller List. I was enjoying it immensely until about page 500. It turned out the entire plot twist hinged on the police overlooking a very critical and obvious piece of factual information from the autopsy. Bzzzzzz.

This is beyond suspension of disbelief. It made me feel as if I'd wasted all the time I spent reading. I did finish the book, it was near the end. A beta reader, or an editor, should have said to that author, "This just doesn't make sense."

So I hope my beta readers will be honest with me. Then again, if they think the story is too outlandish, I really don't want to completely scrap the manuscript. Let's hope they find it enjoyable without too many huge gaffes.

I'm thinking the book should be ready to purchase in about three weeks. Meanwhile, you can get up to speed by reading the first three Anastasia Raven stories: Smashwords or Amazon

Ready to Begin the Harvest Ball

It's not giving away any big secret to say that the climax of this book occurs at the Harvest Ball. Everything so far has been building toward it, and anyone reading the book will be sure to notice they are almost at the end. I'm finally ready for the big night to begin in Chapter 42.

That said, there's a lot that happens, so there are quite a few more chapters to write.

I was on a roll today, and didn't have any other work assignments or hours. I devoted the day to wordcrafting, and managed to squeeze out 3024 of 'em. For those of you waiting for this Anastasia Raven book, I hope you won't have to wait much longer.

Meanwhile, here's a sample from Chapter 40:

    I was showing the kids the backstage areas where they could change and make entrances and exits, when the lights went out. The dim recesses of the stage became murky with no windows located there, and the loud music ceased abruptly mid-song. The quiet was so welcome I realized my ears were ringing.
    “Sorry,” Mick called from the balcony. “I think our amps did that.”
    “I’ll take care of it,” hollered Todd. He motioned to one of the musicians, opened the door that led directly to the basement and said, “Th’electric panel’s down here. I’ll show ya’.” Raising his voice again, he yelled at Mick, “Ya’ might need t’ get an extension cord and plug those lights in a differ’nt circuit.”
    “Where can I buy one?” Mick yelled back. “I’ve used all ours.”
    “Jouppi’s Hardware,” Todd and I said simultaneously. “South end of Main Street,” I added loudly.
    I heard Cody scream “Geronimo!” from the hallway.
    It was just past one, and there were still hours to go until the Ball began, when the noise level was sure to be exponentially louder. I shook my head in hopes of stopping the ringing in my ears and the ringing switched to my pocket. It was my phone.

You can find the first three Anastasia Raven Stories at Smashwords or Amazon

Interview with Aaron Paul Lazar- Award Winning Mystery Writer

Aaron Paul Lazar (photo provided)

Through a blog party for writers, I recently became acquainted with Aaron Paul Lazar. We've discovered a number of interests in common, including reading and writing mysteries. Because of his ties to Upstate New York, where I grew up, I bought one of his books and I've been hooked ever since. If you haven't sampled his works, you really should. They are very good. The mysteries are satisfying and Aaron's ability to give the reader a wonderful sense of place is outstanding.

He's won multiple awards for his writing, including 2012 EPIC Book Awards WINNER Best Paranormal for Healy's Cave (Sam Moore mystery), and 2013 Eric Hoffer Book Awards: Honorable Mention, Eric Hoffer Legacy Fiction for Tremolo: The Cry of the Loon (Gus LeGarde mystery, and a coming-of-age tale). He's written mystery books in three series, a stand-alone romance and three non-fiction books about writing. Three more books are scheduled for release this year. Read more at Aaron Lazar Books

I asked if I could interview him, and here are my questions and his answers.

JHY: I see in your bio that you began writing as a release of your emotions following a period of great loss in your life. I think many people will identify with that, but I'm wondering why you chose to begin writing mysteries.

APL: Joan, I have always read mysteries, and only mysteries! I’m a mystery addict, and so were my parents. The house was always full of books, and my mother and father had their noses buried in PD James, Agatha Christie, Rex Stout, and John D. MacDonald books every day. The bookcases were full of them, and I devoured them all. As a child, when the “Arrow Book Club” flyers would come out at school, I’d bring them home with a dozen books circled, and even though we didn’t have much money to spare, my parents always bought every single book for me that I’d circled! Usually they were mysteries about horses or dogs. I also would devour boxes of books my parents would bring home from auctions. Once we got a whole collection of The Hardy Boys and I was in heaven!

