A reading life.  I love Goodreads.  It has taught me that there are many people still living the reading life.

Goodreads had 26 million members in January, 2014.  Sure, the number of readers overall is decreasing—there are so many other alternatives for acquiring information and having some R&R.  That 26 million is worldwide, remember—the actual number of U.S. readers is smaller.

But people are members of Goodreads because they read books, so you wonder what else people are reading, whether they’re on Goodreads or not.  I imagine there’s a wide spectrum, from introverted recluses only interested in reading everything in genre X they can find, to readers who read much more than books or eschew them completely, preferring newspapers, magazines, online blogs, and so forth.

What’s your choice?  Do you visit this blog for the op-ed articles commenting on current events and the writing business, the book or movie reviews, author interviews, my free short stories, and/or this newsletter, or are you here more for news about my books?  I’d hope you’re here for it all, but it’s hard for me to tell.  Drop me an email to steve@stevenmmoore.com and tell me what you like (I never divulge emails to second parties).

Pricing.  Along with the above, how much are you willing to pay for a book?  Do you prefer ebooks or paper?  Again, it’s hard for me to know.  Some gurus are saying the price point of $2.99-$3.99 is no longer appropriate for indie books—readers are willing to pay more, associating price to quality.  OK, but are you willing to pay $12 or more for a traditionally published ebook, or close to $20 for paper?  Or, do you expect deals and, in the extreme case, expect your reading entertainment to be free?

The Exclusives. In my IAC (Indie Authors Coop) expose last week, I compared that indie group with two exclusive writing clubs, Authors Guild and International Thriller Writers.  Here are two others: Mystery Writers of America and Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America.  You can pretty much assume that any organization that has “of America” in its name is exclusive and basically un-American.  They’re like Augusta National before Tiger Woods and that golf club in Scotland that excludes women.  Even if I could join them, I wouldn’t.  They give a bad name to writing, writers, and literature.  Period.

Book rankings.  I looked at them for the first time for Rogue Planet.  The book is ranked # 1 million plus in the Kindle Store.  That’s pretty depressing.  But it’s ranked # 3000 plus in several sci-fi/fantasy categories.  Also depressing.  Of course, you never know the total number.  Ranked M out of N: knowing M and not N isn’t much help.  So, I just reminded myself how useless Amazon’s ranking is.

Maybe readers pay attention to these rankings.  “Have you read the latest by X?” can become a mantra because both readers and writers jump on bandwagons.  Readers have that luxury; writers should avoid it.  Telling someone “my book is like X’s” is a writer’s admission of a lack of originality.  Say “my book is NOT bla-bla-bla” or simply give an elevator pitch describing your book.

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(Leah Devlin, Ægir’s Curse, Penmore Press, 2013, 978-1-942756-44-6)

This archaeological thriller was a special treat.  First, there is an interesting cast of characters, many flawed, and relationships among them representing a microcosm of the diversity in American society.  The author uses internal dialogue to allow the reader to get inside the characters’ minds; we understand why they’re flawed.  The real villain here is Ægir’s curse, where Ægir is the Vikings’s sea god—if you discount the personal demons bedeviling the main protagonist.  The nominal villain and a few other characters I liked are dispatched with early as the body number increases.  There’s no mystery here, only anticipation as this thriller moves inexorably to its end.

Lindsey, that main protagonist, is a bit too flawed, fighting her self-destructive quirks while trying to hold together a blended family.  As a Nobel Prize winner, I suppose she’s an example of the fine line between genius and insanity.  She’s interesting, but I found her collaborator Sara more interesting and normal within today’s wide social spectrum.  In all of this, the author never forgets the children, who often don’t understand and are innocent victims of adults’ personal turmoil.

Some character flaws lead to or are caused by lots of philandering going on in a tightly knit research environment.  Lindsey and her adopted daughter’s history of substance abuse aside, it’s mostly men doing the philandering in this tale.  I guess times have changed.  I never saw this much action in a research environment before!  I said it’s a microcosm, but it’s like condensed soup—some water must be added, and that’s where Ægir steps in.  The curse of that Norse god of the sea—at least the sea around our national treasure, Cape Cod—isn’t only the true villain, he’s essential to this tale.  Or, maybe it’s his daughters stirring up all the trouble?

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[PTSD can occur in many situations, even the battlefield of our city streets.]

Sessions

Copyright 2016, Steven M. Moore

Session 1

“How do you feel about the shooting now?” said the shrink.

