Back to Adventures in Self-Publishing!!!

Hey y’all,

Back to adventures in self-publishing. It’s a lot of responsibility and work, but I love the freedom of it, and I can do this how I want to. With the internet and the ebook explosion, there is more opportunities now than ever before for a self-published – ahem, I mean indie author to do things in his/her own way.

For instance, choosing the artist to do the illustration for Ella Bandita and the Wanderer. I put a post up on Craigslist that went like this:

“In a nutshell, I’ve written a novel and am looking to self-publish. I need an artist to design 1 book cover for both e-book publishing and print on demand. And I may need 4 more book covers for e-book if I decide to release the novel in 4 parts. The novel is fantasy – in the style of folklore/fairy tale/fables of pre-Industrial Europe. In other words, think of Vagabonds, Courtesans, horses, guns, talismans, and magic – the past, not the future. I prefer a finer-detailed, realistic style and somebody who is an artist/illustrator first and a computer graphic designer second. If you also have experience with designing websites and linking one site to the next, that is not necessary, but it would be an outstanding bonus. As far as pay is concerned, of course I want to keep it within a reasonable budget, but I’m flexible as well as honest. This is most likely the ideal job for somebody who just finished school and is getting started in this field. I’m a DIY amateur learning as I go, and am looking for somebody awesome to collaborate with.

Please put “Book Cover” in the subject line and send a cover letter, resume, 1-3 samples of your work, what you charge, and a fair estimate of how long it will take you to finish the initial assignment of one book cover. I will contact those whose samples I like for an interview, and we’ll go from there.

Thank you for reading.”

I took the post down within 4 hours. Plenty of answers – everything from “I’ll do it for free!” with no samples to pretty talented amateurs, to the artist that I ultimately went with. Nobody could touch his work. BANE at banedarkart.com. I sent him some sample pieces of writing and a picture of Tom Brady and said:

“Make Tom Brady into a woman and that’s a good place to start with Ella Bandita.”

And did he ever come through in his first attempt!

The Things We Take With Us When We Die

Blast from the Past # 17 - October 12, 2005

OH!

The woman lamented at not having her camera at the ready to capture such an amazing moment.

I knew I should have looked more for it.

The colors set the mountain on fire, the migrating cranes purring above her head, and the up close and personal appearances of the Dall sheep convinced her of it.

Of course I'd have no camera on this day, and I'll forget everything...she thought for a moment and then a vision of her grandfather appeared in her mind.

Only if you choose to, he replied quietly.

If I choose to? What do you mean, grandfather?

Open your heart to let it in and etch it into your soul.

The woman laughed.

Don't laugh, my child with what is best. Etch it into your soul and you can take it with you when you die. Can't take your pictures with you, now can you?

Grandfather! I'd just like some good photos to show my friends.

So you can show off.

The woman shrugged.

That's one reason I'm sure, but also so it can stir up memories later. I especially like to stir up good memories when I feel sad...it gives me hope

Etch it in your soul and you will never forget while you're alive. That's much better than any picture.

Really, Grandfather...

No, do you have a record of the first time you felt a crush? Bet you can still remember the feeling of electricity searing you from the inside out.

The woman nodded.

Do you remember your first kiss? Your first love? The first time a work of art made you stop and absorb it? The first time you felt your body surrender to music and the dance that ensued as a result? Good times with friends? The first time you traveled to a country not your own? Happy Birthdays that are extra special? Every feeling of success you've ever had to work for?

Yes, of course I remember.

Do you have photos, movies, and recordings of every special moment of your life?

No.

And you're telling me that you can't transport yourself back to those moments?

Yes, Grandfather, of course I can.

That's the stuff, child, that you take with you when you die.

What of the bad and the sad, Grandfather?

What of them, dear? They are part of life.

I remember those at will too.

What in hell are you doin' that for? Dump 'em. Go brew a pot of coffee and savor the smell while it's percolating. Make sweet potato bread and lick the bowl of leftovers while the spices permeate your kitchen.

Easier said than done.

It's as easy to do as to say. Your choice. Why fill yourself up with bitter memories of those who take, betray, take some more, and betray some more? The mistakes we make and the villains we meet are the waste of a life fully lived. Do you resist taking a shit when the urge strikes you?

The woman laughed. Of course not.

Then don't be such a sucker. Let your bowels do their job and dump your memories of them. Make something pretty. Go on a hike, listen to the water flow, feel the mist of a waterfall on your face, go molest some silk, dropping it a notch in luxury with your grubby human hands. Fill yourself up with the stuff that you'd want with you later.

