Category Archives: My Thoughts

Observations From A Phone Book

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I enjoy going to garage sales. These are great places to find deals on such things as music CDs, books, electronic, DVDs, and phone books.

That’s right, I said phone books! I bought a phone directory for a quarter just a few weeks ago. I know! I can hear you saying, “What an idiot! Why would anybody pay even a quarter for a phone book?” But this isn’t just any phone book we’re talking about. This is a genuine March 1965 phone directory for Lansing, Michigan, USA.

This little piece of history offers a glimpse into the past. A walk through the Yellow Pages presents a list of restaurants that no longer exist in my home town, hotels that have disappeared, and service stations that no longer offer full-service care.

What’s really fascinating is finding the address of some long-closed business and matching it up with what exists in that spot today. For instance, the little grocery store (Miller Leland Grocery) that once provided food and other necessities for a North Lansing neighborhood is now a pornography shop. Another grocery store (Shop Rite Super Food Store)—and the entire neighborhood it once supported—is long gone, erased by the highway that now runs through that area.

A stuffy office in which I spent six years working had been a variety store back in 1965. Above the office, what I’d known only as a dark, water-damaged void had been a furnished apartment occupied by the woman who ran the variety store. I know her name was Lula Wint. That’s all the information a phone book will offer.

The night club (The Silver Dollar Saloon) where I spent most of the 1980s drinking and partying to hair metal bands had been an indoor golf facility (Golf-O-Tron) in 1965. There are a few picture of this on a Facebook page dedicated to the now-demolished club.

An interesting observation is in what wasn’t here 49 years ago. There were five McDonald’s carry-out restaurants in the city back then—modern dine-in McDonald’s locations didn’t appear in our area until the early 1970s—but there were no Burger King restaurants. In fact, neither were there Wendy’s or Taco Bell or any other fast food operations (apart from a single Kentucky Fried Chicken). Dominoes and Little Caesar’s Pizza chains both got their start just down the road from Lansing, but neither had opened a kitchen here at that time.

A dip into the residential pages brings a brush of fame to the experience. The father of former NBA superstar Earvin “Magic” Johnson, a Lansing Native, is listed as residing at 814 Middle Street. The budding basketball hall of famer would have been in elementary (primary) school back in 1965.

Infamy lies in there as well. Donald Basinger is listed as living at 6271 Marywood Street. Mr. Basinger would, in December of that year, take a hammer to his wife, two of his children, and the family dog, killing all involved.

March of 1965 was a full two years before my birth. It’s interesting to find my father’s name listed at an address at which I’d never lived (my parents had moved by the time I came along). He and my mother were 19 years old; newlyweds; kids, really, just getting started in life. My older brother hadn’t quite reached his first birthday, and my sister, her entrance into this world was yet a month away.

I lost my father two years ago. I’ve lost each of my grandparents, as well. They’re all in this phone book, listed at addresses I know from my youngest of days on this planet. As are my long-departed great uncles, who owned and operated a small business that once chrome-plated every bumper and every door handle on every Oldsmobile built in this city.

Even the once-mighty Oldsmobile and all of its support businesses are no longer among the living.

It never dawned on me that something so mundane as an old phone book might hold a treasure trove of memories. As a writer, I find inspiration all around me. Finding this simple directory at a garage sale has already inspired several ideas that, with a little nurturing, will one day become short stories or essays—like what I’m writing right here.

So the next time you find an old phone book, pick it up, thumb through its pages, search out the past and bring it into the present. Trust me, you’ll get a kick out of it.

New York Rock-N-Roll

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It’s the mid 1980s, the height of hair-band-heaven. Every stage in every club across the United States sports a band dreaming of becoming the next Quiet Riot, the next Ratt, or maybe even the heirs apparent to the mighty Motley Crue. Most of those would-be rock stars fell well short of the ultimate prize. Lack of talent killed off many of those dreams. Drugs and alcohol took down others—a case of partying like rock stars before ever achieving the actual status.


But those of us old enough to remember wading into the crowded clubs of, say, 1986, remember some of the good ones; those bands that had the talent, wrote their own material, had the look. These were bands that should have made the jump to the big time.

