As with birdwatching, so it is with authors.  Oh, I've seen Stephen King stepping into his big black SUV at the Publix, but most writers are drab birds, well camouflaged and not terribly showy in the wild. 

Until they gather in flocks. ​

When USF used to host the Suncoast Writers Conference, it was a bit of amusement for my sister and me to play "Spot the Oddity."

For instance, the guy in the brown wool cloak and Gandalf staff? On a hot Florida afternoon, btw. Def a fantasy novelist.
10 points to Gryffindor!

Oh, and that lady with the Crocodile Dundee hat who thrust a photo at Connie May Fowler in the signing line. Connie May, a charming and delicate woman, looking up at the Dundeehatter with a look of horror. "It's the trailer park where you grew up!" the woman said. Then she added, in case we had doubts, "I'm a writer too!"

I went to a reading in maybe 2013 where the poet—lovely writing, by the way—was sporting a leather jacket and lace spats (like Madonna circa "Lucky Star"), but NOT ironically...  We listen, and we DON——oh, I do so judge.

Mostly, even as I judge, I'm curious about why. Perhaps the choice is driven by the panicked thought of so many watching eyes, when many writers spend their days deep, deep within the safe snail-shell of their skulls.  

PS: If you're in Gainesville, swing by the Sunshine State Book Festival. It's excellent people-watching. I'll be there, trying to sell some books and meet up with my flock.  

​https://guides.fscj.edu/writers/ConnieMayFowler
​https://writersalliance.org/event/2025-sunshine-state-book-festival/

​​

It's quite possible to use a pencil and a pack of cocktail napkins to write a novel. Allen Ginsberg famously used toilet paper when writing "Poem from Jail." 

Bruce Chatwin is a Moleskine notebook fancier, while William Carlos Williams used the backs of envelopes. (Don't get me started on WCW and his poems. Not a fan.)

Between interruptions, Jane Austen filled thin cream paper to the edges using a quill pen and oak-gall ink. Marilynne Robinson's first drafts are in ball-point in college-ruled spiral notebooks. 

Not putting myself into that elevated league, but I prefer the smooth slide of graphite across paper when emptying my bony cauldron of thoughts.

When it comes time to organize these pencilings, I use my laptop and Scrivener, a word-processing/organizational software that has a bunch of helpful tricks not available to cocktail napkins.  

With Scrivener, ​I can make chapters and then shuffle them around without the sort of cut-and-paste formatting consequence that can drive a person to drink.

Scrivener gives me a list of chapters so I can navigate quickly—plus it builds in handy spots to stow research and background material.  I'll pop an interesting phrase or scene into "Extra words," or take notes on a character in the section "Characters,"  or add a cool website to Notes.

Scrivener also composes a de facto outline of the story as it gets written, which can prove handy if—ahem—a person neither plans nor outlines her story ahead of time.  

Of course I could make a nested folder of Word files.

I could also improvise finger-paint in the style of the Marquis de Sade. ​

But the lingua franca for the industry, and what my editor uses is Microsoft Word.  

So the time comes when one must bid a fond adieu to clever and kindly Scrivener. Instead, I wince under the brutal overhead light of Word.  A software that does count up my words on this project, along with offering the odd bone-headed grammar suggestion and—IRONY!—refusing to accept the existence of new words.

Sidebar: Even now, in 2024, editing and proofreading seem to come easier for me on paper: not for the use of a colorful pen and the elegant symbols of the copyeditor, there's science that suggests we slow down and read more carefully when it's on paper.  Which tracks for me.

Science behind the paper v. screen rivalry
https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC7510370/

​This study on the same topic has some flaws, and is focused on non-fiction and study, but it's interesting:
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1747938X18300101?via%3Dihub

And yes, for those of you dear readers following along: a morning spent on Pass-A-Grille—that generational home-beach— brought the name for this second book a little bit closer.  

I circle it like a moth hoping to touch flame.

​That faint tang of singed Lepidoptera? Impending good news. 

I'm both wracked with doubt about the current project and also passionately loving it, which seems to be the writerly condition in a nutshell.

​That cognitive dissonance of huge self-confidence (it's brilliant! I really got it this time!) pairs well with a deep, DEEP anxiety about how the project will appear to other people (ain't nobody, no how, no where, EVER gonna like this steaming hot mess I have created).

