Nothing More Potent Than the Cosign

January has been a strangely brutal month. In terms of time to write, I have had none. Yet I still have deadlines and shit.
Well...
Is it that I haven't had time to write, or I haven't felt like it? Let us examine the evidence.
The day still seems to have twenty-four hours, and let's remove those pesky four to eight where I'm asleep, we still have a decent chunk of change left.
Right?
Right.
However.
Subtract any day that I have to leave the house - guaranteed I'll be too distracted/tired to do any work. Any day I have to go to my locum. I might write a few sentences at work depending on how needy my coworkers are feeling that day (turns out I'm the office shrink). Unless I have a LOOMING deadline, I'm out for the count as soon as I get home.
If something crazy happens I might spend every minute on twitter keeping up with it. And January been CRAZY.
So yeah, I think we can decently diagnose my problem as focus... or lack thereof.
Look at my blog, I almost didn't make my own New Year's goal of writing two posts a month.
Two!
You see how bad I'm doing?
In my defence, January is not only school opening time, but it's also my son's birthday month. And this year he decided he wanted a house party...

I wasn't the only one hit with January blues. One of my clients is just flailing, not giving me work which ugh. One other is just being difficult...they gave me a plotline, I wrote the first milestone and now they want to change certain plot points and want me to rewrite...for free!
I mean, have you ever heard such garbage?
Maybe fresh-faced just-starting-out, not-really-confident-about-her-work me might have done it. Unfortunately for everybody, they're dealing with fuck-your-job-I-can-get-another-one me. I know for a fact that they need me more than I need them. So we're at an impasse.
My bank balance is crying, but principles.
So in this colossal fuck up, that is January, you can imagine how little book marketing I've done. Even posting on social media has become a challenge...not helped at all by Instagram's refusal to let third parties post on my behalf. I cannot schedule posts anymore.
Isn't that some bullshit?
That said, I've learned a few precious lessons from this whole Charlie Foxtrot.
1. You gain more followers on twitter by being an ornery take-no-prisoners bullshitter who likes to argue with racists and bigots than just being your own milder mannered retweeting self. I don't understand it. I've been taking my mood out on twitter and I just keep getting more followers. I don't even want them on that account. It's my rachet account, not my book one.
2. Sex cells. That's my new twitter name. My old one was 'let the vagina have a monologue'. I suspect about half of my followers are due to my twitter names. Which just shows their ignorance because they come from Janelle Monae's Magnum Opus, Dirty Computer and have very little to do with being sexy or available. My next twitter name will be 'I Grab Back'. Look out for it in 2020. We outchea.
3. Phew! And this is important so listen up. There's nothing more potent than a cosign. You want to sell anything? Books, music, yourself? A cosign from a well-known person in your field is worth its weight in gold. You're not gonna become an overnight sensation all of a sudden, but you will move product. Yesterday, I answered a tweet where a well-known writer was asking for other less well-known writers to tweet their book links at her. I did it. I got book sales overnight.
So a month of social media posts daily vs. one cosign...
Take the cosign.

Sigh.
I guess we have to talk about Kobe Bryant now huh?
I can't say I was a fan; I just knew he existed like everyone else on earth. So I can't tell you why my heart sank to my shoes when I gave myself a five-minute break from writing on Sunday night, clicked on twitter to pass the time and found that Kobe Bryant...and RIP were trending worldwide. Like, the only thing trending.
I immediately began to shake my head in denial. My mind was scrambling for other explanations even as my eyes were flying down the TL trying to find out what happened. It was like 1am in the morning. My son was in the sitting room on his phone, I'm in the office knowing full well I had to be at my locum the next morning but not going to sleep and there are reports that Kobe Bryant was dead.
Nothing was making sense.
So anyway, twitter was quick to give me all the details and I just stood up, went to the sitting room and hugged my son for ten minutes.
For me and my family, death is the boogeyman that always strikes suddenly. We live in the awareness that every moment is precious and that's why my son and I don't fight for longer than ten minutes and why we always hug if one of us is leaving. You just never know.
Still and all...this was a shock to the system.
Then it got worse.
Not only him, but his daughter as well, was dead.
Fuck. Right?
Did you think you had problems this January? You do not.
Of course, in a struggle to make sense of it all, the conspiracy theories have begun. Including that LeBron James sacrificed him to surpass his record.

