Books!

In this journey of writing and publishing a book, there are certain moments that stand out. It’s all a learning curve and, for me, every new experience has been both exciting and scary. The lesser moments can prepare us for the bigger ones, such as the day when a FedEx driver steps onto your porch, rings your doorbell, and points in the 95-degree heat to seven boxes of books that he will carry into your house.

My book is here.

I knew that the boxes held copies of It Started with Dracula: The Count, My Mother, and Me; my publisher had told me it was off press and would be arriving soon. This was the real deal.

I came upstairs to write my publisher an e-mail and then realized I couldn’t write it yet. I hadn’t opened any of the boxes. I didn’t work in publishing thirty years for nothing; we check books when they are delivered. I went back downstairs, slit the tape on the top carton, and removed the first book; held it, turned it, flipped the pages quickly.

The thing about receiving printed books is that they’re printed. Every time you’re asked to check proofs along the way, you have yet another chance to find the mistakes. Once a book is printed, you want to look through it, but you don’t…at least, if you’re me.

I came back upstairs and started to write to my publisher again. I wanted her to know how much I loved my beautiful, beautiful books; but I stopped myself again. I hadn’t looked at every page the way we were taught in Here’s Your Book It Better Be Perfect 101. All right, I made that last part up; but I’ve always felt a huge weight with every new publication until I knew it was all it should be.

I went back down to the stack of boxes and picked up the same book again. I really couldn’t rave about it until I knew that the pages were all there, in order, and right-side-up. I have the greatest respect for printers, but I couldn’t thank my publisher until I’d gone through the book page by page.

I held my breath and began quickly scanning each page, afraid that if I slowed down, I might see “it,” that inevitable error we talked about a few blogs back. So far, so good. A quote I’d hoped would fit into the first pages was missing, but otherwise It Started with Dracula was looking good. I finally wrote that note.

In the next couple of days, I’ll sneak up on my book again. I’ll probably end up reading it, but not today. Today I played hooky. I got a pedicure and then celebrated with my brother: eight ounces of light beer and a trip to the local racetrack. Woo hoo!

Thank you, Bettie Youngs, for believing in my story and turning it into an awesome book. You rock!

The Editorial Eye--and Ear

Someone you know mispronounces a word. You wonder whether to correct the person and it’s too quick—he or she is already on to another thought—so you’ve let it go. Then it happens again, same word. You realize the person is mispronouncing a word he or she uses frequently. You’re going to hear it again. What do you do?

My mother used to say to one and all at the conclusion of family dinners that she was “sa-TIE-ated” (satiated). Another person I knew said “inter-MEEN-able” for interminable.

It takes guts to tell someone that she’s pronounced a word incorrectly, and I never corrected those two. I could have said to Mom, “Do you mean ‘SAY-she-ated’?” but she would have been mortified instead of satisfied.

Maybe you’ve had a conversation in which someone pronounced a repeated word differently from the way you said it. If the conversation was about tomatoes, he always said “to-mah-toes,” and neither of you was about to give up. That’s awkward. The same thing can happen in an e-mail exchange. My brother will write about making “chile” and I write back that I hope that his “chili” turns out well. That’s about spelling, but it’s the same principle.

I just quit reading a library book because the main character’s name was Sharon and people called her Shar. Now, the last time I checked, “Shar” rhymed with “car,” but “Sharon” rhymes with “Karen,” so how was that ever going to work? Maybe the author thought that “Share” would be a dumb nickname for Sharon, and I agree; but “Shar” doesn’t work—unless the character’s name is changed to Sharlene. It’s a stumbling block the reader must encounter again and again if she sticks with the book.

Some names just don’t translate well to the page. If you shorten "Roger" to "Rog," the reader can’t help rhyming it with “log” and then having to correct himself—over and over. It should rhyme with “dodge,” but if you spell it out that way, you might as well use his whole name.

We of the editorial persuasion are particularly bothered by things other people might not even notice. For instance, every time I read a detective book involving a chopper, I wonder why the short version of helicopter is “helo” when helicopter begins “heli”? And is it pronounced “hee-low” or “hell-o,” which sounds like a greeting? The website www.dictionary.com shows both pronunciations.

This blog is about the written word, but do you see how closely the written word and the spoken word are connected? When we read, we do speak—even if it’s most often to ourselves—which is why the written word has to work when we say it, even if we say it silently.

On the other hand, pronunciation bloopers usually occur when we’re trying to say unfamiliar words we see in print. Believe me, I know.

I have a good friend who eats out regularly. Thus, she knows food trends and pronounces foreign and otherwise confusing food words correctly. Once when we had lunch, falafel was on the menu. I had no idea what falafel was, let alone how to say it. Instead of “fuhl-AH-fuhl,” I ordered “fell-uh-fell,” to my friend’s chagrin, and she immediately corrected me. Now, the next time I order that dish, like when donkeys fly, I’ll get it right.

It’s easier to return a book than it is to correct a person, but if you and I are talking sometime and I mispronounce one of my favorite words, do the world a favor and correct me. That goes for spelling, too.

As pronunciations go, some people are past correcting; they’re going to say “nuke-ya-ler” all their lives, and there isn’t a darn thing we can do about it. I try to apply the sage advice of Davy Crockett—or was it Daniel Boone? Fess Parker, anyway: “Be sure you’re right, then go ahead.” I look it up. Sometimes—as in the case of my brother’s recipe—we’re both right.

Personal Branding: The Poster (Part 2)

Continued from Personal Branding: The Poster (Part 1)

I drove to the printer’s to pick up my poster. It was absolutely beautiful. I’m not talking about myself, but the high quality of the finished product.

“Is there anything I should know about the care of this poster?” I asked the printer’s rep.

“Just don’t leave it in a car in the heat,” he said. Did he realize that was exactly what I had to do? Where else do you store a rigid two-by-three poster on a road trip? By then I knew I was taking it to my school reunion, but not because I wanted to trot it out for my former classmates. I didn’t even know if I’d take it out of the car; but the trip would be the perfect test of how it would be to tote around a large poster and an easel, and then to set them up in a public place.

The poster came wrapped in heavy paper. I put it on the floor of the back seat and slung my suitcase into the trunk with the assorted items that were already there. I picked up my brother at his apartment, and we were off. Our hotel was still an hour away from the old high school. I didn’t want the poster banging against the items in the trunk, so I moved them to the floor of the back seat and put the poster in the trunk by itself, where it would lie flat.