But, as with so many worries in this world, one must look away from the void and carry on. So while the project is getting edited (squeee! it's with the editor!), it's time to move on to book design.

This is a fairy-tale inspired short novel. Think The Last Unicorn, Greenwillow, The Princess Bride, Thomas the Rhymer by Ellen Kushner. All of which one can judge by the cover...

On She Taught Me Everything, I calibrated the book interior design from the cover. I commissioned an artist to make the cover and then coordinated the font and spacing to that and the general literary genre.  As someone described the job of book design, "You want your book to stand out, but not too much."

Overall, I want this new creation to feel pretty—bougie even—intriguing, consciously a touch old-fashioned. I do NOT want readers to expect a spicy-romantasy (be still my beating loins!), even though it's about true love. 

Look how a font sets the stage, even with place-holder Latin instead of content for the chapter:

That first, swirly font tells me to expect either a breezy self-help book or, possibly, a romance set in some retail world. So no.

And the second, hmmm, maybe a gritty speculative fiction? Something urban? Also no.

The chapters in novel #2 have text titles, not just numbers (see also "consciously old-fashioned"), which affords a chance to make the chapter openings a little extra.  

I am not a designer, but I do have opinions. Here's a chaotic look at how I'm shopping fonts:

The choice really sets the stage, I think.

Plus, get this, turns out it's the work of a few keystrokes to insert a bit of graphic art into a wordy document. Which translates into interesting chapter openings!—at least for the paperback book version. The ebooks, well, it's more of a hit-and-miss situation for artwork.

We'll cross that bridge when we get there.

First steps:

Nothing is set in stone, but I am liking this experiment so far.  

Like a Balrog, the thought reaches me from the void: But What About That Title?

Sigh.  Yes.
​It's still between titles. I'll be going to the beach to think about it soon.

It's been quite a year: humbling to start in the position of hoping that somebody–anyone? Beuller? Beuller?—would read my book.  

​And then the intense gratification as people (strangers!) have read it, reacted to it, talked about it, and asked me exactly the kinds of questions I love love LOVE to answer.

And to top it off, surprise presents, wrapped up in a bow: the book won a thing!

Two things!

​Contests!
​
​Oooh la la! Wheeeee! Awards! Prizes! ​ 

Not that contests are all that...(she said with a weary sigh)

One sad truth about publishing: EVERYBODY puts a hand out.  Some of those outstretched hands are dipping boldly into pockets, like raccoons in quest of graham crackers. 

Publishing's an industry built on dreams–naturally, opportunities abound for exploitation. And there are contests and contests: some are designed to highlight excellence and broadcast the news, others are designed to extract fees and stroke egos.

I can't claim to be immune; my pockets are overspilling with graham crackers. 

​Sometimes one learns best from uncomfortable mistakes, right?

To determine whether a contest is legit. It's not rocket magic.

It's the same process with which we should approach any transactional relationship: due diligence and dial the BS detector to "zero tolerance."

Each writing contest and award offers a value proposition: at the heart, the contest gives writers the opportunity to be read by a judge (ooh! one reader at a time!), the chance at wider readership (appealing beyond words), and possible bragging rights (world-famous even if a tiny world!), often in the form of a sticker to slap on the cover of the book.

An award has some value to me as creature made of vanity, but does it have value to my customers? Maybe.

I read a whole slew of Newbery Award winners one summer. I know book clubs that selected only Nebula Award winners or Booker Prize books, so that's something.  On the other hand, I bought a "Reader's Independent Something or Another Award" book recently because of the shiny sticker, and tbh, it was pretty awful. 

But THESE prizes, the ones my book brought home? THEY are not that.

​Both contests rate well among watchdog groups, and one is cutting me a check for $1000. Big time, baby!

I won the quarterfinal round of the annual Booklife Prize.  Booklife is the self-publishing arm of Publishers Weekly magazine.

They give you a nifty little electronic image for promotional purposes. 

I think a quarter-win is still a win. Plus I'll be quoting their critic's report on my various retail product pages. ​

And—drumroll please—I earned a nice fat check for $1000 and the top spot in the Writer's Digest Annual 32nd Annual Self-Published Book Award in the Literary/Mainstream Fiction division.  

This contest has been around for 30+ years, and is generally known for providing a chunk of useful feedback to entrants. 