The comments being left on his Instagram are nothing short of cruel and crazy.
People are also looking back on his life, and seeing 'signs'. I'm not dismissing them - there definitely is more going on in this world than is found in my religion. And in the attempt of making sense of death that seems arbitrary and senseless, we grab for what we can find. In this case, it's a video of Kobe's last game.

In which, the number 41 apparently featured in various ways. Can you find them for yourself?
I prefer to make sense of things another way. By looking for the good, for the lesson, I can learn from his life or his death. And for me it is a reminder:
- that life is short so make full use of every twenty four hours.
- that it's not the days in our lives but the lives in our days.
- love is the only thing worth having. Everything else you leave behind.
- Everything ends. Make peace with that.
- What will my legacy be?
Nevertheless, all of those lessons simply cover a wound. A wound that gets scabbed over until the next time something hits it and then it's open and bleeding again. The wound of loss, of holes that will never be filled no matter how long ago they happened, of families left broken and devastated. Of the fragility of life.
When something like this happens, its always a shock to the system that misaligns us in a way we never recover from. The shock of Aaliyah's death, of Prince's death, are things that can still unman me. I'm not even going to talk about my mother's, or my cousin's death. The unreasoning anger that still hits me from time to time at my dad for dying...
You just learn to live with the new normal of having these souls absent from the world. Maybe that's what heaven is; a place where these holes are filled.
I saw this post on red table talk from a woman whose son had died. She was asking for someone to give her a reason to live. And I didn't post a reply because I couldn't think of one single reason. You lose your child, what else is there.
Pray for Vanessa Bryant and those other mothers and fathers who are right there right now.

Phew! Okay now that I've dragged you all down with me, let's end this cluster fuck with the blatant display of black excellence that was the Grammys. Alicia Keys managed to give us a way to process grief with music. She was phenomenal. Y'all need to stop hating on this wonderful specimen of humanity. Yes, Swizz Beatz was married to someone else when she met him. They fell in love. Get over it. Hating on her will not fix your relationship.
I'm going to say something that could be interpreted as hate speech but it isn't. It's observing with my eyes.
Black artists are in a league of their own. This Billie person who won all those Grammys even said it herself. "Why? So many other people deserve this more than me."
She might have just been talking but it was 100% facts. Tyler the Creator is in a league of his own. He's not even competing with you ho's. He's in the fifth element with Jaden and Willow Smith.
Gary Clark Jr. fusing reggae and rock was just...*shaking my head*
But their work is barely recognized, instead, white mediocrity is rewarded. I feel sad. I feel sad for white people with their mediocrity and just how small they are. I feel glad that however much dismissal and denial happens, the greatness of black people shines through.
I'm not mincing my words in 2020.

How Do You Get Readers for Your Books?

I really hope you don't think I have the answer. If I did, I would be on the New York Times Bestsellers' list. So let me put in my disclaimer that I'm no expert. I'm just in the simulation, trying to read the patterns.

So the first thing that you should probably know is that marketing is in the mind. Get in the right mindset. Whether you're self-published or traditionally published, the bulk of the marketing will be left to you. When a traditional publisher looks at the potential of your books, they also look at your social media following to see just how many 'fans' you've managed to accumulate for yourself. I see many authors asking, "What exactly is the use of an author page?"
Well, my answer is, "If you're inviting people over for tea, you're gonna need somewhere for them to sit."