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One band in particular was a four-piece from Rock Hill, South Carolina, called New York. I must have seen these guys a hundred times. I’d seen dozens of really good bands at the Silver Dollar Saloon in Lansing, Michigan, got to know many of the musicians, became supporters of the better ones. But New York had that something else that the others all lacked. When seeing them on stage, you just knew it was only a matter of time until they were snatched away to bigger and better stages. They even recorded a great EP, called Carry The Torch, which featured some truly amazing music. Then came a full-length album, entitled Electric Thunder, that they never released but shopped around for that inevitable record deal. 


And guess what? That record deal actually came. Yeah, a big label came snooping around and decided to give these guys a break. But this was the 1980s, the time of monster record companies dictating all the ins and outs of the rock and roll game. In their infinite wisdom, these boneheads convinced this amazing band to fire their bass player—a founding member—because he didn’t fit the newly imagined image. Enter a new guy. Good bass player but not one of the family. Things deteriorated quickly, the record deal went away, and the guys in New York eventually called it a day. A true shame, indeed. This was a talented band that deserved to be up there with Motley Crue and Warrant and Poison.

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Lead Guitarist Johnny Glover


New York had the music, the look, and the following. But they had something else that’s infinitely greater than what most bands brought to the table. These guys treated their fans like friends—some were even treated like family. Jimmy Ennis, the talented singer-guitarist, gave me and my then-girlfriend a bootleg copy of their unreleased album. I still own a bootleg of that bootleg on cassette (when the girlfriend left, she took the actual tape). I’ve also retained an ancient recording of their EP. This music still holds up today. Their songs are on YouTube, posted by Mr. Ennis. 

The others in this fantastic band included Freddy Foster on bass, Johnny Glover, an incredible lead guitar player, and Michael Constable on drums. There were other amazing drummers to play for New York, like Rikk Haynes, who can be heard banging the skins on the Carry The Torch EP, and Michael Scott Mills, who recorded most of the Electric Thunder album—late Kiss drummer Eric Carr plays on one of the tracks on the album—but it’s Michael Constable that I think of when I recall those wonderful times from so long ago.

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Drummer Michael Constable (w/ wife Valerie)


We were young back then, believing the fun would never stop, those nights would go on just the way they had been. But that could never be. This world doesn’t play by those rules. New York broke up, I’m nearly fifty years old, and the Silver Dollar Saloon closed its doors, the building demolished, and an apartment complex erected on the site. But there are still many fond memories to ponder. 

When I hear New York rock and roll, I can close my eyes and reconstruct that fabled club, those nights buzzed on pitchers of Budweiser and shots of tequila, the smell of my girl’s perfume, the warmth of her body next to mine as we moved across the dance floor. 

So, a big thank you to Jimmy, Johnny, Freddy, and Michael for being a major part of the soundtrack of my life—and the lives of countless others. New * York still ROCKS! Don’t believe me? Just have a listen for yourselves. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFpaSU…http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFzC_b… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZyUSy…http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dz8CRP… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxtD_H…

Encouraging Indie Authors

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We see it in the news from time to time. A fellow indie author strikes it big, with sales entering the six figure realm. We read the numbers and find ourselves renewed with vigor, certain that we, too, can achieve these same heights of publishing glory.

Then, six months later, reality sets in and we’re still mired in the no-sales or low-sales blues!

What can we learn from those who have achieved the success that we all crave so much for ourselves? More to the point: What aren’t we doing that these others have discovered?

I recently read one such article in my local newspaper. The story highlighted indie author Mara Jacobs, who, after ten years of treading the path toward traditional publishing, with little success, opted to for the self-publisher route. Mara’s case is all too familiar to many of us in the indie world. But that’s where all similarities to the majority of indie authors end.

Mara Jacobs is a bona fide New York Times bestseller. I don’t mean she found her name or book attached to some obscure list; Jacobs’s first three e-books sold enough copies to allow her to quit her very lucrative job at a local company in order to write full time. She also purchased a second home in Las Vegas. One of her e-books has nearly a million downloads.

Another indie author, named Rick Murcer, is enjoying similar success, seeing his novel Carribbean Moon and others in his mystery series top 800,000 in sales.

In all fairness to the rest of us self-published authors, these two cases are far from typical. A survey by Digital Book World discovered that less than 1 percent of indie authors earned more than $200,000. The typical income tended toward $5000. Nineteen percent of self-pubbers reported no income at all.

The fact is, most of us struggle where sales are concerned. As indie authors, we are afforded greater control of our work. We have the last word on pretty much every aspect of our work, from start to finish. But this also means we’re usually the sole marketing arm for the project. If we lack social media skills, our ship may sink in lonely waters.