​She Taught Me Everything is still in competition for the grand prize from Writer's Digest, which earns another nice purse and the cover of the magazine (with 40K paid subscriptions).  We'll cross fingers for that one.

Meanwhile, $1000 will purchase a lovely cover for novel #2.

References
One list of contests from Reedsy:
https://blog.reedsy.com/writing-contests/

This list of contests from Poet's Weekly:
https://www.pw.org/grants

A blog about fake contests
https://writerbeware.blog/2019/04/26/awards-profiteers-how-writers-can-recognize-them-and-why-they-should-avoid-them/

​A watchdog list of contests: https://selfpublishingadvice.org/author-awards-contests-rated-reviewed/

The website for Writer's Digest's contest
https://www.writersdigest.com/writers-digest-competitions/self-published-book-awards

My BookLife Contest Critic's Report around here
​https://booklife.com/prize/9/category/11/1

Where was I going with this?

​Oh, yeah. Promo Monday.  

For a few years now, I've aimed at limiting promotion activities to a predetermined chunk of time. Like a kid getting a set number of minutes with their video game. (A game that is both addictive and designed to keep your attention engaged—to the exclusion of sleep and food. Just ask author Johann Hari.)

Monday mornings might find me watching a YouTube video  from another independent publisher on what is working, or checking my website for optimization. But what's been most difficult — and most vital! — is figuring out what I am promoting.

Let me step back to take a long swing at this: back when I first went away to college, I shared a dorm suite. Two girls in each room on either side of a shared bath. One of our suite-mates was a self-absorbed full-blare yacketty yakker. Through the popcorn textured walls, her voice would drone on and on: "I moimel moimel ME, moimel moimel, I, moimel moimel MY."

It was a solid early lesson on the distinction between what feels important to one person and what SOUNDS like a dental drill to another.

Even if Lifted Board Press had a blockbuster budget to promote She Taught Me Everything, you know how it goes: you see an exciting movie trailer four times, then one of your buddies goes, "Oh hells no, that crap cost me 1 hour and 47 minutes I'll never get back."

Personal opinions just weigh more.

​With a tiny media budget, I rely on friends. On Facebook, for instance, what's going on with the writing gets a lot of air-time, but I don't want to be that girl, broadcasting day and night in stereo.

Likewise Instagram, a platform that my artist sister suggested. Less politics, more pretty pictures, she promised. Turns out I have a weakness for funny reels—which absolutely does NOT help my focus. 

I try to post, but not be spammy.

It's a reasonable-enough marketing motto, right? Be Not Spammy.°
​
Honestly, it's a low bar. Not that anyone is born knowing how to do this stuff, and it sometimes does seem like yelling louder is a strategy. Ask any toddler. 

But no, a quick précis (by way of a couple of seminars and a dive into the beautifully open world of YouTube creators) zeroes in on the dang point of social promotion: giving value for anybody's attention. In other words, listen up and it's gonna be good. 

Easy on the Spam. I might adopt a personal code of arms of non-maleficence, thanks in part to sweet Ms. Larson, my Latin teacher:  Non esse servavit porcos.

I ventured to the clock to play on TikTok for a bit. Overall, I enjoyed engaging with other writers (Golden Angel! Oh my!), even though it felt like exposure therapy to see and hear myself on the tiny screen.

So instead of serving up seasoned pork, how about some opinion, theory, facts?  The value I offered: opinions about books.  

After a couple of months, it was clear, however, that whatever new readers TikTok sent my way, and regardless of the community spirit, the time-drain and brain-drain was not worthwhile.  

In July, a Monday whim and a detour sent me to Pinterest, a site I associate with designing a cabin or finding out how to fold fancy paper stars. It allows you to save ideas onto various "boards," which appeals to the organized creature I long to be.

Turns out Pinterest is a kind of a social media anomaly: instead of yelling into the void and having a day or two to make an impression, this social content sticks around. Pinterest provides something like an endless reading room, full of beautiful images and content that endures. And the best part for my selfish needs? Readers hang out here too! 

With advice from various Pinterest gurus (discovered via Pinterest. I have them pinned on my "Self-Publishing Lessons" board. Naturally.), I set up an account for myself as Author Amy Smith Linton and began to curate. It did not cost a dime, though I spent time making pretty pictures.

Two months into the experiment (it's all experimental!), I give Pinterest a few hours a week, and get kind of a lot of traffic in return.