It is not possible in this day and age to be an 'anonymous' author who just writes, publishes and waits for readers. Even authors using pen names have forums where they interact with readers. Not just authors, but anyone with a product to sell...It's a whole new world people, and social media is king.
The thing with social media though, is that you can't just post "buy my book" and expect your audience to be like, "Oh. Okay, den."
Let's talk about readers, shall we?
There are two types of readers. There are those readers, and they are the majority, who you can find on so-called reader forums. Some of them have blogs. They usually have 'reader' or 'reads books' in their Twitter bios... These are the readers whose attention everyone is trying to get. Because they're the low hanging fruit.
Or so it seems.

The thing with this reader though, they are deep in the simulation. They want to read the books everyone else is reading. They practically run down the New York Times Bestseller list as their TBR list. They like recommendations from influencers. If you're a lowly writer without the resources to influence the influencers these are not the people to target.
The second kind of reader may or may not list 'reading' as an identifier in their social media bios. They don't care who the 'next big thing' is. They're just looking for good stories.
Do you write good stories?
Then this is your demographic.
You gotta keep plugging your stories. Putting them out there. Letting people know in whatever way you can.
Hashtags are great.
Just use the right ones.

Lots of authors like to use #amwriting and they might get a few likes and even retweets but...you get likes and retweets from other authors who are just as thirsty as you for READERS. So stop targeting other authors. That's like all those sales reps I see on the street, crowding together when they're selling the same thing be it airtime or whatever...instead of spreading out and increasing your chances of finding your own customers. It's like artists who all try to copy Rihanna in an attempt to poach some of her success. Although this strategy has been moderately successful in some cases, (Selena Gomez and Jennifer Lopez) ultimately it fails. Because Rihanna releases an album like Anti and you don't know where to start copying it.
I digress.
#greatreads #goodreads #fridayreads #tuesdaytales...these are some hashtags that might net you some random passing reader. But you can't just do the hashtag, you have to hone your captioning skills man. This is your elevator pitch in 280 characters or more (if it's Instagram or Facebook). The hashtag has made the reader pause, now you gotta reel them in. Make. it. good.
It's a marathon, not a sprint.

Everything is against you.
Amazon will put the books in front of readers that authors have paid them to.
Sometimes they arbitrarily remove your book reviews making it difficult for you to move up the totem pole.
Some book sales get lost in a black hole somewhere.
It can be very demoralizing.
The thing is, you have to factor in the fact that you will get demoralized if things aren't happening as fast as you'd like. You have to be prepared for that shit. Wallow in it like a hippopotamus in the mud. And once you're all covered, all good and proper, get out, shower and get back to the work.
Plug. Plug. and Plug away.
Every day, do something small to put your book maybe in front of that enthusiastic reader whose gonna recommend it to their friend. Their book club. Their family.
Word of mouth. That's how you get the word out.
It's an uphill battle and many will fall by the wayside.
It's up to you if you reach the top.

Various and Sundry Author Life Snippets

The trouble with having a life is that sometimes,  you do not have time to do the things you want to. Take this January and February for example. I've had lots of stuff going on in my real life, as a result, I haven't been a very good blogger nor updater of social media. I'm usually a hermit but this year seems to want me to go out and interact with the world.
But you don't care about that right?

Let's get right to it then.
It's a new year, a new paradigm. Old habits still die hard and new ones are difficult to maintain...yet it's possible to do so. For example, my new year's resolution to exercise more and eat less bad things? Still holding. I mean it's slow. I've been trying to swim twice a week but only managed once so far, like I said, life is hectic.
Also, a lot of stuff has been happening in the world that's got me concerned or annoyed or simply amused. I keep meaning to come here and write about it but...time, it's such a problem. I wish it could be stretched to as long as you need, so I could sleep for twelve hours and still have twenty-four hours to finish everything I need to. A day should be thirty-six hours seriously. But then again, thirty-six hour days means the months last longer and ain't nobody got time.

Are you excited for Black Panther? I already put my coins aside for the uber that's taking me to the theatre, the exercise I'll do before so I can hot dog and coke, my outfit...the only thing is y'all uncivilized heffers are going to be shouting and commenting in the cinema hall, jostling me in my seat (coz I know the theatre will be at capacity), chewing loudly...ugh, I hate humans. I know you will ruin my experience. But never mind, I'll still enjoy it because Africans. Speaking of, are you seeing how Lupita and Michael B. Jordan be looking at each other in these press photos? Giiirrrllll....new couple alert. You heard it here first.