So again I ask: What aren’t we doing that these successful authors have done? I couldn’t tell you. Neither author shared any marketing info in the article. Yet, we can still take comfort in knowing that the indie way is gaining ground and respect among the traditional publishers. We’re no longer the silly little step-child with delusions of grandeur. These few and abnormal peaks of indie success should offer the rest of us hope for our own work.

I write for fun and out of need. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love the opportunity to do this for a living. A comfortable living! That day may come. Though I might find myself in fits of frustration from time to time, I am not discouraged. Any one of us could easily become the next a sales anomaly. To settle for any lesser ideas about what is truly possible is to short-change ourselves and our industry.

Let’s continue to push forward in our endeavors as published authors. Where we’ve stumbled upon that certain trail of bread crumbs leading to a few extra sales, let’s share this information with our fellow indie writers. One person can’t carry the torch; this is a group effort.

Connecting With Readers

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As writers, most of us are thrilled to read reviews of our work posted on sites like Amazon and Koobug. Unsolicited, these words can spur sales of our books. They can also let us know where we lack in this craft we’ve chosen.

Then there are those messages that are of the personal nature, not intended for anybody but the author. I receive these every so often in the message box of my Goodreads account. These come from readers who were touched by something I’ve written or were reminded of some lost memory stirred back into their conscience by one of my short stories.

“Thanks for the message in your story,” they may write. “It brought back an event from my younger days—an event I’d long forgotten.” We never truly forget, though. It may slip from our thoughts but it’s always there, tucked away until the moment it’s challenged to reappear.

The thing is, I don’t set out to weave messages or lessons into my work. I write to entertain. But even so, messages appear. I believe these are out of our hands. Our egos tell us we are just creating. But there is somebody somewhere who has experienced what we’ve written.

I recently wrote a short story called Remaining Ruth, in which a teenaged girl cuts herself with a razor blade, in the privacy of her bathroom, just to have that one thing her parents can’t take away from her.

The messages were almost immediate: “I, too, was a cutter.” “I knew a girl just like Ruth.” “I didn’t cut myself but I did develop an eating disorder.”  “My sister did this for years.” This particular story touched a nerve with so many readers, though that wasn’t my intention.

My novel, Jazz Baby, has prompted many such comments as well. Talk centers around the race relations within the story; Emily’s sexuality; the struggles Emily faced to achieve her dreams; women’s rights issues. I was asked by one reader why I chose to not use the N-word in the story—after all, it is set in 1925 Mississippi and New Orleans. The truth of the matter is: that wasn’t a conscious decision. I hadn’t even really thought of it until the reader brought it up. I suppose there may have been a desire to avoid the stereotypical racist clichés. The very real racism of the deep south of early twentieth-century America is indeed present within the story; I just found more creative ways to express it without resorting to what’s been written a million times in a million other stories.

And somebody found a message in that unintentional deletion.

Not every message need be heavy, either. After I wrote an essay about a childhood incident entitled Bigfoot Was My Father, I received many wonderful stories from readers wanting to share some silly moment their own fathers provided. I am honored and humbled that so many people consider me worthy of their memories.

As authors, we create worlds and characters that wouldn’t exist without us. It’s what we do. We convince ourselves of a story’s originality, of its uniqueness. But there will always be somebody somewhere who will be reminded of a long lost moment in time. It may not be spelled out in exact detail, but it’s there. It may be the metaphor you used to describe the loss of a loved one or the silly joke your main character’s love interest tells while trying to woo the girl. It will remind somebody of something. And that’s a blessing. It means you’ve written a piece in which others find a connection. It means your story matters to another human being.

There’s a verse in the Bible that says: There is nothing new under the sun; that which has been will happen again.

I believe that. We just tell it in our own personal way.

The Chicken or the Egg? A Writer’s Dilemma.

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What comes first: the title or the story? Until recently I figured this to be a silly question. You know, a rhetorical thing meant to mock the foolish. Of course the story comes first, Goofus! Nobody writes a story based on a title.

Or do they?

I discovered recently that there are authors who do indeed come up with a title first, adding the story afterward. I happened to be snooping around in a writers’ chat room the other day; you know, one of those internet sites where people group together to discuss whatever may be the topic. Anyway, the question was asked: When do you come up with the title, before or after the story is written?