The reunion was fine and the poster did make an appearance. When we packed the car to go home, Joe and I had to move the emergency tire pump, jumper cables, folding chair, and boxes back to the trunk with our suitcases and put the poster in its original spot on the floor of the back seat. Would my next purchase have to be a van?

“This thing is a lot of trouble,” I grumbled, speaking of my alter ego. “It’s like a diva.” And in that moment, my poster no longer represented me. It was no longer even an “it”; it was a “she.” She: The Diva.

“Maybe she’ll start demanding her favorite brand of bottled water,” Joe said as we got on the road, “or insisting on certain colors of M&Ms!”

“She’ll send back her food,” I added; then: “She’ll have her own fan club! They’ll be lined up around the block, and when they get to the signing table, The Diva will be propped up in the chair.”

“You could send her to ‘The Ellen Show’ in your place,” Joe said. “You know how dangerously chatty you get with too much caffeine.”

“She wouldn’t say a word!” I howled. We were having a good laugh at The Diva's expense.

“She’ll make personal appearances,” Joe said. “The curtains will part before a packed house, and there in the center of the stage will be The Diva on her easel. You won’t have to do anything!”

By then I'd cried my makeup off, laughing.

“Come to think of it,” Joe said, “maybe you could put her on the seat of that roller coaster you’re afraid to ride.” He was referring to an upcoming visit from my granddaughter, the coaster fiend.

My brother and I had a picnic on that trip, inventing scenarios for The Diva, and I have a feeling that isn’t over yet. A poster is a practical investment for an author and, in my opinion, best if you don’t take it too seriously.

Personal Branding: The Poster (Part 1)

“Do you have a poster you could bring?” my friend Beverley asked. “We’ll have a room dedicated to the graduating classes of the ‘Sixties.” We were discussing our upcoming all-high-school reunion, an event held in June 2011 for anyone who had ever attended or taught at our alma mater.

I didn’t have a poster to announce my first book, but wasn’t that next? After all, I’d invested in author photos, a website, business cards, and bookmarks. I knew I’d need a poster later when I began my rounds of bookstore signings, so maybe the occasion of our reunion could move that task up a bit.

Why would an author want a poster? Let me explain; or maybe you already know if you’ve ever been in a bookstore during a signing when the author was not well known. Once in West Virginia I attended such an event. The author sat at a small table near the customer service desk with a stack of his books next to him, as lonely as the Maytag repairman.

A poster can point the way to your table from elsewhere in the store. It can be set up near your signing station to identify you. Many bookstores provide signage, but others may not. Do you want to take the chance?

Aura Imbarus, whose memoir was published in 2010, has been my trailblazer. Her website includes a photo of her poster for Out of the Transylvania Night, displayed on an easel--my next purchase. Remember, the publisher publicizes your book and you publicize yourself.

Before my poster was even printed, I ordered its companion piece, an inexpensive portable easel. The one I chose has bungee cords inside the legs. You simply take it out of its bag (an additional purchase) and shake it. Like magic, the easel assembles itself. Woo hoo! I have a tent like that; the poles snap together in seconds.

The design of my poster would feature a giant photo of me, along with the cover image from It Started with Dracula. By then I was used to seeing my own face on business cards and bookmarks, but seeing it a foot high would be a first. The printed poster would be two feet wide by three feet tall, mounted on a rigid surface called Ultraboard for durability. My new easel would hold it just fine if no children, animals, or a slight breeze came along.

My designer had left a white area at the bottom of the poster, full width and five inches high. I thought it was a mistake. “No,” he said, “that’s so you can write on your poster.” Fortunately, I found that out prior to printing. The printer agreed to add a dry-erase coating, and I went to my local Staples for a starter kit of markers, an eraser, and cleaning fluid. See how this grows?

My designer had recommended that I use a local printer to avoid shipping the poster from California to Ohio. That should have been my first clue,

To be continued in Personal Branding: The Poster (Part 2)

If It Ain't Bea, Who Is It?

Do you ever think about the word aunt? Do you pronounce it “ant,” “ont,” or maybe “ain’t,” the way Andy and Opie addressed Miss Beatrice Taylor on The Andy Griffith Show?

I prefer “ant,” which is why my mind skipped naturally to Aunt Bea while I was chasing the other kind with a can of bug spray this morning. Before I’d even had my coffee, I spotted the insidious little things crawling along the molding under my kitchen cabinets. I don’t mean the molding on the floor; they had already climbed to the upper level!

What IS it with ants? I once made a boat from a cantaloupe rind when I was a kid, so I could sail it in the bathtub. I thought I was pretty clever. I set my boat on the rim of the tub, and when I returned a few hours later, it was covered with ants! Our bathroom was on the second story. How did they do it, and why?

Someday I’m going to study ants--not in person, but in books, or maybe on the Internet. I’m going to find out what drives ants, what caused them to sniff out my little boat and make the long journey upstairs in our house, to swarm the pathetic remains of a cantaloupe; but not today. Today, I’m going to the store because I threw out virtually every container of food in my kitchen cupboards.

You may be asking about now: What does this have to do with writing? Well, if it hadn’t been for the irresistible pull of the book I'm working on with my brother, now about halfway into first draft, I might have paid more attention to what was going on in my kitchen. I’ve been lax in the cleaning arena for a while now, preferring to sit at the computer and write.

Some writers freeze when faced with a blank page, but I don’t. I’m not bragging; it’s just a fact. Words and phrases flow through my mind all day, every day. I love the process of writing and shaping those words. I never need prompts, and if this blog isn’t evidence, I don’t know what is.

So, to wrap up the ant story, if I hadn’t been so interested in writing for the past several weeks, I might not be in this pickle. Oops, don’t say “pickle” out loud; it’s sure to draw more of those persistent little fiends that are still hoping for a morsel of food in my empty cabinets.

And that brings us back to Aunt Bea. Remember the Emmy-winning pickle episode? I could use a few of those kerosene cucumbers about now. They’re probably better than ant cups.

Personal Branding VIII: What Was That, Again?

My brother and I were driving south on Interstate 71 when I noticed a sign on a building: “Retirement University.”

“Look at that,” I said, wondering what it meant, and in the same breath: “Hip, Hip, Hooray: Intro to Replacement Surgery.”

“Cat Food One-Oh-One,” Joe said.

We were two retirees, having a little fun. But really, what was Retirement University? Was it an institution to teach people about being retired, or a school meant to attract retirees? I supposed it was the latter, a university for senior citizens--that supposed leisure class interested in lifelong learning, but no exams: Tired of golf? Try our evening courses. No class runs past 8:00 p.m.