Double Forte, book one of the Gus LeGarde mystery series

JHY: One of the things that impressed me about your writing is your ability to give the reader a unique sense of place (in Upstate New York for the Gus LeGarde mysteries). Have you always lived there?

APL: I was born in Boston, grew up in the quiet countryside nearby, and spent summers at my grandparents’ camp in Maine. Dale and I were married when I graduated from Northeastern University in 1981, and we moved to the Finger Lakes region of Upstate NY when I took my job with Kodak the same summer. We started our family here and I’ve called this place home now for 32 years, and can’t imagine living anywhere else. I also base my Moore Mysteries series right here. Tall Pines mysteries always start out on a little house on Honeoye Lake, then migrate up to the Adirondacks, another favorite place of mine.

JHY: Are there particular things you do consciously when you are describing a location for a book?

APL: No, the words just sort of pour out of me, always from real memories that bubble persistently beneath the surface. If I’ve been somewhere that I loved, it usually sticks with me. I try to migrate into my character’s head fully – and as I write I imagine what he sees, tastes, smells, hears…and hopefully my readers can enjoy the same types of images that are floating around in my brain.

JHY: I also read that you are an engineer at Kodak. How do you work full-time and still write?

APL: Oops, I need to update some of my bios that are out there! I’ve been gone from Kodak since 2009, when they laid me off along with my entire group. I’ve been happily employed at a small German company since 2010, doing engineering and customer liaisons across the seas between Germany, Thailand, and the US. I love my new job and cherish the people here.

For the Birds a Tall Pines mystery (with Adirondack settings)

I’ve always worked full time and managed to put out a few books each year, and it still works. I get up early and get all my chores done, then take an hour each morning to write in the dark and quiet. Nowadays I write with my dogs near me (or on me!) beside the wood stove. It’s very peaceful. I also love writing on vacation up in the Adirondacks on a chair overlooking The Sacandaga River. Extremely peaceful and invigorating at the same time.

JHY: People don't usually think of engineers as people with great imaginations. Would you like to comment on this?

APL: When I was growing up, I didn’t want to be an engineer. First, I hoped to be a cowboy. Then, I dreamed of all of the artistic possibilities – painter, music teacher, writer, horse farm owner. Unfortunately, none of the above seemed like it would support me. So – I was surprised to find a love of physics and math (hated them in high school) when I went back to night school after starving for a while. (literally!) At that point, engineers were in huge demand, so I went for it. I was pretty good at it, but I really did love the arts first and foremost.

It was surprising to me to find many of my Kodak colleagues had the same passions! My boss was a secret painter and stained-glass window maker. A fellow engineer was a closet musician. And so on. Almost every one of these “boring and predictable” engineers was very artistic and creative. They enjoyed their work, yes. But they really shone when it came to their secret passions! I believe that stereotype before I got to know them, and discovered I was more like them than I’d expected.

JHY: How many books have you written, and in what genres?

APL: I’ve written twenty-one books, if you count my writing guides, Write Like the Wind volumes 1, 2, & 3. Three are nonfiction writing advice books, seventeen are full-length mysteries, and my newest novel— The Seacrest—is a romantic suspense. I’m now working on book twenty-two, another standalone romantic suspense.

JHY: Do you enjoy one of these more than another? Do you have a favorite of the books you have written?

APL: I love them all. Writing is writing, for me. It doesn’t matter what genre. I wrote mysteries for so long, and started writing articles/blog pieces about eight years ago. That was quite different and I enjoyed it immensely. I decided for book twenty-one that I’d branch out. I’d always wanted to write a love story. And I did it!

Asking about my favorite book is almost like asking me to pick a favorite child. Oh, man. Impossible. I guess if I were forced today to pick a few of my books that I might hold dear to the heart, I’d say Essentially Yours and Don’t Let the Wind Catch You, two very different mysteries.

JHY: Do you have a work in progress that you'd like to share?

APL: Yes! I’m tentatively titling this one Bittersweet Hollow, a romantic suspense set on a horse farm in Vermont. It’s about Portia Lamont, a young woman who has been missing for four years. She arrives home—thin and traumatized—to find her mother has cancer. Boone Sterling, the neighbor whose been helping her parents keep the horse farm afloat, may be the one person who can help her recover. Little by little, the family discovers the horror of what happened to Portia. It’s their love that will heal her, in the end.

JHY: Is there some other type of writing you'd like to try some day?

APL: Yes – I’d like to try a children’s story, or maybe a middle grade chapter book!

JHY: What kinds of activities do you enjoy in your free time?