The woman smiled as she hiked along the mountains aglow with the colors of fall, the rain stopped, the clouds lifted and blue of the sky competed with the setting sun as she walked down the path she came up.

It would be a good night for the aurora.

Etch it in your soul...

Suckers for Cutsie Poo and Unexpectedly Good Dates

Blast from the Past # 16 - October 9, 2005

Hey y'all,

Before I get too carried away, let me just say one thing...next time in Anchorage, check out El Tango on Tudor behind the Holiday gas station. If you've gone to Hooters you have definitely gone too far! El Tango has a fantastic menu of latin cuisine - Columbia, Argentina, and Puerto Rico - a very friendly staff and a small dance floor. It's only been there for a year, the location sucks, but if you like your ambience refreshing, then this is the place for you.

Last night at Cook Inlet, I was one of a cluster fuck of writers. Needless to say, we were overcrowded at one small table, so we got another one and two of us sat there. I figured stake out the front door and get more attention, but everybody still herded around the schoolteacher at the other table, with a mountain of her "Recess at 20 Below," full of pictures of her students having FUN in her class and adorable narrative about school life in Delta Junction. It was very cutsie poo.

Meanwhile, I misread a possible fan, Sheila, and told her the first chapter of Ella Bandita, complete with the dirty old sorcerer, the cold-blooded daddy, and the eaten heart. Sheila then let me know that she was a fan of Walt Disney version of fairy tales and that she used to have a friend who would have been into my writing because she wrote a lot like me.

"But she's dead now," Sheila said.

So nice of her to tell me that.

Do I sound bitter? Really, I'm not.

At this point in my road trip, I have had enough successes to not sweat the flops. Besides, last night was a quality, if not a quantity, experience. I ended up with a date. A good one, too. With the nice guy.

Go figure, that never happens to me. I usually gravitate to the those-I-cannot-or-should-not-even-consider-wanting-to-have types. This one has a steady job, no addictions ( at least, not obvious ones ), courtly manners, good body, and blue eyes that are awful purty to look into.

That's how I ended up at El Tango. Besides the food and the Argentinian staff, they had a keyboard player whose keyboard created a symphony with every note, and the staff would get up there and sing. Since they didn't have the tv screen enabling bad singers to massacre mediocre lyrics, it wasn't really karaoke, but it kind of felt that way. Since the staff were the main singers, most of the songs were in spanish, so it was very cool. It also helped that they could...oh, sing. Hugo, the owner who was from Argentina, played kind of the lating version of a bluegrass washboard - a weegel ( I don't know how to spell it, and the closest he could come to describing it was a plant kind of like a zucchini, that's dried and then hollowed out - if you want to know what the hell I'm talking about, go there and you'll see), while the bartender had maracas.

I love latin folk, they really have the happy to live mentality down pat. Hugo gave us free drinks, calling us amigos and that we are family.

"When you are in Anchorage, this is your home." Hugo said.

Nothing is perfect, however...

Hugo is a sucker for Celine Dion, because his daughter, Lilly, belted out "I Will Always Love You," and he sat there looking emotional.

But other than that, it was awesome.

I was coming back on Tuesday, but my good date asked me out again, so...

I'm coming back to Juneau roughly sometime around before I head down to the lower forty eight by November 1st. Does anybody have a housesitting gig or an extra room? I rented my place out and I don't know about crashing on my own couch for almost two weeks. It'll be good to see the Vagabond - my cat, that is. And of course, all of you.

Montgomery

Jason, the good date, ended up being quite a dud. Pretty challenged in the department of "balls," figuratively speaking, of course. Yeah, I found that events in bookstores required a lot of time and energy and were seldom worth the effort. I did much better at music and art festivals - with enough vendors. It attracted the right balance of people who like to read without being too insular and bookish.

Living the Dream

Blast from the Past # 15 - September 26, 2005

Hey y'all,

I am so glad I listened to the wisdom of my inner voice, the same inner voice that told me to go back to Seward for the Music and Arts Festival, even though my first tableside storytelling adventure was not immediately profitable. In fact, my first day I told stories with my whole heart and soul into it because I wanted to sell my book, dammit! This was only my second stop on the trip - I had had a couple of things in Homer - I was in full-throttle eager novice mode and people could smell blood...I could sense them smacking their chops as I concluded my story without closing the sale. I sold nothing!

And that really sucked.

And frankly, so does Anchorage.