By my standards a lot: two thousand views the first month, six thousand last month. Do these numbers translate into sales? Modestly, possibly, yes. I can't tell for sure, since I cannot quiz the individual book-buyers, but there's an uptick. And that's gratifying.

Daunting, but gratifying. 

And on we plow, making our furrow as we go...

°Why not "Don't Be Spammy"? Because, though I haven't found the source for this data, the rule I remember is: when attempting to effect social change, it's far more effective to suggest what to do rather than what NOT to do. For example "Bin Your Trash" works better than, "Don't Be A Gross Litterbug."  
 
References
https://www.addictioncenter.com/behavioral-addictions/social-media-addiction/#:~:text=Social%20media%20addiction%20is%20a,impairs%20other%20important%20life%20areas.

https://www.goldenangelromance.com/

https://www.pinterest.com/liftedboardpressllc/

​https://www.tiktok.com/@creativelyflailing?lang=en
​

But truly, I was NOT lurking. A pair of young women drifted past the table of stacked books, and one, Rachel, picked up my book.

"Squeee! You just picked up my book!" I said.
"Wha?" she said, not yet fully alarmed by my obvious excitement.
"Look on the back!"
She flipped the book over and compared the author photo with my face. "It's you," she said.
"I know!" I said, then, because emotions: "I've got goosebumps!"
"I picked it up because of the cover."
"It's beautiful," I agreed, without the slightest self-consciousness.
"And it's about sisters!"
Were they sisters, I asked, indicating Rachel and her book-browsing friend.
"No. But we both have sisters." Rachel gave me a shrewd look and added, "Is this inspired by a real sister?"
"Yes," I said, truthfully. "But my charismatic older sister is much nicer than that one."
"Oooh," Rachel said. "I'm a charismatic older sister."

And that, gentle reader, is how I accidentally strong-armed an unsuspecting passer-by into purchasing a copy, as well as how I ended up signing a short stack of books at the Barnes & Noble bookstore this afternoon.

Thank you https://www.facebook.com/bntampafl Barnes & Noble South Tampa. And thank you, Rachel! 

In other authorial news, I was invited to map the settings for She Taught Me Everything into a nifty little app called Squirl.  
Squirl is designed to help users, as its tagline announces "Discover the places described in books."

You can visualize where a book is set. So, is Brooklyn Heights your hometown? What snippet from the book did this author choose to go with the pin on the map for Brooklyn Heights?   

You can check the map for books set in any given place—a special treat for bookish folk: to see the locations we've read about.  Or, if you're built this way, it's a way to pre-view spots before visiting by finding books to read that are set in a specific spot.

I love this idea, and hope other authors and their publicity departments will pile on!

Thanks ​https://squirl.co/

"Mathy Math, Math-Math."  That's how one of my friends hears any discussion of numbers: "Mathy-mathetty-math-math."

But even the most innumerate of us have landmark numbers.  These are the numbers that maybe we learned to count by (5-10-15-20, for instance) or numbers that just feel less challenging to keep in mind (100 vs 97, or a dozen vs 13).

I'm approaching a landmark number as an author—a fact that is truly of interest to nobody but me. Has that yet stopped me from writing about anything? No.
​

During my feverish rush last year to get current in my understanding of modern publishing, I gathered some depressing facts. About half of the US population does't read even a single book a year. Not a surprise, but oh! poor creatures!

Also, most books will sell less than 300 copies in the US (1000 copies factoring in all formats across the world). Not just in the first year, btw, but ever.  So if, let's say, you just so happened to be pouring your life-force into the creation of a book, this base truth is helpful for framing one's expectations.

Joyfully for me, I have at least 300 friends kind enough to buy my book. I am grateful for each one. It's a deep thrill every time someone tells me they have read it.

Which brings us to the wonderful-to-me landmark number: 1000.  On Goodreads.com, a website helps 150 million readers track and rate books, She Taught Me Everything is inching closer and closer to the 1000 mark.  

​Meaning that nearly 1000 readers on that site—mostly strangers! people who love to read and who judge by covers!—have either already read or plan to read the book. 
​

They might be getting it from the library (ooh! If you use the library, consider requesting STME), or from a bookstore, iTunes or Kobo, Barnes & Noble or Amazon...

But 1000. Whatever expectations I had six months ago, this number feels a lot bigger than 999. ​

​Oh how I ache to work in a reference to the soccer fans' chant about Roy Kent! 

