It's not like going to Suwannee or Coachella, but there is a definite sense of "morning after" with a book festival. Bookish festivals are less Bacchanalia, more tea-party, in my experience. Rarely do we experiment with questionable dance moves or off-script substances. Communal toilets, however, are common to both. Oh, did I guzzle a big honking glass of wine at the end of the day? Yes, but I wasn't hung over that way. Did I get dehydrated in the interest of reducing trips to the ladies'? I did. It was a choice. Was it either freezing cold or slightly sweaty at all times? Indeed it was, and I should have worn my wool skirt with the deep pockets and the flannel petticoat, because I—a volcano under most circumstances—was on the edge of shivering all day. None of this physical fiddle-faddle plays into it. What gives me the morning-after feels is the overload of stories. So. Many. Stories. Get us together and writers know how writers are; we're all playing with paper dolls in our rooms. So even the shy ones are willing to talk about why they write what they write, confident that ain't nobody gonna cast stones in this big glass house. At the mixer before the event, I consider the crowd and think: it's almost as if the authors themselves fall into genres: The ones who do it for the children in their circle, the ones who want to share their history, the ones who want to shoehorn their lifetime's expertise into the setting of a cozy mystery. Putting aside for a moment what drives them, I should be ashamed to admit how the optics play out for me: the man straight out of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, a rheumy eye affixed upon the hapless wedding guest. I couldn't keep looking away from that tiny masked lady who wore enough purple marabou to render her into a child-sized, dyed Easter chick. Truly, it's my failure getting stuck on appearances. I might have learned their stories rather than allowing them to write themselves in my imagination. That's on me. But the stories I did not (could not?) make up: The generous sci-fi author who asked gently if I wanted feedback on my website. Bless him for actually looking at it! And he was right: it needed a stronger focus on the book itself rather than on chatty old me. Alert readers will spot the new section "Reviews and Awards" on the landing page. The children snubbed up like a boat under tow to a parental flank, being hustled past my spot, their gazes pulled like magnets to the bowl of Smarties next to my Venmo sign. The surprising number of people determined NOT to look at anything as they attempted to move along the center of the narrow aisles. Nope, not even their screens. Just eyes forward and feet moving, as if they were in a bad neighborhood at night. The weekend's highlight? Well, after seeing the sweet faces of some Tampa friends, it would be... That reader with the expensive hair and a fluffy dog under her arm who spoke with the dizzying frankness of someone who has been drunk for a very long time: "Where are the vampire books? Seriously! Where?" They weren't, she assured me, in Sci-Fi or Fantasy. "Did you check the romance area?" I offered. She hooted in derision. I kid you not even a little bit. The fluffy dog did not react to the hooting. It might have been stuffed. There ensued a longish, loopy discussion of Dracula, Renfield, and something about Stoker being her celebrity crush. As she meandered off, she said, "Can you tell I was an English teacher?" I actually love stuff like that: I mean not much weirder, but that weird was perfect. Especially since I was sitting under a cloud this year. My near neighbors each had a beef about something. One griped about the day, the table, the event, the lack of customers. And so forth. Another muttered darkly about which passers-by needed to get on Ozempic. Et cetera. Et cetera. A Pollyanna, golden-retriever-at-heart, glass-half-full person had her work cut out keeping upbeat. As a pre-tween, I was pressed into use as a tiny servitor at my grandparents' cocktail parties. I think most of the cousins were. I'm grateful, decade after decade, to have had this early job. It was useful not only in teaching me that gimlets* aren't the same as martinis, but also at fostering a layer of social callus. *Ask me how long it took for me to differentiate between "gimlets" and "giblets." Stir "gauntlet" and "gibbet" into that confusing mix as well. To earn Mimi and Bompa's approval as a waist-high moppet, one had to go ahead and give up the idea of being timid. It meant asking random adults the obvious question about what they wanted to drink, and then listening to what else they say. If they said something incomprehensible or uncomfortable, deflect and move along. Or in the case of this book festival weekend—being tethered to the table under a cirrus-puff of grievances—deflect and attempt to chat up any readers within reach. It made for a loooong day.