I recently got an Amazon Fire and it brought home to me in a very real way as opposed to the abstract theoretical way from before, just how many books there are on Amazon. And how difficult it might be for random people to find your book unless it's well positioned. When I open my Kindle Fire there's always a book there on offer because someone is doing a full-time job advertising and of course, KDP customers are a priority for Amazon. It was at once rather demoralizing and also invigorating to realize. Yes, it's difficult to fight your way to the front of the line. But it's also good to know what the problem is so you can tackle it.
My way of tackling it has been to be on the lookout for posts on twitter or facebook that talk about someone looking for a book featuring a storyline/character/emotion/genre that one or more of my books cover and then I reply with a link or a promo pic.

I've also continued the tradition of having a theme for every month. And February's is 'Short Stories for a Short month.' I think I enjoy designing the posts just as much as I enjoy writing the books.
Kylie Jenner did her own creating, of a baby, continuing the Kardashian streak of turning their next generation black. I'm curious for what the future of the brand will look like but I guess they're just adhering to the trend that by 2050 most Americans will look like North West. The new 'All-American' look. I guess that's why white supremacists are panicked.
Speaking of supremacists, our so-called president is going from bad to worse. I went from thinking, 'well at least he isn't as bad as Trump' to wishing he was Trump. Who'da thunk someone would overtake Trump in the total asshole race? Certainly not me.
Anyway, let me stop before I get arrested.
This post has been all over the place.
I think it accurately represents my mental state.
Pray for me.
And get one of my short stories!

Its A Marathon, Not A Sprint: Note To Self

So I've just re-launched Between Death and Heaven on smashwords. I had a contract with a publisher  and they had my book in their hands for a year and a half; no reports, no information, no promotion that I could see, an allergy to being asked questions...it was frustrating to say the least.

So I decided to take my power (and my books) back. After all Type A personality like me; ain't no way I'm going to believe anyone can do the job better than me. Of course, who knew how frustrating it was just to get the publisher to return my fucking book! I'm still waiting for their version to come down from some of the major sites; including Amazon. Instead of progress, I see they've lowered the price...Not as low as the one on my relaunched page but...anyway, so I'm wondering, who is keeping this money that's still coming in. My publisher is acting like she has no clue...

So anyway, my trials and tribulations aside, its a new start, a new day. The book has been relaunched and now comes the hard part. The part where there is marketing and waiting and hoping; all as a side hustle of course because bills still have to be paid and the day job still exists. Don't get me wrong, love the day job which is the same as the night job but for other people. Still, it doesn' t leave much time for anything else. So I'm living in a cycle of guilt, insomnia and muscle pains trying to fit in everything that needs to be done.

But the crux of the matter is that there is a goal to this, and its not a short term one. Its about the long game, the big picture, immortality. Sure I want to sell a million copies, have a best seller and have my book made into a movie. Don't we all? I want my grandchildren to live off my spoils like Bob Marley's do. I want people born in the year 3000 to have heard of my work; to still be reading my book. I want this not just for the money (although that's a nice side effect or whatever) but because I think its a really good story and I want people to read it.

Diana Gabaldon told this story about how she began selling her book by sitting outside the bookshop and challenging people to pick up the book, open it to any passage and read. If they didn't want to know what happened next, she'd give them ten dollars. I thought that was a brilliant strategy even though I'm pretty sure these days people would say they didn't want to know what happened next just to get the ten dollars. I get it, times are hard. 

Twenty years later, there is a hit TV series based on her books. TWENTY years. Seems like eternity seen from the bottom end, but from the top end, 1995 feels like it was just the other day. So I think I could slog, and hustle and try for twenty years. The challenging thing though, is patience. Its something I'm still learning. Some days are harder than others. Oh well. Eyes on the prize.

