TOO MANY BOOKS, TOO MUCH COMPETITION

 

In an interview with the blog SIX QUESTIONS, John Raab, Publisher/CEO/Editor-in-Chief of Suspense Magazine, answered the following question:

“What can you truly expect to get out of your writing?”

“I feel that many authors have false expectations and think they are writing the next NY Times Bestseller. Here is the problem with that. Just because your book is not high on a list or selling that great, doesn’t mean you can’t write. Authors have to remember that anybody can now publish an EBook on Amazon or Barnes and Noble. What does that mean? That means that readers now have to navigate through thousands of more books to find one they like and readers only have a certain amount of money to spend. If you don’t have thousands of marketing dollars behind your work, then you have to spend triple the amount of time marketing to fans than it took you to write the book. Writing the book is the easy part, getting paid from it is the difficult part. Authors should expect to not retire off their work, but instead write for the love of it, because it is your passion. Writing and music are the same thing, you see a great band in a bar and say ‘They are better than anything I hear on the radio, why aren’t they signed?’ Writing is the same way.”

Is it true? Are there too many books on the market? Writers don’t just write for the love of writing, they write to make a living. But if thousands of self-proclaimed authors are flooding the market with books, how can someone achieve that goal?

For myself, I stopped buying books because I was tired of wasting my money on mediocre crap that was marketed as best-seller material. A slick cover and a wide audience do not a-book-worth-reading make. Extensive marketing will not salvage a poorly crafted commodity. Readers might buy from you once, but they won’t come back again.

The book market is, in fact, overwhelming. Every time I go into Barnes & Noble, the stacks of unread (and unbought) books makes me want to swoon.  Scanning through Amazon and Goodreads makes me feel the same way.

The books shout in my head: READ ME! READ ME!

It’s the same on Facebook. Thousands of self-proclaimed authors scream at me: BUY MY BOOK! BUY MY BOOK!

Millions of blogs and online publications float around in Internet outer space, vying for attention.

TV, movies, and video games also provide tough competition. And to top it off, a recent poll suggested that only 75% of the population ever reads a book (print or digital.)

So, what’s a writer (and reader) to do in an age of information overload?

1. Write the best damned book you can, using original ideas.

2. Don’t write derivative material because thousands of others are doing the same thing. We don’t need anymore books about vampires and wizards unless the slant is so original, and the characters so unforgettable, that the world just can’t live without them.

3. Define your goals realistically. If you are only writing out of love for the craft, then be content to do so. But if you dream of making a living as a writer, then treat it as a business.

Personally, I think the publishing industry bubble is going to burst, just like the dot.com bubble and the housing bubble. Too many books means too many choices and a flattened market. After all, people don’t have the time or the money to spend on reading all the books out there. And traditional publishing houses depend on blockbuster best-sellers to keep themselves afloat.

I will continue to write because I love to write. But don’t be fooled: I want to make a living off of my writing as much as any other writer. The question is: can I beat the competition?

We work hard. We often work for nothing. But we are rewarded.

Reblogged from this literary life:

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It's moments like these that remind me why I work hard on my passions for no money and little recognition. Moments like these:

 

It's coming, friends. 

 

Read more… 2 more words

The Underneath the Juniper Tree Anthology is coming soon! Can't wait!

OUR GREAT EMU ADVENTURE

Steve Pisturino tries to capture a lost emu wandering down Chinle Road in Golden Valley, Arizona.

Our great EMU adventure began when the neighbor’s dogs started barking at something in the field across the road.  We figured it was the coyote that comes to drink water in our front yard. Boy, were we wrong!

Racing through the desert was a prehistoric-looking creature with long legs and a long neck that looked tired, hungry, and thirsty. I don’t know how long or how far he had run, but the temperature was at least 110 degrees outside, the noontime sun burned with fierce intensity, and the only water available  came from human sources.

My husband grabbed some water and followed the animal in his truck while I got on the phone and called every agency I could find in the phone book. The standard response? “We don’t handle emus.” It didn’t matter that the creature was going to die without food, water, and shelter. Frustrated, I called the local newspaper and reported what was happening. Happily, one of the reporters also got on the phone and began calling people.

I finally got hold of a local animal rescue sanctuary, and the owners told me that if we could corral the emu, they would come and get him! Finally! Results!

By that time, my husband had returned home. He had offered him water, but Big Bird ignored it and ran off — luckily, into a residential neighborhood. We took off in the truck and scoured the neighborhood, hoping to find him, capture him, and send him off to the animal sanctuary.  We finally found him wandering down a dirt road, tired and worn out.