Okay, so call me old fashioned. I’ve always written the story before deciding on a title. It just makes sense to me. I write a story, get the rewrites out of the way, develop a feel for the content, and decide on what to call the work. I’ve never considered starting with a title and crafting a tale according to it. That very idea seems so foreign to my way of thinking.

But here’s the kicker: nearly half of those commenting on that thread claim to start with a title first. How does this work? I mean, do these authors sit around dreaming up titles to turn into stories? I can see this as a practical means in the case of a low-budget film.

“Hey Bob,” Danny said, speaking over the drone of silliness filling the room. “I have a great idea for a movie called Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.” The title is self-explanatory. There’s little need to plot out something so ridiculous. Just write the script and surely somebody in Hollywood will green light the project.

Books and short stories are different, though. Novels take time in plotting, outlining, and writing. Certainly the title wouldn’t reveal itself until everything is in place, right?

The title for my debut novel Jazz Baby didn’t come about until the week I sent the manuscript to the publisher. Even then it came down to a pair of titles—the loser being the moniker In the Time of Jazz.

The way I see it, until the story is written, nobody, not even the author, fully realizes the personality of the work. Once the story is finished, the plot and all those characters—the story’s personality—shines through, giving the author a clear understanding of what the story is truly about. This is why so many people get nicknames in life. Personality traits that weren’t recognizable at birth take time to show up.

But the thing is, starting with the title apparently works for some authors. So who am I to disparage another writer’s means to an end? Just write. That’s what we authors do, isn’t it? It’s the end result that counts.

And just for the record, the title of my work-in-progress, The Secret Collector, came about at the fifth chapter. Certainly not the beginning, sure, but not the end either.

Just write. A productive writer is a happy writer.

Keith Richards and the Kiddies

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So Keith Richards is writing books for the kiddies now, huh? Well, he’s certainly not writing for your kids or mine. No. Keith is writing for his own daughter. But he’s not penning a book to read to his child. Mr. Richards is helping his daughter write a book. That’s right, a rock-n-roll guitarist is now a children’s author.

Or is he?

Some might say Mr. Richards is merely lending his globally famous name to a project undertaken by his own child. This would allow the young lady to bypass all of the struggles many of us in the real world face daily while trying to promote our hard work to the public. Enter Keith Richards; his daughter’s work is now immediately known across the globe—even before it hits the bookshelves.

The ink of the indie author is his/her blood, sweat, and tears. We’re all still paying our dues in this effort to reach readers.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a huge Rolling Stones fan. Keith is an amazing guitarist and a brilliant songwriter. His memoir “Life” is one of my all-time favorite reads—because of the content, not his writing skills. (Even this book he’s “writing” with his illustrator daughter is being co-written by two other authors.)

Imagine if, when the Rolling Stones were a band of young upstarts, while playing clubs across the U.K., honing their chops and building a following, another band came along and took a recording contract that could have gone to the Stones. Now imagine this other band had never played a club gig but rather secured their record deal simply because one member’s father was a famous record producer or movie star. Struggling musicians everywhere would have certainly taken offense with these usurpers.

Perhaps Keith’s daughter is a gem of a writer just waiting to be discovered. Then again, maybe she’s truly awful! Either way, let her work stand or fall on its own merits. To attach a world famous name to this project takes away all of the struggle. Struggle builds character.

I’m reminded of an actor named Nicholas Coppola, nephew of legendary director Francis Ford Coppola. Young Nicholas had a bit part in the 1982 film “Fast Times at Ridgemont High.” Much of his performance ended up on the cutting room floor—this despite his family connection. The thing is, everybody in Hollywood knows the Coppola name. That’s all anybody ever wanted to talk about when the struggling actor showed up for auditions. So Nicholas, wanting to forge his own career, changed his name…to Nicholas Cage.

When a person rides the name and fame of another person, the work is usually diminished in the eyes of many. Do your daughter a favor, Keith, let her sink or swim on her own. If she’s a woman of character and talent, she’ll thank you for trusting in her abilities.

Proud To Be Indie

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What would make a writer forego the traditional road to publication? Why would an author entrust his/her hard-fought creation to the Great Unknown that is the indie publishing industry? The answer, if we’re honest with ourselves, is because indie is the only ones who will have most of us at this point.