I was wrong. Retirement University is for learning about retirement, primarily the financial side of it. The school is sponsored by an investment advisory firm, but it also offers workshops on leisure activities such as photography and book clubs. Most students would be those interested in retirement topics, but that wouldn’t limit the population to seniors.

You might be asking, “Just what is her message this time?” Well, the point is that we need to be clear in branding ourselves. For instance, if you’re an author and you haven’t hit upon the ideal title for your book, you’ll soon understand this concept.

The first title I gave It Started with Dracula: The Count, My Mother, and Me was Cold Moon in August. That was early in the writing process. Later I came up with It Started with Dracula—because it did. The subtitle was A Travel Memoir of Romania. Then, not wanting to limit the scope of the book, I shortened the subtitle to A Travel Memoir. When my publisher questioned whether we wanted the book to be placed in the Travel section of the bookstore, it became A Memoir. Once we began writing promotional copy, the whole game changed.

Whether the main title would even survive was a cliffhanger. It all depended upon the potential for sales. Would the bookstores go for a book with that title—meaning, did the sales reps think the bookstore buyers would consider it fascinating enough to attract customers? I fought to keep it--well, I didn’t fight; I hoped. After all, I’d already told people the name of my book. I’d grown used to it and liked it. My publisher knew how I felt, but sales potential would drive the final decision. It Started with Dracula squeaked by.

“You’ll need a subtitle for your book,” my publisher said, and that prompted another round of suggestions. We chose The Count, My Mother, and Me because it’s intriguing and it gives the reader further information about the topic.

Every word in a title counts, so to speak. And we writers aren’t just pleasing ourselves. If you want your book to be a commercial success, you’ll need to put on a marketing hat, for when it comes to the business of publishing, the question that always persists is how to catch the fascination of the public. There is a place between literary loveliness and cha-ching that you’ll need to explore, as I did. The goal of that exploration is a final product that you and your publisher can be proud of as it flies off the shelves.

Names should communicate clear messages. That’s my point, returning us to Retirement University. The name on the building did send me to the Internet for more information, so in that regard, it’s a success. I wish the institution well; maybe I’ll even show up there one day. What was that about book clubs, again?

Grandmama's Teeth

The summer after her sophomore year of college, my sister worked as a waitress in Myrtle Beach, living in our great-aunt Iva’s spare room. In August Mom, Grandmama, and I drove down from West Virginia to pick her up, and that’s how I ended up standing in Aunt Iva’s bathroom doorway one morning as my grandmother was fixing her hair.

Grandmama was finagling her long, salt-and-pepper hair into its familiar bun. She held the hairpins between her lips and talked around them, glancing at me in the mirror as she used both hands to gather her hair and twist it into shape. Her movements were automatic.

Grandmama had what were called finger waves going back from her face. She would sleep in a hairnet to preserve the style and then use a smaller net during the day to hold her bun in place.

Having me watch her that morning didn’t seem to be a distraction. When she’d pinned the last pin, she picked her hairnet up off the vanity without looking, spread it with her fingers, and popped it into place. Then Grandmama looked down at the sink, completely puzzled. She looked at herself in the mirror and then cast her eyes over the sink and vanity. “Where did I put my teeth?” It wasn’t a full set of uppers and lowers she’d lost; more like a section.

Bewildered, she swung her head left and right to look around the bathroom, and then I saw what she couldn’t: Grandmama’s false teeth were caught in the threads of her hairnet. Her movements made them twist and bounce and finally whip outward in an arc behind her head. Anchored by nylon, they sailed past me, grinning at our little secret, and I grinned back.

“Where in the world…?”

“Hold still,” I said, hating to end it. “I know where they are.”

This experience actually happened to my brother. I wrote the piece to see if I could adequately capture the humor in someone else's story. This piece was the First Place winner in the Writer's Wall contest for prose held by West Virginia Writers during the organization's annual conference June 10-12, 2011.

The Girl Who Kicked the Book Right Back to the Library

I was so excited to find Stieg Larsson’s third Lisbeth Salander novel, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, sitting on the library shelf. It was a 14-day book, but that reduced borrowing period had never been an issue with me. I could read three or four books in two weeks, even if I opened them only at mealtimes.

It has now been 13 days. I’m on page 281—of 563. I’m not going to finish this book, at least not now.

Note to authors: Please don’t give your characters similar names. Was Niedermann or Nieminen suspected of murder? Who was investigating? Was it Ekstrom, Eriksson, Edklinth, or all three? And what were the roles of Bjurman, Berger, Blomkvist, and Bublanski again? It’s enough to make a reader crazy.

Did I mention that this novel is set in Sweden? The translator did a fantastic job, but he couldn’t change the street names, for instance when “Figuerola drove her white Saab 9-5 to Vittangigatan in Vallingby” or reached the Bishop’s Arms and “found a parking space on Bellmansgatan at the corner with Tavastagatan.”

I slogged through the first 150 pages of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest just to digest the background, which I didn’t remember from reading the second installment. It had been too long between books, and this one contained WTMI: way too much information.

Note to authors: Let us know what we have to remember, or just leave out the irrelevant parts.

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest is going back to the library today. I could try to renew it, but I won’t. It bugs me to have read the first two books in this best-selling series and then to let this one go at the halfway point, but for Pete’s sake, I’d rather do math problems.

What's It About?

People always ask me, “What’s your book about?” It’s a natural question--one of the first a writer hears--and the Stupid People’s Guides (made-up name) to marketing tell us how to prepare for it.

Memorize an “elevator speech,” the books say, so that you can recite the crux of your book instantly and enthusiastically when people ask. This will come in handy when you go on radio and TV. First, write down the genre, plot, theme, lesson(s), and the ways your book will change the world. Then incorporate that material into a pitch you can deliver in about a minute. Finally, practice saying it as though it’s the most important information ever imparted.

It Started with Dracula: The Count, My Mother, and Me (Did I use all my words yet?) is a memoir. An editor friend once told me, “Many people who write memoirs forget that the first two letters of memoir are M-E.” It’s about me.

After I signed my publishing contract for It Started with Dracula, my publisher gave me a series of assignments designed to help me identify and express the essence of my book for sales representatives and bookstore managers. Yes, it was about me, but every memoir author can say the same. It was time to spell out what distinguished my memoir and made it compelling.