The police psychiatrist spoke in a whisper, making Gina Peralta wonder how she could hear the woman above the traffic noise just two stories below the window.  The detective was standing behind the shrink’s desk chair.  She spun and looked across the desk at the empty sofa and the shrink sitting in the armchair.

Gina was a large woman of Argentine descent; her inquisitor was an Asian-American doll in comparison.  But the shrink could make Gina feel like Alice after eating the mushroom at times—shrinking, shrinking.  She put her hands on the desk chair to steady herself.

“I’m coming to grips with it,” she said.

“Self-preservation justifies your actions, Gina.  You know that.”

Platitudes.  I’m tired of them all.  “I know that from a logical point of view.  My emotional problem is that I ended a person’s life.”

“Theirs is often a first time, especially in this city.  You did what you had to do.”

“Are you implying I’ll become hardened to it?  I don’t want to be.”  Gina licked her lips.  I never want to reach that point!

“No, but you’ll be better prepared, and you’ll come to terms with the bad memories.”

“Maybe I should have wrestled him for the baseball bat.”

“And maybe you’d be dead if you’d tried.  From your partner’s description, this meth-head was out of his mind.  The bat was as much a lethal weapon as your gun.  With your wounds, I’m just amazed you got your shot off.”

Gina glanced at her right arm that was still in a sling.  The PT sessions were worse than the shrink sessions.  “Me too.  But he was a big target.  The shot using the left hand didn’t have to be accurate.”

“Come.  Lie down again.”  The shrink patted the couch.  “Tell me about the nightmares.”

Gina returned to the sofa.  “They’re all over the board.  I’ve told you about some of them.  Last night’s was like being in a parallel universe.  My shot missed, and I watched that crazy bastard beat Jack Hershey and his daughter to death with my one good eye before I passed out.”

“It didn’t happen that way.  You and your partner saved Jack and Carol.”

“Mick feels guilty about not arriving sooner.  He had just come up the stairs and saw the SOB go after me.  He couldn’t shoot because Jack and Carol were in the line of fire.  He might be more traumatized than I am.  Dunno.”

“Maybe I should ask him come to see me too.”

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[This post is long, but it’s important.  The future of our nation is at stake.  Read on, please.]

It’s enough trouble that Mrs. Bill Clinton is running neck-and-neck with Mr. Donald Trump in a recent ABC News/Washington Post Poll—IN VOTER DISAPPROVAL RATINGS as well as popular vote.  Mr. Sanders is consistently doing better against Mr. Trump in national polls.  She can’t generate any enthusiasm; Mr. Sanders generates the crowds.  The news media wrote off that Carson, CA crowd cheering Bernie Sanders as “a few thousands turned out in support of Mr. Sanders.”  Mrs. Bill Clinton “packs” a small hall but with only a few hundred!  As Mr. Trump has stated in his inimitable insulting manner, the problem Mrs. Bill Clinton is having is that she can’t “put Bernie away.”  He recently won Oregon outright by 10 percentage points and fought her to a virtual tie in Kentucky, a state she carried overwhelmingly against Mr. Obama in the 2008 primaries.  Mr. Sanders won’t go away, he has nothing to lose, and, even if he did go away, his voters just might spurn the Clinton dynasty and sit this one out.

But not before making noise.  There will be more crowds in California as that primary draws near.  There will be crowds in NJ (there already are—last Saturday right here in Montclair).  Mr. Sanders has an energetic following.  It’s amazing that this old guy can generate this kind of energy.  It’s not so amazing that the old gal can’t.  He wiped that imperious entitlement grin off her face early.  As we’ve progressed through the primary season, those who didn’t know her learned about her and didn’t like what they saw and heard. She’s flawed, lyin’, and connivin’, and her smug, waffling husband is even worse (maybe less smug now than a year ago?).

She wants that old philanderer to solve the economic problems?  Please, not another NAFTA!  Not another crime bill (how is it that blacks support this deadly duo again?)!  On the other hand, the more people hear about Mr. Sanders, the more they like him—except those old blacks and Hispanics and others swallowing the Dem establishment’s lies and forgetting about the she-devil’s negative attacks on Mr. Obama in 2008 that were stealthy racist appeals directed at white voters.

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Jean-Paul Sartre is sitting at a French café, revising his draft of Being and Nothingness. He says to the waitress, “I’d like a cup of coffee, please, with no cream.” The waitress replies, “I’m sorry, Monsieur, but we’re out of cream. How about with no milk?”

***

Rogue Planet is now available for all reviewers on Net Galley.