The above statement is in no way a reflection on the quality of the works being created by indie authors across the globe. I’ve read many self-published writers that seriously rival traditionally published authors.

The problem is with the middlemen. I’m talking about the agents and publishers who anoint themselves the all-knowing gods of the written word. Agents turn down most manuscripts that cross their desks. They cite this reason or that, making claims that nobody is interested in your sort of story. Maybe if your switch the characters, make them vampires or warlocks, just maybe there might be interest.

An agent is a catch basin for the big publishing houses. The agent will stop any and all garbage from slipping through the cracks. So the agent is the one who holds all the power within the publishing machinery. An author can create a true masterpiece that will never find its audience simply because some agent in a stuffy office has deemed the work unworthy of being sent to a publisher.

Publishers are worse than agents; they won’t even accept your manuscript without agent representation. Why? Well, because these publishers know exactly what readers everywhere want to read (or so they believe). Besides that, they don’t want to be bogged down by piles of pages from hopeful authors looking to be the next big thing, the latest shining discovery of the literary establishment.

But in the words of Bob Dylan: Oh, the times, they are a-changin’. Writers are no longer beholden to the whims of a fickle publishing industry. The need to court the trend setters and decision makers no longer applies to us writers. There are numerous outlets available, each allowing us a reach into the worldwide marketplace. Sure, it may lack the prestige of signing a contract or being able to tell anybody who’ll listen that you’ve got an agent. But keep this in mind: You own your work. You reap the lion’s share of the royalties—which is fantastic if you’re fortunate enough to sell a few thousand copies. Most importantly, you are a published author with a product that’s available to the world, right alongside Stephen King and James Patterson.

Unfortunately, there isn’t a catch basin in the indie world, which means garbage seeps through, tainting the market with its toxic odor. A reader must wade through piles of poorly written tripe in order to discover the gems that most assuredly lie just beneath the surface.

So here’s the question each writer must answer for him- or herself: Are you writing for prestige or are you writing to be read? If the prestige of an agent and a major publisher drives you, then, by all means, hold out for that prize. It might take a while, sure, but there’s also the possibility it may never happen. However, if being read by those who appreciate a good story is your true motivation, then self-publishing in the indie world just might be right for you.

Why Do We Write?

Why do we write? It’s a simple enough question. The answer, well, that’s not quite as cut and dried. Every writer has his or her own reason for putting pen to paper in an effort to entertain, educate, or just let off a little steam.

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I’ve been writing since about the age of eight. It’s just something I’ve always enjoyed. My motivations have changed over the years. Early on I wrote with the notion that I’d be the only one reading my work. I’d put down on paper some grand idea I’d find wandering through my head, an event from the day, or maybe a song or a poem. There has always been a need for me to create with word combinations belonging only to me.

In my teen years, for the first time, I wrote knowing that others would read my words. These writings took the form of record and concert reviews published in my high school’s newspaper. I went to a large school, with a student body of nearly 2500 members. People began to give me feedback, advice, compliments. I absorbed it all like a sponge. I felt a calling on my life; a calling to write.

To this day I am not able to make a living with this craft. And that’s fine; I didn’t take up my pen for financial gain. If and when it comes, that will be the clichéd icing on the proverbial cake!

I still enjoy writing. Whether it’s a novel, short stories, book reviews, or blog articles—like this one here—writing is my passion. I also find pleasure in writing communications to friends; letters that I’ll compose using pen and paper, stamp and envelope. I just don’t write every day the way I once did. Mood is my major motivating factor these days. Do I feel like writing something today? If I do, what form will it take? That’s just me, though.

Some writers must create each every day. Many even establish a daily word count. The day is a complete loss if they’ve not sprinkled a thousand words across their keyboard. It’s all selective depending on the individual.

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Ann Frank needed to write. This girl’s existence consisted inside four walls of a silent room that became her family’s prison for many years. She wrote every day, detailing a life most human beings could never imagine. Writing is all Ann Frank had to keep her connected to the world—as dark as her world became.

Harper Lee didn’t need to write. Oh, sure, early on she wrote short stories, essays, and articles. But then she wrote a novel called To Kill A Mockingbird and basically walked away from the craft. Her sister claims the author knew she’d never again approach the level of success Mockingbird achieved—no matter the caliber of book number two. So why bother? Rumor has it there’s an incomplete book with the Harper Lee name attached to it. We’ll probably never have a chance to read it, though.