I spent hours writing descriptions, first listing every summary, benefit, and angle I could think of and then boiling it all down to a paragraph. I did this again and again. My initial tries were returned with suggestions to try again. It wasn’t rocket science, but occasionally it made me wish for rocket science.  

Though I wouldn’t want to wager that my versions of the sales sheets, website pages, and back cover copy made it through intact, they were good practice. I’m grateful for my publisher’s help in finalizing the central message of It Started with Dracula; otherwise, I might still be at it.

The summary of my book on the back cover begins like this: “A long-awaited dream vacation unexpectedly triggers an inner journey of self-reflection that opens the doors to forgiveness, acceptance, and longed-for peace.” It goes on to explain that visiting the land of Dracula at age 59 unearthed memories of my childhood with an alcoholic mother.

Nailing down “the story” should make writing the elevator speech that much easier. It’s all related.

When I created my visualization board, the place where I display my wishes as though they have already come true, I pasted information about my memoir onto a copy of the New York Times best-seller list. Covering up the real #1 book is a description of It Started with Dracula that mimics those on the list: “A solo traveler’s inner and outer journeys in Romania.” Well said, if I do say so—and certainly succinct. There are all kinds of descriptions.

Not long ago I spoke to a class of fourth-grade writing students. They had prepared questions for me in advance. Partway into my talk, a boy raised his hand and asked expectantly, “Is there a lot of action in your book?”

“Well,” I said, wishing I could embellish the truth for him—or at least slap on a pith helmet--“It’s about me.”

Personal Branding VII: Hire a Publicist

I might have argued with this nugget of advice before I did it, but now I’m convinced. Yes, I knew that marketing “how-to” books suggested an author should have a publicist, and my publisher had echoed that advice.

“Just use the person for the three most important months,” she had said: “The month before your book is released, the month of, and the month after.” The success of my book launch would depend heavily on my activities during those three months.

My publisher then quoted me a typical publicist’s monthly fee—one that made my mortgage payment look puny. (Some might argue that my mortgage payment IS puny, but let’s stay on track.) Once I knew the cost, I gave up on the idea of having a publicist and considered other options.

The busy period for my book would likely be July through December 2011, with the key months being September, October, and November. The big push was still several months away.

Always working ahead, I began a list of possible stops on my expected book tour—bookstores, book festivals, and retail establishments that might stock It Started with Dracula. I went on the Internet and found the contact information for each one.

How do you book a book tour?

The next step, according to the marketing books, was to call each place and verify the contact information, especially the people. Employees come and go; websites, if unattended, can be wrong.

I’ve always dreaded phone work. Maybe that began when I worked for a figure salon in the 1970s. Every so often I’d have to sit on the floor behind the service desk with stacks of customer member sheets and call each woman whose attendance had lapsed. “We’ve missed you!” I’d begin in a perky voice, not having any idea who she was; and from there my script was designed to turn anything she might say into a commitment to come back.

Any kind of selling is about as comfortable for me as a three-day wedgie. Some of us just don’t have that killer instinct. Combine “selling” with “phone work,” and I’m out. Bye-bye.

I called a friend who has a thriving assistant business, but she was booked up. That’s what thriving means. I dreaded having to handle every detail myself. When should I start calling? How long would it take me to contact every bookstore on my list? Would they be happy to have me, or would I have to convince them? How many places could I appear in a week? It was overwhelming, so I put it off.

In the meantime, another publicity challenge was on the horizon. Early, uncorrected copies of my book were being printed so that they could be mailed out to “key reviewers.” The publisher wasn’t going to do all of the mailing; some of it would fall to me. After that, it would be time to create an EPK—my electronic press kit.

I couldn’t do all of that. Besides being untrained and terrible when it came to snappy marketing ideas, I was writing a second book. So, when my publisher again mentioned hiring a publicist, I agreed. She very generously offered to help with the cost, which by then I knew was reasonable and the service worth every penny.

I love having a publicist, and she's a wonder. She loves setting up book tours, she does a rocking EPK, and she made up the best mailing labels for all those books “we” sent out. About the only thing I have to do now is get used to saying “My publicist,” which still sounds a bit Hollywood to me. I’m working on that.

Thank you, Randee Feldman of GetNoticed PR (www.randeegfeldman.com); and Bettie Youngs (www.bettieyoungsbooks.com), the best publisher on the planet.

Personal Branding VI: Social Media

A few years ago I was at a work conference in Orlando. A dozen of us had gone to lunch, and the conversation at the table turned to Facebook. I didn’t know what Facebook was, or why it was so important for my colleagues to meet their friends in cyberspace.

I listened for a few minutes before asking, “How many of you are on Facebook?” Every hand went up—all but mine. I was writing It Started with Dracula then and beginning to study the world of book publicity. Like two country roads converging under a sign, those threads intersected when I realized that social media could help me connect with others personally and professionally.

I did what I usually do when faced with a challenge: I bought a book. The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Facebook wasn’t written for me, of course--I'm sure the bookstore clerk realized that immediately--but I knew it would explain the concepts clearly and that I could refer back to it if needed.

I’ve had a Facebook account for a while now. The site has surpassed its role of helping us tell our friends what’s up; for example, a page was created in the aftermath of spring storms that devastated the South. Its purpose was to reunite pictures, documents, and other scattered mementos with their rightful owners.

Facebook makes me wonder how big the Internet really is. Consider all of those postings, day after day, rolling down the page and out of sight. Where do they go? And that blank box at the top of the page—the one that asks, “What’s on your mind?"--still stumps me sometimes; I’m not one to record my every move for others.

The best reward Facebook has brought me is the feeling of connectedness, now that I’m retired and spending most days alone at my computer. I understand it now. Later on I’ll investigate starting a fan page for my memoir.

About the same time I learned to use Facebook, I was invited to start a LinkedIn account. LinkedIn is like a business version of Facebook, its purpose being to connect people professionally. I visit LinkedIn much less frequently, but I do keep my profile up to date.

My final frontier of social media was Twitter, which on the surface seems like the easiest of all: Postings cannot exceed 140 characters. Twitter feeds adorn the websites of movie stars, where many of the “tweets” announce guest appearances or new product lines. The thinly disguised advertising was a turnoff, but I joined the party anyway, choosing a few feeds to follow and posting my first tweet for the world to see. Incidentally, I had four followers before I wrote a single word. How is that possible?

My first tweet was my last, so far. Twitter is designed to be speedy, a constant stream of little messages. I can’t commit to that. Maybe the rich and famous hire people to tweet for them, but for me Twitter seems a lot to manage. I may go back and try again, but already I have to sign out of Facebook several times a day to keep my focus on my work.