Excerpt -Between Death and Heaven; Out Now.

Gerrit, read it, love it, review it, reap the free sequel, share...

We Changed the Cover

The New and Improved Between Death and Heaven

Excerpt From The Next Book

“I can’t believe you brought me here to be healed by some wild-haired crazy old lady!”, Roy Lestrange complained to his mother as she pulled him impatiently along.

“I told you, she’s not just some old lady; she’s a witch and she can make you better.”

“The fact that you believe in witchcraft ma…I mean this is 1989”, Roy complained even as he followed her through the trees to the ramshackle house he could see through it. It looked like it was standing strictly by the Grace of God or maybe some magic the witch was using to hold up her residence. Roy didn’t get it; if she had access to all this magic and shit, why didn’t she just magic herself a mansion and a fortune? Why live like an animal in the middle of the bayou with her equally crazy granddaughter?

His mother reached the door and knocked tentatively. They waited nervously for someone to come to the door. It was opened by a wizened old woman with a halo of grey hair; she smiled at them in welcome as if she’d been expecting them…

“Come in”, she said and led the way into her house. Roy was expecting to see the skulls of babies decorating the mantelpiece, maybe with snakeskin covering the walls. But no, the furniture was threadbare but neat. An aubusson rug, clearly old but well kept lay on the living room floor. The couch was covered with throw pillows and a crocheted cover. There were old school pictures on the wall of men and women dressed in old fashioned clothing. A tantalizing smell of freshly baked something emanated from behind the wooden kitchen counter. Roy’s mouth watered and he wondered if the witch would offer them something to eat before the day’s business began.

She led them past the living room however, toward some narrow stairs. The led up to an attic where all the good stuff was. Animal skulls, and chicken feathers, an altar with some sort of statue on it surrounded by offerings of rice and tobacco, black coffee and yams, a straw hat and a cane, pennies, palm oil and roses. This was more like Roy was expecting.

“What can I do for you?” the witch asked her voice surprisingly soft and compassionate.

“My Roy is sick Nannane. Could you heal him?” Roy’s mother asked diffidently.

The witch held out her hand to Roy and he understood that she wanted him to put his hand in hers. He was scared though; he didn’t want to do it. But his mother narrowed her eyes at him and he stretched out his hand and tentatively touched the witch’s with it. She closed her eyes, humming softly under her breath. A warmth suffused his hand where she touched it and then spread outwards towards the rest of him. He felt himself become languid, relaxed and at peace. His eyes closed of their own volition. It was like receiving the gentlest massage in human history.

“You have the wasting disease”, the witch intoned, “What are they calling it…AIDS?”

Roy jumped in shock. Nobody knew that; nobody said that. His mama didn’t know, she couldn’t have told. How had this witch guessed? He opened his eyes and pulled his hand out of hers, standing quickly to leave. His mother was watching him; a sad look in her eyes. The witch’s eyes were serene. She sat watching him, waiting for him to do what he would.

“How do you know that?” he whispered.

The witch just smiled slightly and held out her hands, “I don’t know if I can heal you; that is not in my hands. But I can make you feel better”, she said.

Roy just stared at her, “You can’t…tell anyone. You can’t…”, he stammered.

The witch shook her head, “My work is just as confidential as any priest…or doctor. You need not worry that anyone will know of your illness from me.”

“What can you do for me that the doctors can’t?” Roy demanded.

The witch shrugged, “The doctor gives you medicine for your body. You should continue to take those. I deal with a more holistic approach – your soul, your mind and your body – I call on the healing spirits to help you to feel better, and give you herbs to help your body and soul open up to that healing spirit.”

“I don’t believe in that mumbo jumbo”, Roy said belligerently.

“Indeed”, the witch said, seemingly unperturbed.

“Roy, will you just sit and let the lady do what she can for you?” his mother cut in irritably.

Roy stared back at her with a frown but the habit of obedience was long ingrained and he sat back down, “Okay”, he said.