I did my last storytelling tonight at the Organic Oasis, and it is impossible to do what I'm doing and not do it often in Anchorage, but I just do not resonate with the vibe of this town, it reminds me of the Orlando of my teenage years.... AAIIGGHH!!! So let's get back to the good stuff, Seward.

After that discouraging first day, however, it got better. I sold two books on my second day, and on my third and final, four. So, the word was getting out there. Also, on the third day is when deliverance arrived in the form of Joe Alaniz and saved my demoralized ass by selling fourteen books by the next day. Remember Joe? So that was my Seward experience in early August, but they had just put up all these flyers for this festival and since the booths were cheap, I marked my space.

I woke up to beautiful weather in Seward with the colors in full blast and knew it would be slow at the festival. And I was right, but I learned a few things since my last time in town. I set up my space with blankets, pillows, and although I left the candles in the Brown Beast, I laid out my purple sari over the table with the book displays, and a sign under an orange patterned fake-silk poly scarf that read:

FREE!!!

Hear a story...

Buy a book...

Get Tarot reading...

FREE!!!

I figured if everybody was going to confuse me for a fortuneteller, I might as well give them what they wanted. And golly gee!! To make it even better, people were into the storytelling and into buying the book, but about a quarter of my sales happened because somebody really wanted their cards read and the book was only ten bucks.

I sold twenty two books at full price. And the experience was effortless, at a festival held indoors at the Cruise Ship Terminal, which looked more like a hangar. The turn out was low due to sunny weather - got to get that hiking in because the darkness, rain, and snow are just around the corner. I also sold ten books to the lady who had an all-purpose gift shop/coffeehouse in town, so now the book is being carried in Seward. And I traded one for a bracelet. So in one weekend I sold over thirty books.

Which of course feeds the soul...not to mention the validation that I'm on the right track.

But the best part of this week-end was not the sales - not that I minded those! It was really connecting with people when they sat down to hear a story. The way I see it, I'm laying the foundation for my base of readers for the future, and it is such an intimate way of connecting with them. It worked well at Borders as well. One woman I met this weekend told me this is living the dream. And she's right, I am.

That week-end was so great I didn't mind coming back to the tepid atmosphere at the Organic Oasis. I sold a couple of books and it is happening...one book at a time. One person at a time.

I'm getting better at this, but the tarot cards were a nice touch.

And being a fortune-teller was fun too.

Anyway, Keep in touch...

Montgomery

It's odd the memories that get triggered. Rereading this has two effects on me. First, it makes me remember Joe's obnoxious references to the "sheeple" he referred to that weekend he sold 14 books effortlessly. Not about the people who bought the book particularly, but about well... just about everybody. It pissed me off at the time until I was at the Alaska State Fair and I'm ashamed to say I actually related to what he was talking about in that moment. I'm not proud of the cynical misanthropy behind "Who are the Critcial Mass?" All I can say in my defense is that I was tired and frustrated. That book tour was the adventure of my life, but it was rough.

The second has to do with the kind of person who inspires hybrid words like sheeple. Reading this again makes me want to go back in time and smack Kelly B____ upside the head. She was a friend from college who spent her entire life worrying about what others thought of her, spent years of time and energy on a career she had no passion for - and of course, she was ultimately underpaid - not to mention exhausting herself on getting an MBA to advance in that career she didn't love all because she thought that was expected of her and it made her mother proud. She made some insidious remark about how certain emails about "living the dream" rubbed her the wrong way because she "had" to keep her corporate job to pay her bills and blah, blah, blah. This woman is not married and has no kids. She doesn't "have" to do anything. She had student loans and accrued more going to MBA school and those are a bitch to pay off. But what is the point of going into debt for something you aren't crazy in love with?

Just asking. Needless to say our friendship became a thing of the past a couple of years ago and it had nothing to do with this book tour. In our second to last conversation, she was wailing about feeling completely invisible and it freaked me out enough to talk to a wise woman friend of mine about it. Judy said: "She needs to start looking at people to see them, instead of looking for how they see her. The feeling of being invisible will go away if she does." I thought that was sound advice and with the best of intentions, I passed it on. Because who the hell wants to feel like that? Kelly was not receptive however, saying that women do lose value in society as they get older and that her mom "went through the same thing." She said I "think about things a lot" and "that's a good thing," but that conversations was the last time I ever spoke to her. After a few unreturned calls, I got the hint. I was more stunned than grieved because all I could think was: "Wow. Some people really are quite happy to be completely miserable."

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