The Golden Years of Virginia Morgan.  This novel, which is a bridge between the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco Series” and the “Clones and Mutants Trilogy,” considers the following question: how will the U.S. government in the future handle all those old people with classified secrets in their head?  This is just a Smashwords sale.  The book will be priced at $0.99 until June 1, reduced from $2.99.  The coupon code is MP45S (type that in when you order—be sure and specify the format you want).  Pass the word to your relatives and friends.

In libris libertas….

[Last Friday in my newsletter, I strongly advised authors to avoid the Indie Authors Coop.  Here’s why.]

OK, I’m not talking about Mr. Trump here, but there is a wall involved: I’ve been banned from Indie Authors Coop!  That’s an e-wall designed to keep me out.  Warning: it’s an exclusive club; no struggling authors wanted!  The line I crossed was saying that having a successful book is like winning the lottery—that there’s luck involved (I said it again in my last post).  Apparently, the narcissistic authors who have banned together in this forum don’t want to hear any of that—they call it negativity.  The truth hurts, I guess.  I’m banned, and I say, “Good riddance.”  I don’t need to associate with people who don’t remember what it’s like to struggle as an author, and even less with people who don’t realize how lucky they are.  Their attitude?  They’re successful, so screw the rest of us.  That attitude is typical of Big Five authors—the Authors Guild is full of them—but are these indies any different?

Yes, I was told that I crossed the line by mentioning that luck is involved.  Luck is involved—writing a book is one thing, but having its readership grow into an avalanche is a rare phenomenon.  I’ve been saying this for years.  (See my course on fiction writing.)  It seems like a fair warning to starry-eyed newbies who think they’re going to be the next Hemingway.  It’s simply a dose of realism.  Hard work only gets you so far.  Having a successful book is like winning a lottery, not PowerBall—one hopes that the odds for the book are better than 1 in 292 million—but a million-dollar scratch-off.  And that goes for traditionally published authors as well as indies.

And it’s not just sour grapes on my part—or negativity, as some IAC members call it (“some” means enough to get me banned).  The stats show that it’s rare that a book becomes a bestseller (whatever that means—the NY Times keeps their formula as secret as the formula for Coke, but it’s biased to hell because it includes big book barn purchases).  The biggest retailer in the business, Amazon, has stated that most books sell less than 500 copies.  They have more access to the stats than I do.  Maybe Amazon is wrong, but it’s the best info I have.  And you really don’t need to believe Amazon; you can see it in their rankings (new books have biased rankings, so check out those published more than six months ago).

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Zuckerberg’s $100 million to Newark schools, David Geffen’s $100 million to change Avery Fisher Hall’s name to his own, the Carnegie Foundation’s backing of PBS, Bill Gates’s attack on tropical diseases, and so forth all bother me because these “charitable works” are either blatant PR or trips to the public confessional to repent for sins committed.  This isn’t an “exclusive or” either, because a public mea culpa is both good for PR and repentance.

Most billionaires have left a lot of bodies in their wake as they cruise to riches.  Maybe some aren’t perfect sociopaths and occasionally feel guilt, so they throw a few alms (what the above amounts to) to feel better about themselves.  But super-inflated egos won’t let them do that anonymously—they have to derive PR benefit and public acclaim for their beneficence.  You can check out the bios of all the people I’ve mentioned.  They all have skeletons in their closets.

A local news item illustrates how this sickness has permeated our society.  Recently a woman in the NYC area was asked to sign a prenuptial by her future husband.  She refused, but she didn’t cancel the lavish reception.  Instead, she collaborated with the Salvation Army to select “deserving people” to attend a sumptuous luncheon.  I don’t denigrate those people chosen by her and the Salvation Army who attended.  Hell no!  But the woman reveled in the positive PR and the local media cooperated.  Why not cancel the event and donate the money anonymously to charity?  Just to stick it to the man who demanded the prenuptial?  OMG isn’t strong enough.  This is sicko.

I can’t complain about people who donate to worthwhile causes, but I will complain about people who want public recognition for it.  No matter the size of the donation, am I the only one who thinks that this is buying notoriety?  Americans are the most charitable people on the planet.  They donate and work for good causes.  Most of us do so without expecting anything in return.  Those who feel the need for recognition are warped.  Humility is a virtue that’s disappearing too fast.  Like most virtues, it’s often stealthily attacked by moneyed interests.  It’s so bad that I often ask myself, “What’s the agenda?”  Maybe I’m warped too by asking that.  Dunno.

