eBook Publishing

If I can believe all I've read and heard this past year, ebooks are the hottest form of publishing, supposedly 70% of all books published last year (2010) were ebooks. The keynote speaker in the first writer conference I ever attended, Jeremiah Healy, said, "The personal computer has made it very easy for people to write. Unfortunately, it also made it very easy for them to write badly." The same thing can be said for the burgeoning number of ebooks available through any number of outlets.

I have published a number of ebooks via smashwords and Kindle Direct Publishing (for some reason Barnes and Nobles and a number of ebook sites will accept books from Smashwords whereas Amazon does not, preferring that the author use their Kindle Direct Publishing) and receive an RSS feed from Smashwords each time I access my email with Outlook. Scrolling through the uploads can be quite eye-opening. The number of amateurish books makes one believe that ebook publishers have become the vanity press of the 21st century.

I find it quite easy to identify some of the lesser experienced writers by checking the price they put on their work. I doubt any accomplished writer would publish a book for free or for as small a price as $0.99 (Barnes and Noble and several other outlets will not list a book unless they meet a certain pricing standard).
Of late, I have seen more and more books by established authors for the Nook and the Kindle so I can't arbitrarily dismiss the platform...I am seeing more an more readers carrying ereaders of one type or another.

One of the reasons it is so easy to publish an ebook is that no special software is required. In fact, Smashwords and KDP prefer that the manuscript be written using Microsoft Word. There are some things to be aware of when preparing your manuscript for submission and the easiest way to ensure that your work will look its best on an ereader is to download the publisher's style guide. It has been my experience that if your book complies with Smashwords Style Guide (available for download at http://www.smashwords.com) most other publishers will accept it with no reservations.

It can, however, be very frustrating when your Smashwords version keeps generating format errors. EReaders do not like tabs, or a sequence of more than 3 spaces used to separate text (I recently had the wonderful experience of preparing a manuscript which contained poetry where the author had used spaces to align sentences to create a visual. For example in one poem entitled PINE, the author spent a lot of time making the lines appear to form a pine tree. It did not work as an ebook--ebooks ignore things such as page breaks and, on my Nook, the pine tree was presented across two screens.) and font can be an issue. EReaders allow the reader to increase the font size for easier reading and therefore most publishers restrict font size to 12 pitch for normal print and no more than 16 for titles etc. Most publishers also require a cover for their higher levels of service. In the case of Smashwords to be included in their Premium Catalog requires you meet certain standards.

Why is inclusion in the Premium Catalog important? To quote Smashwords: "The Premium Catalog includes Smashwords titles that meet certain mechanical requirements for distribution into major online retailers such as Smashwords partners, Barnes & Noble or Apple. Smashwords books that achieve Premium Catalog status receive the greatest possible distribution across Smashwords' growing distribution network. If you're a serious writer and you want to reach the greatest number of readers, you want inclusion in the Premium Catalog. It's free."

In summary, eBook publishing is easy (although it usually takes me 3 to 6 hours to redesign a manuscript to meet Smashwords Guidelines) and virtually instantaneous--in a matter of hours you can see your book or short story in an ePublisher's catalog.

Why I Dread The Holidays

Connie Opening a Christmas Gift From Her Sister, Shirley

Once again the holidays are upon us and I've been hit with bad news. Before I tell you the bad news, I'd like to fill you in on some history. I had a turbulent childhood, so much so that I left home at the age of 17 riding in an eighteen wheeler bound for Boston to pick up a load of beer. I had five dollars, some record albums and a change of clothes with me. During the ensuing year I bounced around like a racquet ball going from Massachusetts to Connecticut to New Jersey until I finally enlisted in the U. S. Marine Corps in June of 1966. I turned nineteen in Parris Island (my birthday had passed by three days before I realized it).

Throughout my service, I did not go home for the holidays, choosing instead to spend time with friends (especially one particular friend in Memphis) or to stay at the base. During the years I was married to my now deceased wife, Connie, I went along with the flow, the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas was her favorite time of year. All I can say about those years is that for the most part I was able to get through the season without ruining it for her and our daughter. Then came 2006.