APL: I love walking and photographing the hills and woods of the Genesee Valley and Finger Lakes, I’m a passionate gardener, love to read, cook, and listen to music. Oh, yeah. And I kind of enjoy writing, although it’s more of a calling than a hobby.

JHY: If you'd like to share an excerpt from a book, please do, and be sure to tell me which book!

APL: Thanks, Joan, for having me here today. I’d love to share this excerpt from my newest release, The Seacrest.

The Seacrest Chapter 1

July 2, 2013

Life can change in the blink of an eye. This blink came when a cop car cruised up The Seacrest’s white shell driveway on a hot Saturday in July.

I’ll never forget the moment. You know how folks remember where they were when John Lennon died? Or when President Kennedy was assassinated? It was like that, every detail stamped into my brain, forever.

A fresh breeze laden with the scent of the sea rustled blue flowers in a nearby hydrangea hedge. Hot and sweaty, I stood in the blazing sun, feeling like a fool. I’d just finished weed wacking around the paddock fence posts. Unfortunately, said weed wacker had spooked Libby Vanderhorn’s favorite mare, Serendipity, who I secretly called Dippy, because she was such a loose cannon. She’d bucked three times and knocking down several fence boards. Libby was a good rider, but this time she’d landed in a sprawling heap on the soft dirt, swearing at me.

The boss’s gorgeous, stuck-up daughter didn’t mince words, and the sting of her accusations still sounded in my head. How stupid can you be, Finn? What’s wrong with you?

Libby’s father held great power on Cape Cod. Rudolph Vanderhorn sat on so many boards, I’d lost count. His father’s fish canning company made a fortune back in the eighties, and he and his daughter had enjoyed the spoils ever since.

I stooped to pick up a hammer from my toolbox, planning to reattach the fence boards before any of Libby’s horses got hurt on the protruding nails. Curious now, I watched the Brewster Police car circle the long drive, heading toward the mansion. The local authorities stopped by every few days to discuss town matters with my boss. But today the blue light was flashing, which didn’t look like a casual visit.

A shudder went through me, and I turned cold. Something bad had happened. I sensed it.

The front door opened, and Rudy watched them approach, one hand shading the sun from his eyes. Like a majestic lion, he stood broad-shouldered and strong, his longish white hair lifting in the sea breeze.

Libby stopped hosing down her big white mare, who thankfully hadn’t hurt herself in the fit she’d thrown earlier. The horse snorted and rubbed her big head against her owner’s arm as if to scratch an itch. Long, dark hair blew around Libby’s face, and she stared with open curiosity at the cruiser, rhythmically combing her fingers through the mare’s curly mane.

Time froze.

I stood still, gripping the hammer, studying the patrol car as it drove past the front porch with its impressive columns and portico. It didn’t stop for Rudy, but passed the six-car garage, followed the driveway to the barn, and rolled to a stop ten feet from me, lights still flashing.

Police Chief Kramer and Deputy Lowell stepped out and ambled toward me, their eyes somber.

I dropped the hammer, letting it thud to the grass near my feet.

“Finn?” Kramer said, approaching slowly. “I’m afraid we have bad news.”

There is nothing worse than hearing that bad news is about to be delivered. My brain went wild, imagining the worst scenarios. But somehow I didn’t quite picture what he was about to tell me.

“There’s been an accident,” Kramer said.

Lowell, a high school football star in his day, kicked the dirt at the edge of the path. “Car went over the cliffs,” he said, avoiding my eyes.

“For God’s sake, guys.” I looked from Kramer to Lowell. “Who was in the car?”

Kramer pulled out a piece of paper. “I regret to inform you that your wife, Cora Mae McGraw, and your brother, Jaxson Robert McGraw, have been killed in a vehicular accident.”

Deputy Lowell touched my sleeve, then awkwardly stepped back. “We’re real sorry, Finn.”

“Car went into the ocean,” Kramer said. “We believe they were dead on impact.”

I stared at them, numbness creeping up my spine. “What the hell?”

“Er, look, if there’s anything we can do...” Lowell seemed remorseful, and he offered a hand when I lost my balance and grabbed for the fence.

Libby and her father appeared at my side in seconds, but in the dreamlike state of denial and shock, I caught only brief snatches of their words, as if the wind had grabbed them, teasing me with the bits and pieces.

“What happened?”

“Bad accident.”

“She died?”

“Who was with her?”

And so on.