So, compared to my friends in the restaurant, I’ve moved into social media slowly. The important thing is to begin and to find your own way. I still won’t call myself a complete idiot —even if I do buy their books. 

Chews Your Words Wisely

It’s a visual age. Adults and kids alike have their eyes on their Smartphones or iPads, making images whiz by onscreen with just a touch. Graphics rule.

When I worked in textbook publishing, we began to receive requests from teachers not to put so many words on the pages. “Students don’t read,” they said. “Show the key concepts graphically, so students can pick out what’s important.”

When I gave a lecture to a class of college students, I glanced at them as I read from my memoir. Nothing much was going on behind their expressions of polite attention. But when I began the accompanying slide show, every person in that room leaned forward. I could hear it happen.

Graphics. We even have graphic novels now—fiction that takes the form of a comic strip. I don’t think the whole world has suddenly abandoned traditional reading, but we can’t ignore these shifts.

We’re also in an age when storybooks read themselves, when sound can overtake the printed word. Grandpa can record his voice narrating a bedtime story and send the enhanced book to his grandchild. Mom can personalize a birthday card in the same way. It reminds me of a slogan from the past, the product forgotten: “It’s almost like being there.”

When we no longer read words, but merely hear them spoken aloud—say, in an electronic storybook, on television, or in conversation--our spelling suffers. When we have to write, we might struggle. Words that sound alike, but have different spellings and meanings, are among the biggest culprits. When we no longer read words, we often write the wrong word. And a spell checker isn’t going to catch it.

A sentence in a novel reads, “But it’s different now, it’s on a whole new plain.” The correct word would be plane.

A book about writing advises authors what to do if they are “waving” a fee. It should be waiving.

A fashion blogger writes, "I tend to add spice and flare..."  That last word should be flair, unless she is describing bell-bottom pants. 

And how many times have we been promised a "sneak peak" when a peek would have sufficed?

This appeared in a newspaper article: “…throngs of…women carrying their high heals walked along…” That one was later corrected online to high heels. Thank you!

In school I was bored by the repetitive nature of English classes; every year we learned the same things. I closed my eyes when I did the word-choice exercises in my workbook, looking after the fact to see which word I’d left uncovered by the pencil. I avoided vocabulary building. But somewhere along the line, I knew I had a feeling for it all, and now I’m not just a writer; I’m a watchdog.

In writing for others, I've made a habit of questioning my word choices and looking things up. This way, maybe I won't be the person who writes of a "hoarse" in a field. But he--or she--is out their. Whoops!

Positive Thinking

If you’re a fan of The Secret, you’ll immediately know why I pasted the title of my own book over that of the No. 1 best-seller on the New York Times list, even though It Started with Dracula won’t be published for another 24 weeks. Jack Canfield, one half of the famous Chicken Soup author team, did the same thing after the first Chicken Soup manuscript was rejected again and again. He was applying positive thinking to attract positive results, and it worked.

Canfield created a motivation wall where he posted positive messages to himself and projected his future success. I started one, too. The first document to go up on the glass of my large Mt. Everest photo (get the symbolism?) was the NYT Nonfiction Paperback best-seller list with It Started with Dracula: The Count, My Mother, and Me as No. 1 as of April 1, 2012.

The essence of each New York Times best-seller is stated on the list in a sentence or less. I wrote this to describe my book: “A solo traveler’s inner and outer journeys in Romania.”

The second thing I put up on my motivation wall was a photo of Ellen Degeneres chatting with a guest on the set of her TV show. I cut out a picture of myself and pasted it over that of the original guest so that I could get used to the idea of being on television. I like Ellen (this idea is now beaming to California) and think appearing on her show would be fun.

Item 3 on my motivation wall is a big check, made out to me in a large amount to represent what I hope to earn with my best-seller. In fact, I’m thinking I was too modest in deciding on the amount; I might do it over. The blank check is free on the website of The Secret, www.thesecret.tv. You can print it out, as I did, and fill it in as you wish.

Writing is like Mt. Everest sometimes. I say put up a motivation wall and look at it every day. Picture your success. Imagine yourself where you want to be. Rhonda Byrne, author of The Secret, says it will happen; it will change your life. Let’s find out.

Personal Branding V: The Writers Conference

I recently attended a local writers’ conference. (Where do you put that apostrophe?) I did it to network. The keynote speaker was Hallie Ephron, author of two mystery novels and two nonfiction guides for writers. The instructors included professors, editors, book authors, a screenwriter, and a literary agent. The other attendees ranged from beginners to published authors. Many were there to pitch their books.

It had been five years since I’d attended a writers’ conference; the last one had intimidated me so much that I’d stopped going. I’d made appointments that time to pitch It Started with Dracula, then a work in progress. Pitching was a new term in my world and an unexpectedly stomach-churning activity before I even met … Well, you’ll be able to read more about that in the book.

As I selected my outfit for the conference, I wondered—as always—what writers wear. It sounds ridiculous, but it was important, and my mind always takes the same route before an event: right to the subject of clothing. What should I wear? For the first time I actually was a writer. I was an author, but no one at the conference would know that, or me.

I decided on a casual outfit that was a step up from jeans, put a sweater over my blouse for warmth, and had an acute case of static cling before I ever got out of my own neighborhood.

The roads were deserted at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, greatly reducing my anxiety at trying to find the place, located on a university campus. I tuned the radio to a 50s rock station as I drove and formulated my simple goal for the day: Get through it.

I’d made no pitching appointments, a great relief, but I did have in mind to meet the agent, just because she’d set up her first office in Charleston, West Virginia, a city from my childhood. If she’d accepted memoirs, I might have contacted her earlier, but now I would be only an anonymous member of her class. Whether I introduced myself was solely my choice.

Most of my classes were excellent. I made a few friends, gained new insights about the craft of writing, and gave out several of the business cards I’d taken with me, a new design with my photo on one side and my book cover on the other.

Hallie Ephron--sister of Nora, Delia, and Amy—sat one table away from mine at lunch. She looked regular. Her photo is glamorous, and it should be, but that day she was completely natural talking and laughing with her tablemates. The screenwriter sat beside me. My new friend Debbie had told me the buzz: This woman had “flown in from LA” just for the conference. I didn’t recognize her name, but we had a short conversation—mostly about her.

The best thing I heard Hallie Ephron say in her keynote was that when she’s writing a book, she has no perspective on whether it’s good or bad. I’d thought I was the only one, but my Memoir teacher said the same thing: “None of us do.”