Consumer ratings are here, are there, are every-something-where for some really good reasons.

It's hard to trust the internet.
I know, reeeeeealy?

Most of us wonder is it advertising, is it paid placement, or is it plain old fakery?  One way around the uncertainty is to get word-of-mouth recommendations, yet in this marvelous part of the 21st C, that takes time. 

So we turn to the social part of media: we check who recommends any given item—and we look at customer feedback before plunking down our cash or time.

How often has the phrase "worked great for about a week" convinced us to select some other Amazon gadget?
 
Speaking of the 'Zon, shall we walk through how to do customer feedback on the world's largest retailer for a book?

Start by finding the book listing on Amazon. Scroll down the page to "write a customer review."
​
​Pick a number of stars. Skip over the headline part for now.

The feedback can feel hard. Stuck for words? Think about the Who, What, How, Why, of the story:
 
Who did you like or dislike in the characters?  (For Moby-Dick, "I liked Ahab, he was poetic and strange.")

What kind of story was it–sad, humorous, romantic, spicy––and did you enjoy that? ("The story was one long whale chase on the high seas. There was a lot of belly-aching, which I could do without, tbh.")

How did the book unfold, how was it told, how did it make you feel? ("Moby-Dick has beautiful descriptions of a lost way of life, which I really appreciated. The obsessive captain was so emotional I was kind of tired just reading it.")

and Why or not you recommend. ("This book is a classic, and it's hard to read, but in the end I felt like I really accomplished something.")

If you didn't finish the book, say why. ("My own white whale showed up.")

The only do-not? Don't mention or imply a connection to the author. Amazon doesn't want someone's mom stuffing the ballot box...

Finally, send a flare up for readers who might like the product. ("This is good for fans of seafaring adventures or anyone working on their vocab.")

Then go back to pick a headline ("Vocab on the high seas")

Press the "submit" button and voilá! you have provided insight for readers, writers, and publishers. You rule.

Pro tip: you don't need to buy the book from Amazon to share your opinion about it. Yep. You can go in and share your opinion regardless. 

Same with other retailers like KOBO and Barnes & Noble... those links can be seen here, btw.
www.amysmithlinton.com/get-a-book.html

Even if you didn't enjoy it at all, don't be shy. It's helpful for other readers to know that someone else has given the book a try and has had an honest reaction.  

Cheers!

One of the funny things about publishing is that nearly everyone involved—from writers themselves, to editors, sales people, service providers, web designers, readers—has an interest in words. (I promise you, this statement is not reductive.)

For example, I use an internet service that helps me keep track of where and when I send stories into the world. The service, duotrope.com, also tells me about sketchy markets to avoid, contests that might appeal to me, and publications that might match my story.   It's a nifty tool, especially if you are submitting a lot of stories to a lot of publications.

But to my wordy point: let me share this little gem from Duotrope:

This is a partial screen grab from a story submitted somewhere in 2020, and which I just recently updated as "Never Responded."  This is a LOT less uncommon than you'd think. A roaming black hole in the publishing universe swallows many a hope, dream, and story. 

But note, if you will, how the designer of the page labels that date when I say the publication "Never Responded."

​It's not the date Accepted or Rejected. It's the Capitulation date. I have capitulated, which means "to cease resisting" or "to give in." 

Someone behind the scenes at Duotrope is absolutely slaying it. 

Modern book clubs are a wonderful worldwide phenomenon: a social occasion to maybe enjoy a bit of food and beverage for the purpose —ostensibly—of discussing a book.

Clubs vary widely: some are focused on the wine and the company. Others look into the origin of the book or what affect the book has had on our world. Still others are all about the feels. 

So when I was invited to attend my first book club as an author, I wasn't sure how it would be:  would I get a grilling for my choices of plot or writing style? What if they hated it? What would readers want to know?

And what did I want to tell them?

As it turns out, so far, I am most moved to say "Thank you!"  It continues to surprise me how wonderful it feels to have someone else read the words I typed out. To have people commit to the time (let alone money) is an honor. 

Here's my giddy reaction video after the first club meeting, which I did via phone:

I've got another four club appearances lined up (half in person, half by phone), in the next couple of weeks and I can't express how lucky I feel. 

Got a book club? If She Taught Me Everything might be a good fit for your group, I'll come by and chat!

I've even got discussion questions...