Libby guided me across the lawn and around back to the mansion’s cavernous kitchen. I leaned woodenly against the refrigerator while the family’s beloved cook, Fritzi, bustled her big, ample self about the kitchen making coffee and pushing fresh corn muffins at the officers.

Someone guided me into a chair. I sat, dazed and unmoving. The voices warbled around me and now my brain began to pick through the new knowledge, still not comprehending.

Cora’s dead?

It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real.

Jax is dead?

I hadn’t seen my brother in ten years.

Ten years since I’d even talked to him. I sometimes almost drove past the blueberry farm, thinking of my old life. But I never actually stopped there.

Ten years since my parents died in that fire. Since I lost my little sister, Eva. Ten years since my family burned because of that cigarette smoldering in the couch.

Ten freaking years.

I didn’t even know what Jax looked like anymore. Had he lost hair? Gained weight? Turned prematurely gray like our father did at age thirty?

Ten years.

A shudder passed through me. A great gulping sound sputtered from my throat. I think I started to hyperventilate.

I locked eyes with Libby, whose mouth was moving. I couldn’t hear her.

Cora is dead.

Jax is dead.

Laying my head on my arms, I silently convulsed.

One thought wandered around the edges of my brain, refusing to go away, in spite of the enormity of what had happened.

What the hell was Jax doing with Cora?

Chapter 33 - Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp

I just finished a big scene with Ana, Adele, Mavis Fanning and Virginia Holiday. I think it's one of the best pieces of the book. Whew. It takes a lot of mental energy to write things like this and make them believable and interesting. Hopefully, I've pulled that off.

Enjoy an excerpt from Chapter 33

    I had no idea what had just happened, but it seemed good. I stepped into my Jeep and turned the heater to high as I pulled away from Chippewa Lodge.
    The phone was no worse than damp and seemed to be working fine. I punched in Adele’s number. She answered after only one ring.
    “Ana, where are you? Are you all right?” She sounded frantic.
    “I’m fine. I’m wet and cold. I have to go home and change. Then I’ll fill you in.”
    “Come to my house as soon as you’re done. I’ll heat some soup. I called someone to help Suzi at the store,” Adele said.
    “That sounds good. Give me a half hour.”
    “I’ll be waiting,” I knew she was more than eager to hear all the juicy details.

You can find the first three Anastasia Raven Stories at Smashwords or Amazon

Chapter 27 - Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp

I came home from my recent trip with much more of the plot rolling around in my head. I've had quiet, and a low number of other commitments, and motivation this weekend. The result is that I'm on Chapter 27.

One of the things my writers' group thinks I do well is dialog. I sure hope they are right! One of the problems I've learned about telling a story in the first person is that you have to have a lot of conversations to get enough information out to the reader. And you can't be telling them things that the protagonist doesn't know (OK, you could occasionally do so in a prologue or some break in the point of view with an outside narrator, but it's not the norm).

If I ever do another series, I think it will be third person, just because it's easier.

Here's an excerpt from Chapter 27:

    “That’s pretty short term. What does he want with the building after that?”
    “I’m not sure,” I lied. “He has ideas about a community center, or a conference center, or something.”
    “In this backwater,” she scoffed.
    “Some people seem to think things might be turning around,” I said defensively, recalling Alex’s optimism. It didn’t sound to me as if Virginia Holiday was falling in love with Forest County.
    “I don’t think anyone is going to travel here for a conference, and neither does Jerry Caulfield,” she said, picking up her half smoked cigarette. She looked at its snuffed tip, sighed, and placed it back in the saucer.

You can find the first three Anastasia Raven Stories at Smashwords or Amazon

Chapter 23 - Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp

I've written a couple of chapters since updating this blog, and have several more planned in my head. Good long drives are useful to me in that regard, and I've had a couple of those lately.

I'm hopeful that the writing bug will continue to infect me, and I'll proceed at a faster pace than I have been for the past few months.

Here's an excerpt from Chapter 23:

    “Why did they find the body here?” I asked. “I mean, if there are so many places it could get hung up?”
    “Probably two reasons,” Alex speculated, looking thoughtful. “The river widens out, so the current does diminish. I’ve been told that’s why the town was built here in the first place. The river could be forded before there was a bridge. But also, there are people here. We saw it and called the police. Shane actually pulled it, him, ashore.” Alex stared into the distance, obviously recalling the unpleasant experience.

You can find the first three Anastasia Raven Stories at Smashwords or Amazon