On October 16, I lost my beloved Connie, which of itself was enough to dampen any semblance of holiday spirit I had. Then on December 20 my older brother, Norman, lost his battle with diabetes and kidney failure. I attended his funeral on Christmas Eve and returned to my home in New Hampshire, where I spent the holidays in seclusion. I have not put up a single holiday decoration since my last Christmas with Connie in 2005. My dislike of the holidays was, if anything, strengthened (while I think of her everyday, I find myself reminiscing of her and our holidays more and more during the season).

Now we jump forward to 2011. Last month I learned that an old childhood friend, Bob Cyr, was hospitalized with stage four intestinal cancer. I visited with him on Thanksgiving afternoon and again the following week. During the Thanksgiving visit he was lucid and we joked about some of the crazy things we did as kids, several of which I had forgotten. The second visit was not so nice. The cancer had spread and he was unable to carry on a conversation or maintain a consistent thought. About once every five minutes I had to tell him who I was. It was earth-shaking for me...a flashback to my wife's last days. I am still haunted by the last words she ever spoke: "Vaughn, help me." All I could say was, "Connie, I don't know what to do..." Looking at Bob and remembering Connie made me think about how helpless we truly are when our loved ones need us the most.

Bob passed away yesterday, December 14, 2011, at the age of 65.

It always hurts to lose a loved one, but to lose someone at this time of year seems to hit harder. For most of us (this writer excluded) the holidays are a time for family and for giving. To have to remove a loved one's presents from under a Christmas tree has to be devastating. It's bad enough to try and fill the void they left behind... I don't think I can handle too many more holidays.

In Memory of Connie

During our courtship 1970

Yesterday (8:30 P.M. last night to be more exact) marked the fifth year since I lost my best friend, my most avid fan and my wife of over 35 years. As I sat in the dark listening to old rock songs from the 1960s and 1970s, I let my thoughts drift and found myself recalling many of the high points in our life together.

Connie and I first met when she was 5 and I was 9. How can you recall that you may ask. Well, she was the aunt of one of my best friends. The very thought of anyone having an aunt younger than them was unique enough to linger in my memory for years. After a brief encounter at my friend's house, I did not think about the little blond again. (She however, went to school with my younger brother and over the ensuing years heard many of my crazier escapades--although I'll never truly know how much embellishment my brother added.) Connie and I met again when she was 19 and I was 23, recently discharged from the U. S. Marine Corps and still half crazy from my time in VietNam.

Once again, my friend and her nephew was the catalyst in the meeting. She was looking for him and found him with me at my mother's home, where he and I were pondering what we should do that evening. As soon as he introduced us, she said, "I've heard about you..." At that moment I thought she and I would never get together. I was wrong...

Two nights later I asked her out and she and I spent every day and evening together after that. We married five months after that fateful second meeting and the next year we were the parents of our one and only child.

Muir Woods, California 1999

Last night, my thoughts were a mish-mash of what we did right and what we did wrong; of all the times we unknowingly hurt each other and how much we grew up together. There were good times and, of course the bad times, still throughout all of it she stayed by me. When I was carousing and drinking, she was there when I returned to my senses; when I battled a severe case of PTSD in the late 1980s, she weathered the storm with me. More than anyone I've ever known, Connie had an immense capacity to forgive (something that I lack, especially when it comes to forgiving myself). She was truly one of God's special people.

Connie was weak in many ways and oh so strong in others (I am still astonished how this woman, who was terrified by the smallest bird, kept her sense of humor throughout her final battle against cancer and faced death with a strength that I can only hope to have myself). She always had the ability to keep me balanced and was the one constant bond that kept our family together on those times when my insanity threatened to tear it apart. Since her passing our family has become scattered and disjointed--something that I know she is not pleased with as she watches over us. Throughout her six month battle against an aggressive form of cancer, she did her crying in private and hid her fear from her family, sparing us as much anguish as possible.