On the plus side, I got to ramble in Payne's Prairie a bit on the way up, share meals with a couple of button-bright youngsters of my acquaintance, and visit two very nice bookstores in Gainesville. Aw, that glass is lovely! And it's nearly half full!
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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. To be fair, I'm also living pretty deep in my own brain. Maybe the eccentricities of dress that strike me as an audience member are not as uncommon as I imagine. Perhaps these sartorial options are simply outside of my own area of observation. (Parallel to my favorite rock radio tagline, "WROK, If we're TOO loud, you're TOO OLD!") I mean, I built several circa 1910 walking skirts, which I wear, so who am I to judge? And as I prepare to venture to the annual bird feeder, I mean book festival, I'm giving my closet the side-eye. What to wear, what to wear... 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 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 Does neurodivergent not seem like the best of descriptions? It covers such a multitude of quirks. And it seems as if everyone has a bit of it. Or is that just too much Instagram science talkin? Maybe some of us are growing conditioned to have shorter and shorter attention spans. 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 I swear I was not lurking at the Barnes & Noble. I was there to take a photo of my novel in the wild. It's perhaps endlessly thrilling to see the thing you've worked on out there sitting on a library shelf, a bookshelf, someone's hands... 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/ Jill suggested they read She Taught Me Everything for the group, and even though Jill had moved away, they read the book. I Zoomed with the group in May and had a really wonderful conversation about the North Country, these characters, and books in general.
Fast forward a few weeks and while browsing at the St. Lawrence University bookstore, Ana ran into Betsy Kepes of North Country Public Radio and recommended the book. Betsy then reviewed my book for her radio broadcast! And liked it! Yay! Click on the picture and it will link you through to the podcast/broadcast... "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. A few sources on the numbers... bulletin.kenyon.edu/article/burning-question-math-illiteracy/ https://ideas.bkconnection.com/10-awful-truths-about-publishing#:~:text=Average%20book%20sales%20are%20shockingly%20small%E2%80%94and%20falling%20fast.&text=Even%20if%20e%2Dbook%20sales,all%20formats%20and%20all%20markets. https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/columns-and-blogs/soapbox/article/6153-a-bookselling-tail.html https://countercraft.substack.com/p/no-most-books-dont-sell-only-a-dozen https://jerichowriters.com/average-book-sales-figures/ Nearly everything gets a rating these days. 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! I spent most of the school year when I was 10 hiding out at the school library. Not really hiding out: my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Jarosz and I had what my mom described as a "personality difference." It's happened several times since: I meet someone and, AbracaBADra: I'm unable to say anything without offense; my attempts to reverse course only make it worse, and--ugh. It's weird. It seems chemical. It's inexplicable and powerful. But the fifth grade, a person has fewer options. Luckily, we had a library in the cool old elementary school. And inside the doors of the library—a couple of wonderfully kind librarians who helped me learn the card catalog and the shelves, and best yet, taught me how to follow my curiosity from book to book to book. After being "Present" for roll-call, I'd agree with Mrs. Jarosz that I might go to the library. Until lunch. After lunch, I'd get the nod again. I'm sure I missed learning something in class, but I couldn't tell you what it was. My seven-times table, maybe, I'm still foggy on 7x8 versus 6x8. So my love for libraries runs deep. And part of my lifetime writing dream has been to see my own book on those shelves. I do understand, with the perspective of decades of library visits under my belt, that the shelves of a library are not immortal. Titles churn through and are lost to library fundraising sales. But then again: a book in the library...that's something. I dutifully submitted a copy of She Taught Me Everything to the local county public library system, but while awaiting the thumb up or down, I noticed this... Looks like the system has already purchased an e-book copy, and THERE ARE SIX PEOPLE IN LINE to get it! Well, how about that? I wish I could share this joy with the librarians who helped me through 5th grade. Meanwhile, should you be so inclined, ask your library to order a copy -- not only with it bring joy, it might bring you a useful gift card.
The first photo of She Taught Me Everything on your public library shelf gets a prize! 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... |
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