As you can see in the above photo, my husband tried to befriend him and lasso him with a soft nylon rope. But the animal wasn’t going for it and took off again into the desert. I ran after him, trying to herd him back to the road. Once or twice, I got close enough to touch him. He never tried to bite or kick me and seemed friendly enough. He was obviously accustomed to humans. But he was scared and didn’t know his way home.

I chased him to the edge of a wash. Big Bird realized that the sides of the wash were too steep, and he let me herd him along the edge and back to the road. Several times he looked back at me with a glint in his eye, like it was some sort of game, and I had high hopes that eventually he would stop and let me catch him.  That was an idealistic thought!

Back on the road a man in a red truck offered the bird water, but once again he ignored it and headed on down the road. My husband parked his truck and threw me the rope. Finally, I got close enough to the bird to throw my arms around him and hang on for dear life. I managed to loop the rope around his neck, but I was so scared of hurting him, I let it hang loose.

My husband asked me, “Okay, now we’ve got him, what are we going to do with him?” Good question! The man in the red truck had taken off, and we had nobody to help us. We decided to walk Big Bird back to the truck and somehow get him into the back.

When we got back to the truck I told my husband, “You get behind him and push.” He reluctantly grabbed the back end of the bird and tried to push him up into the truck.   

Big Bird bolted, gouged my left ankle with his huge toenail,  knocked me flat on my back, and ran off into the desert!

Hot, tired, and thirsty, I laid in the dirt with the sun in my eyes and waited for the stars to stop swirling around my head.

As my husband helped me up I said, “I’m done. I can’t do anymore.”  Beaten, bruised, scuffed, cut, dirty, sweaty, and stunned, we drove home in defeat.

To this day, we don’t know where the emu came from or where he ended up. We suspect that somebody who didn’t want him anymore let him loose in the desert. A cruel thing to do in the hot summer! At the very best, somebody found him and gave him a home. At the very worst, coyotes attacked and killed him. Even as I chased him through the desert, vultures circled overhead, waiting for a fresh kill.

Was it worth it? Even though he injured me, and we weren’t able to catch him, I feel happy that we at least tried to help this poor creature. I have the satisfaction of knowing that the newspaper reporter tried to track down the owner.

And I have a great story to tell my future grandkids.

Dawn Pisturino

Copyright 2012 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved. Photo by Dawn Pisturino.

A Writer 24/7

by Dawn Pisturino

Adopting the writer’s mantle places us instantly in the spotlight. Everything we say, write, and do is being evaluated and judged by people we don’t even know.

With this in mind, it’s important to display our best writing at every opportunity.

I recently read a blog post by an English writer that was poorly formatted, riddled with errors, and unprofessional-looking. The purpose of the blog was to dispense writing advice to budding young authors. But what can a young author learn from run-on sentences and words that blend into one another with no punctuation or spaces? Needless to say, I no longer follow that blog.

Many self-proclaimed authors haunt Facebook and other social media sites. They promote their books with quickly-composed, ungrammatical sales pitches that reflect poorly on their abilities as writers. My thought is this: if they can’t write a simple post on Facebook, how can they write the next Great American novel? The answer is obvious.

E-mail tends to be a casual form of communication, but some people take it for granted that it’s okay to write in texting jargon and incomplete sentences. Clear, concise communication should be even more important when writing e-mails. I check my grammar and spelling every time I send out an e-mail because I want my readers to see me as a real writer.

My elderly aunt in Michigan fills her hand-written letters with poetic descriptions of the seasons and countryside where she lives. She’s not a writer, but she knows how to write. She knows how to turn a phrase and color a description so that it sticks in my head. She makes me imagine that once upon a time she wrote poetry in some dark garrett. That reminds me–I need to ask her!

Writing is a 24/7 job. And everything we compose should reflect our abilities as a writer. Our readers expect it. Our profession demands it.

Published in the July-August 2012 issue of Working Writer.

Copyright 2012 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

Cheap Wine, Dried Salame, and You

 My husband was one of those “bad boys” that girls fall in love with and parents deplore. With his black jacket and black leather cap, he looked like a Sicilian gangster out on a hit.

His pent-up anger spilled out of him in dangerous ways. For example, he mapped out a plan whereby every bank in the city of San Francisco could be robbed on the same day.

His dark nature captivated me, and soon, I was hooked for life.