During the break I bought novels from Hallie and one of my teachers. Both autographed them to me. After the last session of the day I did go up front to meet the literary agent, who’d just served on a panel. I shall pin a gold star on myself for that.

Writers’ conferences are on the A-list for networking opportunities, and I totally agree—even if, in my case, they’re an acquired taste. I can’t seem to relax and stop thinking about myself. Perhaps that is the curse of the “writer’s personality”—many of us are introverts--or maybe I just like to think that I’m not the only one.

Personal Branding IV: The First Interview

My publisher had mentioned radio and TV interviews, but it seemed she must be talking about someone else. Even when she interrupted our telephone call to take one from “The Ellen DeGeneres Show,” I didn’t associate myself with the national spotlight.

No, the phone call from “Ellen” wasn’t about me, but it made me think. How would I fare sitting across from Oprah, Ellen, or even a local newscaster? Let’s just say that I’m more comfortable on paper than in person. Well, the advice books would say, get over that!

Fortunately, my first interview was with a newspaper reporter, meaning that I would not need to worry about squirming, scowling, scratching, squinting, or screwing up on TV. All I had to control was my habit of blurting out too much information when I’m nervous.

The writer was someone whose work I’d admired for a while. She had been doing a series of “Innerviews” for my hometown paper in West Virginia, and I was thrilled that she wanted to talk to me.

Even though it wasn’t television, I duly reported for my beauty routines the week before the interview. When I thought about what to wear, my first impulse was to choose a business suit. Then I remembered I didn’t have one that fit. I’d recently achieved lifetime status in Weight Watchers, so it wasn’t the other problem—which I’ve had plenty of times over the years.

The interview required a trip of several hours. Every time I’ve taken a trip, I’ve bought something new to wear. It’s a compulsion, but my trip to the mall produced only a couple new blouses—nothing too dangerous to the pocketbook. I decided to wear dress pants, one of the new shirts, and a casual jacket.

This interview took place in a conference room at the newspaper offices, which I’d never seen. In my pre-meeting nervousness, I parked the car in a pay lot and stuffed the fee into the wrong slot—no attendant was present—then had to ask for change from the receptionist at the Gazette, trudge back to the lot, and pay again. For all my efforts to be cool, such mistakes seem inevitable. At least that one beat driving away from the ATM without my card.

The interview team consisted of the writer, who used a recorder to capture the exchange, and a photographer who snapped pictures of me while I was talking. I knew in advance that I’d be “taped,” so my greatest efforts were to be nice and avoid spilling my guts. The session lasted about an hour, and then we went outside for more photos.

My interview will run in the paper in a couple of weeks. Naturally, I have no say now about what goes into the story; my chance to shape it came when I sat down at that table on the second floor of the Gazette building in Charleston. I hope the article turns out well. I do trust the writer, so I try not dwell on the interview or dredge up what I said or didn’t say. I’ll just think of it as good practice for “Ellen."

Personal Branding III: The Website

An Internet presence is an essential part of an author’s platform, so it follows that said author needs a website. And you need it before you’re published. In fact, you need it before you create your book proposal—that document you’ll use to attract agents to you like a magnet. Well, don’t take that magnet part too seriously, but you will want to list your website in the section of your proposal dedicated to marketing and promotion.

Before I sound like I know it all, I'll mention that this series on personal branding is where I share my journey as a first-time author. I’m learning as I go.

Anyone can get on the Internet these days. It’s easy to express an opinion, post photos, or even tell the world what you had for supper last night. I’d already taken the social media plunge by the time I had to think about a website. I’d seen my face on Facebook, but it was still weird to think of myself as the subject of a website. It helped me to look at the process as work and reduce it to steps and tasks instead of seeing my site as the doorway to fame.

I began researching website creation after I had a publishing contract, but a year before my book was due in stores. Before that, it was finish the book, target agents, put a proposal together, write letters, and try not to wait by the e-mailbox. The advice books mention that writing your book is only the beginning, and it’s true.

For website inspiration, I looked at the sites of famous authors. I remember masculine-looking bookcases on John Grisham’s site. Lee Child’s home page shows the author holding a cigarette. The smoke drifts out across the page, its motion a very cool effect. James Patterson’s site is highly interactive and loaded. Sandra Brown’s has an intro that loads while you wait. Romance author Julia Spencer-Fleming’s site is gorgeous.

A few authors had poorly designed websites—too much text, wild margins, too many fonts, crazy colors, or other faux pas that cried “homemade” in the worst sense of the word. Growing up in West Virginia, I wore homemade clothes, but anyone picturing flour sacks sewn together didn’t know my grandmother’s talent with a Singer.

I initially asked a media editor friend to help me set up my website, but she was already consumed with her full-time job. Next I explored companies on the Internet that would guide me through the process and then host my site. It looked easy enough, but did I really want a site I’d created myself?

One of my sayings is pretty simple: You can’t do everything. How much did I want to do myself? It wasn’t just a question of what I liked to do—or had the skill to do--versus what I didn’t. I also had to consider how many people I could afford to hire in the process of creating my brand: Not many.

In the end I paid attention to a bit of advice I came across in my research: Hire a professional, because the difference will be obvious to those who count. I’m not saying that’s always true, but combined with my lack of web savvy and low level of desire to build my own site, it worked for me.

Professional websites can cost thousands of dollars—and a website isn’t the only piece of a publicity plan that costs money--so it pays to shop around. I was very lucky to find an excellent designer who could work within my budget. As soon as I hired him, I was glad. He immediately reserved my domain name and asked me to compile a list of key words I’d want picked up by a search engine.

Over the next several days I made a list of my ideas. Some didn’t make it past the designer’s wisdom, and I was glad. As an example, I wanted a device that would track and display the number of visits to my site. He quickly convinced me that I might want to rethink that one, especially at the beginning. What if I had only a few visitors?

I also asked for something dramatic like Lee Child’s wafting cigarette smoke, but I gave it up when I learned it would be expensive for me and possibly slow to load. Here's another reason I liked my designer: For everything I gave up, he suggested something else.

I knew that a blog would be a critical piece of my “online presence.” After giving serious thought to what I’d write about, I thought up the name for my blog. Then I Googled “So Write!” to see if anyone else had thought of it first. I also suggested a little feature called “Transylvania Trivia” to teach people about Dracula’s homeland, since that’s a setting in my book. My research for my memoir had yielded many facts that would fit the trivia format.