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First, let’s clear away some misconceptions.  Traditional publishing means the old publishing business model of finding an agent, hoping that agent finds you a publisher/editor, said publisher/editor hands you off to the staff (other editors and cover artists), and maybe sets up a book signing or two when your book is finally out (it can take a year or more).  You could even enjoy seeing your book in a Barnes & Noble book barn for a few months after it’s published and get your local bookstores to order a few copies (but not the ebook versions).  Once you find an agent, you can pretty much wash your hands of the rest, right?  Wrong!

Unless you’re an old mare or old stallion in the Big Five’s stables of bestselling horses, or have a lot of leverage (your father was an author, your uncle owns an imprint, and so forth, what my Latino friends call la palanca), you’re pretty much on your own after your book is published.  You’re now a midlist author, even if you’re publisher is one of the Big Five.  They place only safe bets on those old horses—new voices are generally ignored and the bulk of all that PR and marketing aid you thought you were going to get, and especially those expensive video trailers in prime time and full-page ads in the NY Times, go to the old authors who grind out their formulaic bestsellers.

That means that you have to promote your own book, just like an indie.  The main difference with your fellow indie author is that s/he reaps a lot more for money invested and time spent on promo efforts than you do, 35% or 70% versus your 10% or 15%.  Over time (sometimes as short as a month), bookstores will no longer stock your books and your publisher won’t even want to talk to you—unless your book wins the lottery, of course, and the publisher moves you temporarily into the winners’ stables.  And, if bestsellerdom doesn’t smile on you, oh the hassle when you want your rights back so you can go indie.  That’s life in the publishing world of the 21^st century.

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Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 p.m. Please use the back door. (Seen in a church bulletin.)

***

Rogue Planet is now available for all reviewers on Net Galley.

The Golden Years of Virginia Morgan. This novel, which is a bridge between the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco Series” and the “Clones and Mutants Trilogy,” considers the following question: how will the U.S. government in the future handle all those old people with classified secrets in their head? This is just a Smashwords sale. The book will be priced at $0.99 until June 1, reduced from $2.99. The coupon code is MP45S (type that in when you order—be sure and specify the format you want). Pass the word to your relatives and friends.

In libris libertas…

May this Friday the 13th bring you good luck!  (Sorry, PowerBall already has a winner.)

Goodreads polls.  They can be a lot of fun.  But I often start a discussion thread there that could be reduced to a simple poll because because I prefer to know the hows and whys from readers, not just a simple vote.  I’ll be reading or writing and certain questions will start haunting me that only readers can answer.  (Yeah, I know, I’m a reader, and I don’t have the answers, so maybe this isn’t too logical.)  So have some fun and join me at Goodreads, the place where the readers are.

Social media for authors.  First choice: Goodreads (see above).  That’s where the readers are.  Other authors want to sell THEIR books or capture YOUR readers, you’re supposed to also be a reader, so Goodreads is the place to spend your time over any authors’ forum, etc.

Choice to avoid: IAC (Indie Authors Coop).  More on this next week.

What about Facebook and Twitter?  Way down the list too.  People who spend 50 hours per week on Facebook aren’t reading many books, and both sites are dominated by narcissistic people climbing their soap boxes and e-shouting.  LinkedIn?  OK, some interesting discussion threads on book publishing have appeared there, but recently comments are cut-off or censored, and there’s a lot of soap box activity too.  Instagram?  Worse than the three just mentioned.

If you want to use FB, keep it restricted to close friends and family—or restrict it to an author page (what I do now).  Same for Google+ (I just share posts there, nothing else, because I can’t do that on FB anymore).

Best bet: Always go where the readers are.  Besides Goodreads, try out some lesser known sites where you can participate as a reader who also happens to be a reader.  You’re an author and not a reader?  How’s that work?

Classics.  A colleague in my old day-job once remarked that a “book is a classic when no one reads it anymore.”  He might have been referring to some of those tomes forced down his throat in high school English class.  Or simply to the idea that readers don’t relate well to books written before the 20^th century.  A rereading of some of those tomes you struggled through in high school or college might be in order, though.  I’m currently in the middle of A Tale of Two Cities, reminding myself why I liked it so much.  While Dickens’s other novels rate high on the blah and blah-blah scales, this is a good one.  A good film (The Count of Monte Cristo, The Jungle Book) can revive a classic; a bad one can remind one of the painful experiences in the past (Moby Dick, Les Miz, or any Jane Austen films).

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