We fought like cats and dogs, but oh, the fun we had! We went treasure hunting in crazy, out-of-the-way places, finding cold hard cash lying in the sand in a cave. We drove up and down the Pacific Coast Highway  in his green Fiat X-19, enjoying the sun on our faces, the wind in our hair. We hiked through the redwoods on Mt. Tamalpais and watched the ocean tides under a full moon at Ocean Beach.

One day, singing at the top of his lungs, my husband suddenly stripped down and drove naked with the top of his car open along the 92 over to Half Moon Bay. Thrilled and excited, I watched for the cops, laughing all the way.

On cool, foggy nights, we slipped away into the darkness and made love on sandy beaches. On warm afternoons, we packed a picnic snack: a bottle of Riunite Lambrusco and a link of dried salame. Sun, warmth, ocean air, sand, green grass, and a hazy glow of love and darkness and friendship between us.

After our daughter was born, we included her in our crazy life. Archery at the range on King’s Mountain, afternoon tea at Agatha’s, strolling the malls, tramping through the sand at Half Moon Bay, riding the carousel at the San Francisco Zoo, flying kites down on the Marina.

Those days are over now. Our daughter is grown, and we’re not as skinny as we used to be. We live in the desert in Arizona, work, walk the dog, watch TV, and complain about the heat, wind, and dust. But whenever I go back to California, I relive those glory days of sunshine and salt air. Whenever I spot a bottle of Riunite or a link of dried salame at the grocery store, I remember foggy nights and making love in the sand.

So let me fill my plastic cup with cheap red wine, arrange slices of salame and cheese on a paper plate, and offer this toast to the man I love:

I LOVE YOU, DEAR HEART, MY LOVER, MY BEST FRIEND, MY MENTOR, MY DEVIL’S ADVOCATE, MY DARK KNIGHT — AND I ALWAYS WILL.

Dawn

Happy Mother’s Day

Translation: “Mother’s Day: I only found an artichoke, but my heart’s in it!”

On May 12, 1907, Anna Jarvis of Philadelphia held a memorial service for her departed mother in Grafton, West Virginia.  This simple act of devotion started a trend that spread to every state in the nation.

The second Sunday in May was declared a federal holiday—Mother’s Day— by President Woodrow Wilson in 1914.

It became customary to wear a red or pink carnation to honor living mothers and a white carnation to honor the deceased.

The greeting card companies seized on this opportunity to promote sending flowers, cards, and gifts. In her later years, Anna Jarvis resented the commercialization of Mother’s Day and lobbied to abolish the holiday.

Whether we honor our mothers with store-purchased items or handmade goodies, the idea behind Mother’s Day is still valid. My mother worked hard all of her life. She was unhappy and stressed out much of the time. But she tried her best to love us, protect us, and give us what we needed.

One of my fondest memories is a rainy night in 1965. The school chorus was giving a concert, and the streets in L.A. were flooded. I was afraid that my mother wouldn’t be able to attend our performance. But somehow, someway, she made it, and I always remembered that. Her efforts let me know how much she cared. 

She’s gone now, and I miss her, but she suffered from chronic pain and a severe heart condition. Death brought her relief. And I try to remember that even as I wish she were here.

HONOR THE ONES YOU LOVE EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR. I wish now that I had done more for her.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, EVERYONE!

Dawn Pisturino

Desert in Bloom

This is what the desert looks like in spring when we get adequate amounts of rain and snow in the winter: (click on photos to enlarge)

Prickly Pear Cactus in Bloom 2010

Prickly Pear Cactus in Bloom 2010

Prickly Pear cactus in Bloom 2010

Beaver Tail Cactus in Bloom 2010

We didn’t get as much rain and snow this winter, and it shows. The cactus blooms are sparse this spring. And it’s a shame, because they’re so pretty. I always look forward to seeing them when the weather warms up. The weather has been so nice, I don’t feel like writing! I just want to go outside and dig in the dirt. I’ve really had to force myself to sit down and concentrate on the novel I’m writing. I’m sure other writers feel the same way.

HAPPY SPRING!

Dawn Pisturino

Copyright 2012 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved. Photos by Dawn Pisturino.

Historic Route 66 – Kingman, Arizona

1926-1948

The Laughlin River Run began Thursday in Laughlin, Nevada. This weekend, thousands of  motorcyclists, tourists, and car enthusiasts will head for the open road, especially Historic Route 66, now known as the Mother Road. At the height of its popularity, Route 66 covered 2,448 miles between Chicago, Illinois and Los Angeles, California. Portions of the road still exist in Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California.