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J. D. Salinger, though he ceased publishing his work after the mid-1960s, continued to write, taking a few hours each and every morning, creating stories only he had opportunity to enjoy. Upon his death, it was revealed that several of Salinger’s unreleased manuscripts would be published. The man loved writing but hated the attention his work drew from across the world.

Some people have never written anything outside of personal letters to friends and family. That doesn’t make them any less a writer than those with books or short stories on their resumes.

Everybody has their own reasons for writing—regardless if they publish or not.

Why do I write? I write because I have a passion to write—just not every day.

Why do you write?

Daily Word Counts

I see it on many sites, in chat rooms, and posted on message boards all across the internet: Authors boasting of daily word counts. “I force myself to write at least a thousand words per day,” one claims. Another swears by two thousand words per day—even if the mood has all but vanished! Other writers attempt something within reach, like perhaps a daily word count closer to two hundred—no need in pushing too hard.

Word counts are fine for motivational purposes. I have no problem with daily a limit—so long as it inspires.

But inspiration is often the casualty of daily word counts. Just because an author has forced him- or herself to post two thousand words on Microsoft Word doesn’t mean all of those words are worth another person’s time (or money) in reading.

I speak from experience. I, long ago, had placed a daily count on my writing. I decided that if I had any real hope of being a legitimate author, I needed to complete at least five pages of text each day—whether I felt up to the challenge or not. As a result, I ended up wasting time, effort, and paper. (Yeah, I wrote all of my original work on paper until just the last couple of years.) I’d spend hours pouring “great” ideas onto paper, certain that my first novel was writing itself. Of course, later in the day, just before bedtime, I’d snatch up the day’s five pages and have a proofread. Horror would fill my blood, polluting my sense of being an author, as I’d read awful tripe I’d been proud of only hours earlier. Don’t get me wrong; this wasn’t a daily occurrence. Terror would only strike on those days I wasn’t motivated to write—those forced moments of “creativity!”

Any author will tell you that creativity can’t be forced. I learned years ago that if I am not motivated to write at any particular time, then there’s no sense in going through the motions. It took many years to comprehend this situation. My ego and my confidence took a serious beating during those moments of forced writing. I’d read that garbage and become convinced I would never write anything worth reading. I mean, if I couldn’t stomach my own writing, how could I expect intelligent readers to part with their hard earned money in purchasing my work?

But here’s the thing: Word counts actually work for some people. There are writers out there who, the moment they sit down to create, find immediate inspiration. I’m just not one of them. And neither are many other authors. So don’t feel pressured to write just for the sake of writing. Don’t get sucked into the notion that just because a favorite author demands two thousand words a day from himself that you have to match that count. Quality is always better than quantity.

Happy writing! file0001372359562

Twitter As A Marketing Tool

Marketing in this modern world of indie publishing has afforded authors a wide array of options. Among these choices are blogs, Facebook, Google+, and LinkedIn. I personally prefer Twitter. Twitter allows for quick messages and immediate feedback. With generous retweets, the audience potential is virtually unlimited.

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On Twitter, I’m known as @voiceofindie (though I’ve recently added @BeemWeeks). Those who follow me know this account isn’t just a self-promoting entity. I promote the work of others more so than my own. Writers, bloggers, musicians, artists, and photographers often benefit from shout-outs and retweets. But I don’t do this expecting retweets of my own stuff. I do this for one simple reason: A stronger indie movement is good for everyone treading this platform.

When we indie writers, musicians, and artists work together, we strengthen an up-and-coming industry. This tells the mainstream: Hey, we can do this without you. It lets the world know we exist, that our work is of the highest quality, and we’re only gaining in power.

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I’ve discovered many new and talented writers through this process. I’ve also been turned on to great music from some seriously amazing musicians. Bands like Argentinian rockers Amoenus and Nashville-based The Bloody Nerve are reaching the world with music that, in most cases, sounds far superior to the auto-tuned nonsense seeping from the major labels these days.

@voiceofindie is growing each day. The only drawback is that I may not be able to get to every retweet every day. There are just so many wonderful participants involved in my little experiment. And that’s exactly what it is: an experiment. I set out to see if creative sorts from across the world would come together in the twitterverse to share what they’re reading or writing or listening to or recording. And it’s working. So why not join in and support indie! Tweet for tweet is the cheapest way to spread the word.