Regarding interactivity, I was advised not to go crazy. So far my site is free of contests, special offers, games, and the like. If you make a large time commitment to your site, who’s going to keep that up? Recently I wrote to a favorite author via his website. I was disappointed when the language of his reply smacked of someone else’s touch. It was just too pat and didn’t seem like anything he would say.

My site has the usual menu: Home, About, Books, News, Links, and Contact. I wrote the copy for the pages and reviewed various stages of the site design. My designer initially prepared three “looks,” and I chose after asking friends and family for their input.

I furnished photos for my site, glad again for my session at Glamour Shots a few months earlier as well as the hundreds of pictures I’d taken in Romania. I had to export them in a photo editing program (I used Picasa) at a lower resolution for the web. My publisher furnished the required book information, and because my web designer is also the book cover designer, he provided the cover image.

Every two weeks I send in an update, for instance a new Transylvania Trivia. Soon I’ll be listing Events on that page. My web designer makes those changes, but I post new blog entries myself.

Of all the decisions required in developing a website, hiring a professional designer was the best one I made. He helped me through the decision points, making a huge task manageable and allowing me to move on to other things as my book went through the publishing process. My designer has been amazing--creative, knowledgeable, and quick; the process was affordable; and the site, www.janecongdon.com, is everything I could have wanted. Thanks, Tatomir!

Radar

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I whispered in relief. It wasn’t because I’d just sent in my third round of copyediting corrections, though I was glad to get them off my desk; it was because my absolutely incredible copyeditor had saved me—again.

The copyedited manuscript of my memoir had arrived a few days earlier for my review. It came as an e-mail attachment. Prior to seeing “copyedit” in the filename, I wasn’t sure the project had reached that stage, the last and most routine edit before typesetting.

My publisher had said my book was in “line editing,” but even with my publishing background I didn’t know what the term meant. I hoped the manuscript wasn’t undergoing yet another content edit. If so, could I endure it? I’d completed six drafts by the time It Started with Dracula was accepted for publication, and with every revision it had become a slightly different book. Maybe you’ve experienced that evolution, known to some of us as “Can’t-Leave-It-Alone Syndrome.”

Before offering me a contract, my publisher read my manuscript and then hired someone else to read it and offer a second opinion, as a doctor would. In fact, he was a doctor—a book doctor. Some of us like to think we don’t need a book doctor; I always thought they were hired in dire cases, when the author wasn’t much of a writer. Live and learn.

After I’d signed my contract, my publisher recommended that I work with the book doctor on my own to cut the thousands of words required to bring my manuscript to an acceptable length. That’s tough to do alone, and the mere idea caused me to panic. My first thought was to chop entire chapters: “Who’d miss this?” I recklessly asked the four walls of my condo as I noted massive deletions for the book doctor’s review.

Fortunately, the book doctor was very, very good. He recommended a different approach. It took two weeks of intense rewriting on my part and an extra pillow under me on my office chair, but the subtle changes I made—a word here, a phrase there—worked. The story was preserved, my writing voice was preserved, and the word count was acceptable. I was thrilled.

The next step, the line edit-slash-copyedit, made me nervous all over again. If writers’ words are our babies, you might understand my desire to protect mine until they were locked in by the printing press. Little did I know that, while I worried about “my precious manuscript,” the copyeditor was finding a rather big mistake that I’d made.

She saved my neck.

While she was making style changes and flagging the occasional confusing passage, my copyeditor discovered a glitch in the timeline that spanned four chapters. I’d incorrectly written that we arrived somewhere on Friday when it was actually Thursday, and the missing day threw the story off. “I have a kind of radar for that,” she said when I thanked her.

Radar: It’s the perfect word to describe the mysterious element that transcends skill, training, and experience to set the best editors apart. Where does radar originate? Is it innate, or cumulative? All I know is this: Some editors have it, and others don’t. I was lucky that mine did.

I hate to admit to a second instance of screwing up a time sequence, but after I’d fixed the first glitch and sent it off, the copyeditor found another one at the last minute. Like the first, it would have been a disaster had it reached print.

Here’s the thing: Writing can’t be an ego trip. If it is, the publishing process will likely snap you out of it. Becoming an author has taught me that I don’t know everything, I’m not always right, and I make mistakes. As a writer, I need others’ eyes on my work. I need their radar.

I fixed the second glitch, grateful that both the copyeditor and the book doctor had found the flaws in my manuscript at the best possible time--while it still was a manuscript. They’d seen what I hadn’t, and they’d made me look better on the page. That’s the point, after all.

I’ve worked alongside some of the best editors in the business, but a career in educational publishing does not necessarily prepare one to become an author of nonfiction. The terminology is different; the processes can be different; and working it from the other side is definitely different. I’ve had to be led along.

Occasionally I write about poor editing in this blog, but I am totally appreciative of the people whose meticulous work behind the scenes makes an author look her best. I’ll end this post as I began it: “Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Personal Branding II: Author Photos

Before I even began submitting queries to agents and publishers, I sat for a series of professional author photos. It was one of the best decisions I’ve made.

If you consider publication the turning point between “writer” and “author,” I was definitely still a writer, but I wanted to be prepared. Besides, “head shots” are a given for anyone who wants to build a professional image.

After some research on the Internet, I decided to check out our local Glamour Shots, even though I thought it was a place to go for that special Valentine portrait. In fact, they do many kinds of photography, as I learned during my fact-finding visit. A face-to-face is a good idea before you hire a photographer.

I’d always considered myself a poor photo subject--all the more reason to book an appointment with a professional—and I didn’t look forward to the session. Once upon a time, the publishing company where I worked had its own photo studio. I had my picture taken there after receiving a promotion to supervisor. Well, in addition to “dressing for success,” I decided to emulate executives who looked brainy and serious and visionary in their photos--in other words, I didn’t smile. When the contact sheets came back, I was surprised to see that I’d scowled in every shot and had to repeat the whole session.

In order to make my author session fun, I scheduled the appointment to coincide with a visit from my granddaughter. At seven, Annie was the perfect partner. She loved to dress up, so I knew she’d have a blast with the kid outfits at Glamour Shots. She could wear whatever she wanted for her individual poses, I’d get my author photos, and we could have some pictures made together.

In anticipation, I finally made that eye appointment and got new glasses. I made my beauty appointments a few days ahead of the session, making sure my hairdresser didn’t cut too much off. Luckily, after all these years, Tina didn’t take offense at “Don’t scalp me.”