Over the course of our marriage, she many times expressed to me that I was her source of courage and confidence...she had no idea that she was also my font of strength (truthfully, neither did I). If not for her continual support, I'd have spent my life at menial, low-paying jobs. Her presence spurred me to obtain three degrees and a career in hi-tech. When I mentioned to her in passing that I was thinking of writing a book, she encouraged me; the result was Elephant Valley (available as an ebook through Barnes & Noble and Smashwords). When I was discouraged by the rejections from agents and publishers, she again urged me keep submitting and work on something new; the result was The War Within, which was awarded second prize in a major literary contest (soon to be released as an eBook).

Connie's passing rocked me like nothing else ever has and has made me come to grips with one fact about myself...I don't appreciate anything until I lose it. I was once told by a therapist that I walk around with a hole in my chest that I believe only a woman can fill. Well, I now walk around with a canyon in my chest that will never be filled until she and I are reunited again.

Darling Connie, I love you, I miss you and I'm being good so I can join you in the afterlife...

Getting Back On Track

As anyone who follows my blog knows, I've been away for a while, almost six months to be exact. There are a number of reasons why I haven't blogged since last March...but they are all really excuses and we all know that excuses always sound good to the person making them. Let's suffice to say, it's darned hard to come up with things to blog about on a continual basis.

During my Blogging Sabbatical, I did however, publish my novel Elephant Valley as an eBook. Available through Barnes and Noble as well as Smashwords.com . It's a novel loosely based on my experiences as a helicopter machine-gunner in Vietnam. Although it's not yet available through Amazon, Smashwords does have a Kindle-friendly version in .mobi format as well as the popular Adobe Epub format used by many e-readers.

I have also published several short stories during this period. Among them are Net Profit (co-authored with a long-time friend, Paulette Littlefield Clark) in The Storyteller Magazine (January/February/March 2011 issue) and several others in Breathe; Volume II an anthology of short stories and poetry by northern Maine writers.
The New England CrimeBake is coming up on November 11 through 13. If you haven't registered, it may be too late. The conference limits registration to about 250 attendees and those slots filled withing three weeks of registration opening. There are however, always cancellations so you may want to get on the Waiting List.

I'm also closing in on the completion of The Black Orchid, the second Ed Traynor novel (the first, My Brother's Keeper is available in eBook format from Barnes and Noble, Smashwords and Amazon .

Where Are You Ronnie Jay?

Several years back I was a member of a writer group that met monthly at the public Library in Exeter, NH. The group had no rules about what type of writing members had to write. I also belonged to another group that met weekly, but was comprised exclusively of mystery writers.

I have to confess that I cannot write poetry, nor do I read it nor do I understand it. I belong to a group today in which there are several poets and each time they read something I am absolutely lost. In fact, what usually happens is that I listen to the comments made by my fellow writers and always ask myself, "How did they draw that conclusion from what was read?" I'm a hard-boiled kind of guy and the nuances of poetic language, as well as the art form are lost on me.

Now, let's talk about the subject of this blog. I recall watching Ronnie Jay when he entered our group for the first time. He was dressed in cowboy hat and boots and told us that he had recently relocated to New Hampshire from Nashville where he wrote country music songs. I won't tell anyone what my first impression was. To get to the point, Ronnie didn't read anything that night, but promised to have something when he came back the next month.

He sat quiet through most of the next meeting and when his turn came he said, "I wrote a little poem about writing that I'd like to read." A few seconds later I was astounded. Ronnie had written the first poem that I could not only appreciate, but also understand. Here's that poem:

The Unknown Writer

By

Ronnie Jay

© 2004

I’m an unknown writer

Creative as they come

But, there’ll come a day, I dare say

I’ll be a famous one

I’ll write a #1 best-seller

And oh, the riches it will bring

It’ll sell more in every bookstore

Than Grisham, Crichton or King

I know you won’t believe me

And I can’t make you a believer

But, if I don’t believe in myself

No one else will either

Yes, I know it sounds impossible

To reach those heights of fame

And I realize that I may never

Be a household name

But, it doesn’t really matter

If my dreams do or don’t come true

I’m still gonna keep on writing

Because that’s what writers do

Ronnie disappeared from our lives after that. We assumed that he had gone back to Music City, but if by chance you should read this blog, Ronnie. Leave me a comment and I'll get in touch.