Santa Fe Train Station, Kingman, Arizona

In the 1950s, the glamour of California drew tourists across country along Route 66. Mom-and-pop businesses sprang up all along the road,  giving rise to the first fast-food restaurants and unique styles of architecture. Tourists still travel through northern Arizona to see the Grand Canyon, the Painted Desert, and Meteor Crater. Long stretches of Route 66 have been well-preserved, thanks to the efforts of the Route 66 Association.

Hotel Brunswick, Kingman, Arizona (reputed to be haunted)

Historic Route 66 has been immortalized in a popular hit song and the Route 66 TV show from the 1960s.

Route 66 between Kingman and Oatman, Arizona

The most treacherous portion of Route 66 is between Kingman and Oatman, Arizona. The hairpin turns and narrow road will make you tremble with fear! Imagine escaping the Dust Bowl of the 1930s along this route!

Bonelli House, Kingman, Arizona

The Interstate Highway Act of 1956 led to the decline of the Mother Road, and it was officially declared defunct in 1985. The road has been included in the National Register of Historic Places. Kingman, Arizona hosts an informative Route 66 Museum, and Route 66 memorabilia can be found in the National Museum of American History in Washington, D.C.

Dawn Pisturino

April 27, 2012

Posted on Helmet Hair Motorcycle News, May 2, 2012.

Copyright 2012 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

a pinko commie under every bush

Patty Hearst

Yes! I admit it!

When I was fifteen years old, I read The Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx.

In an era when hordes of university students were toting around copies of Chairman Mao’s Little Red Book, this wasn’t anything unusual.

Who, after all, could ignore these glorious words?

“The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains.

“They have a world to win.

“WORKING MEN OF ALL COUNTRIES, UNITE!“

Can’t you hear the fist-pounding and finger-pointing in those words? Can’t you hear the stampeding hordes and gunfire behind those phrases?

ALL GLORY TO THE REVOLUTION!

We already had the Women’s Liberation Movement, La Raza, the Black Panthers, the Civil Rights Movement, the Gay and Lesbian Movement, Earth Day, peace-loving Hippies, the Free Speech Movement, Timothy Leary, the Sexual Liberation Movement, and the Anti-Vietnam War Movement. Tune out, drop out. Question authority. Don’t trust anyone over 30. If it feels good, do it!!

The anti-establishment revolution. Black is beautiful. All Power to the People!

“The history of all hitherto existing societies is the history of class struggles . . .”

The rich get richer and the poor get poorer,

The government becomes a little bit bolder

And a little bit colder

And you know that we told her it would happen.

The Left of the Right began to struggle with all its might

And decided to declare a revolution.

It’s the only solution to the capitalist institution,

And you know we’ve got to do it for our own evolution.

written spring 1971

a pinko commie under every bush

ring out the old, bring in the new

the clash of two opposing ideas morphs into Hegel’s dialectic

Cold War, a flash of nuclear destruction

and death.

Copyright 2012 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

Spiders — Guardians of the Human Race?!?

“Spider, spider,

You climb so high,

You make your web so high, too.

Spider, spider,

You are a nice friend.

I really like you, too.” — age 8

I grew up in a wild, green place on the banks of the St. Joseph River.

Every spring, the teachers at Washington Township Elementary School crammed our gaping minds with scientific facts about the wonders of nature. On a more romantic level, they portayed spiders as friendly little creatures that ate yucky bugs and protected the human race from deadly disease. Hence the above poem, written in third grade to cement my newfound friendship with the guardians of the human race.

But wait! I hated those creepy, crawly critters lurking in the dark corners of our musty old basement. I hated those clingy, sticky webs hanging like booby traps in the shadows of dank closets, the branches of aging bushes, and the cracks of rotting logs.

What kind of scam were these teachers trying to pull?

My parents terrified me with stories about glossy black widows hatching eggs in the stiff, hairsprayed hairdos of sleeping women. Injected with poisonous venom, these unsuspecting, perfectly-coiffed women never woke up again. What a price to pay for a trip to the beauty parlor!

And the fiddle spider, now known as the brown recluse, became a legendary predator in our household. I never fully understood its deadly attributes until I became a registered nurse and saw for myself the necrotizing wounds that robbed innocent people of their limbs and vital organs.

Friendly spiders? Give me a break. There are good spiders out there, of course, but I avoid ALL spiders at all cost. I guess I’m just funny that way.

Copyright 2012 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.