Glamour Shots had advised me about what to bring to the shoot. I put together several outfits, including a business suit; some travel clothes, because my book is about a trip; and a casual set for the shots with Annie. Then I took her shopping and bought her a top to go with mine. For her individual photos, she picked out a green fairy dress with a matching headpiece.

First we went to Hair and Makeup, just like the Kardashians. I let Annie choose her hairstyle, French braids. Listening to her occasional sharp intakes of breath, I was glad my much simpler do required only a couple hot curls and a bit of gel.

Annie’s makeup was a light touch, while mine was a dousing with Luminess, the spray-on foundation of movie stars. As for the eyes, “We line both the upper and lower lids,” the make-up artist said. “Looking in the mirror, you’ll think your makeup is way too heavy, but your pictures will look great.” They did.

The session went smoothly, and at the end of it we were able to view the digital results there in the office before placing our order. I won’t give away all my secrets, but if you need retouching, many things are possible on a computer.

I had Glamour Shots deliver my author photos on a CD-ROM. It wasn’t cheap, but I can use them over and over—as long as I don’t change my hairdo.

Annie proved to be a natural. Her mom and dad have taken countless family photos since she was born, and she’s been on stage as part of a dance company since she was two. Here’s my favorite pose from our session. Now, there’s a face for the cameras!

Personal Branding I: Business Cards

Personal branding is the core of publicity. My publisher has explained this principle to me—the same principle found in numerous how-to books for writers: The publisher’s job is to publicize the book, and your job is to publicize yourself—starting NOW. It’s called platform. If you don’t have it, you’d better get it.

It’s an odd word, platform, used like this; but I’m beginning to make peace with both the term and the concept. I have to, and so do you if you’re counting on the public to support your creative efforts.

At least now when I hear the word platform, I don’t think of platform shoes. Instead, I automatically picture a stage, maybe one with a section that rises amid blinding lights and billowing smoke, like Justin Bieber’s did in Never Say Never. In my case, the vision is symbolic of what the shy, solitary writer now has to do.

I had to draw up a publicity plan for myself. It seems that bookstore buyers want to know who this so-called author is--and why they should care--before they decide to carry a book. That’s power.

A neophyte when it comes to self-branding, I once tried to re-brand my tenth-grade English teacher by deliberately mispronouncing her name to new students so they’d trip up. Some people just invite mischief.

This was the same teacher who asked me a question in class about the origin of my surname, which back then wasn’t Congdon. In tenth grade I didn’t know what a surname was. As it turned out, I’ve had three: my family name and two others gained or lost in love—branding of a different kind.

One of the easier tasks on my publicity plan was ordering business cards. I’m glad I did that, because already—seven months before my book pub date—people ask. It’s good to be able to hand them something.

As with many jobs, I began with research. Fortunately, others have gone before us. I used a blog by author Jennifer Hudson Taylor as a guide for what to include on my card. Did you know that author business cards are different from those of companies? I didn’t. Hudson tells why; check it out: http://jenniferswriting.blogspot.com/2008/09/author-business-cards-are-different.html.

I took Hudson’s advice to use a photo—I am my “company,” after all--and to highlight my product, which is my book. I made up a tag line and put the essential contact information on the card. That was it. Oh, I shouldn’t mislead you; I hired a graphic designer to give my business cards the professional look they need.

I didn’t take a pen name, even though many people misspell or mispronounce Congdon. I don’t see what’s so difficult about it, but in making restaurant reservations I use a simpler surname.

And that brings us back to my tenth-grade English teacher. She was a compact lady with perfect gray curls, professionally dressed and quite proper, so it was a shock when one of her hands would disappear inside her blouse to fish a wayward strap out of her sleeve. She did this by touch, never missing a beat of the lecture or conversation and never taking her eyes off the class.

Ditto.

Mrs. H. was at her most fascinating in short sleeves. We used to watch her arm flap when she wrote on the blackboard, and sometimes one of those errant straps would come right out of her sleeve, and we’d get to follow her hand on its spellbinding journey. Now and then fingers would even appear, like a magic trick. All she needed was a top hat.

My point is that people will remember something about you. What do you want it to be?

Book Tests

How do you spot a good book? Is it possible to know before you spend your hard-earned money and time whether a book will be as good as its cover promises? That’s one purpose of best-seller lists, of course. Reviews and book club selections are helpful, too, and let’s not leave out Oprah. But sometimes it’s fun to choose our books for ourselves. 

In matters of biography, the author or subject of the book will sell it. You either want to know more about a person, or you don’t. Although I’ve read a few boring biographies and put down others that were poorly written, fascinating life stories don’t often disappoint. With fiction, it’s trickier.

I start with the summary, to see if I like the story. Mysteries are my usual choice, and some plots just don’t get old; for example, I love relentless chasing and villains who will stop at nothing. I don’t like stories about women whose exes are still hanging around waiting to fall back in love.

Next I read the blurbs, the quoted accolades on the cover and in the front of the book. No publisher is going to print negative comments, but blurbs from the right sources can signal a hit. I hesitate if the blurb is about the author and not the particular book, though, wondering why no one raved about the item I’m holding in my hands.

A known author is usually a good bet, although I’ve given up on two very famous ones. The first has taken on co-authors, some of whom are terrible. I’ll say it again: Terrible. The second ex-favorite just got on my nerves; in attempting to acquaint readers with her quirky fictitious family, she went overboard. All right, already! So the daughter is bright, but stubborn. We get it; move on.

A good new author is a treasure, and new could mean new to writing books or just new to the reader. I love to discover an author, and when I do it generally follows that I can read everything she’s written and expect a similar level of competence.

Maybe you read the first paragraph or two to determine the author’s writing skill and style, as I do, or to see if the story hooks you in. If you’re of a certain age, you might also be reading to see if it rings a bell. I’ve bought books twice, thanks to senior moments. Recently I purchased a paperback of The Lost Symbol, forgetting that I’d read the hardcover version from the library.

My mother used to carry around a list of her favorite authors because she couldn’t remember their names. Now I do it.

If I like the quotes and the summary on the flap or back cover, and if a book passes the author and/or “initial paragraph” test, I’ll buy it. All of that screening pays off most of the time, but once in a while flags will pop up later. The worst ones are those memory triggers—Wait! He carried her into the hospital? I’ve read this!

Winking and grinning are big red flags for me. If the characters start winking and grinning when they speak, they’re not going to stop. Instead of looking for the next instance—a most annoying distraction--I look for my next book.