I thought it would be interesting to throw together all the versions of the Minion cover that I have. I owe a lot to my wonderfully talented artist Kris Phillipe.
Evolution of a book cover
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Category Archives: Writing
Aimless fun
A while ago, I plugged a few of my pieces into the “I Write Like” analyzer.
One of the pieces I put in was Panic No More a story of goat gods and computer programmers. At the time, the analyzer compared my writing to Dan Brown, which made me sad. Since then, I’ve been working on a new revision.
I’ll more than happily accept this rating:
Not sure if just did something smart or something very stupid
I just sent a strongly-worded note to my editor about my dissatisfaction with the back-cover blurb of my novel.
I always said that when I got a book deal, I would not be a prima donna, and so far, my experience has been smooth sailing. However, I honestly didn’t think the blurb was representative of the contents of the book. It was inaccurate, which would have been forgivable, but I had to use Google twice just to understand it.
Part of me is painfully aware that I am working with a small company, and that author of the blurb is probably my editor or a close colleague. Ouch.
I know it’s not my place to complain. I sold them the rights to publish my book however they see fit. Then again, I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth shut.
I figure this complaint with either usher in a new era of trust and understanding from my editor, or guarantee that he will never want to publish anything of mine again. Either way, I guess I will get what I want.
Then again, maybe he’s already sent it to the printers.
Good News
It turns out that he is open to my suggestions and there is time to change!
Feedback
You know your wife is comfortable editing your writing when she circles an entire paragraph and writes “Make Better” next to it.
Minor disappointment
Why'd you have to tell me that Mick?
The cover artist for Minion of Evil, Kris Phillipe is unavailable for Fangs for Nothing.
I’m sure they’ll find a great artist and I’ll end up with a good cover, but it would have been nice to have the consistency of having the same artists.
I can’t even be mad, because I know that Kris is a professional. If she says she is too busy to take a job, it’s because of all the work she puts in to make sure her art is perfect.
Another sale
Fangs for Nothing my novel about a loser vampire that lives in his parents’ basement, has sold. The publisher is going to try to rush the book out so it can be available for Convergence.
Self Promotion
Liberace in the year I was born. He was not a shy man.
I am coming to a point in my writing career that I have been dreading. I am going to have to interact with the public. I am going to have to be sociable and nice.
“But Shannon,” everyone tells me, “you’re so even keel, so personable and you always have something interesting to say. Why are you so hard on yourself.”
The problem is that I can be outgoing and talkative with people I know, but the thought of talking to strangers terrifies me.
So far, I have volunteered to be on panels for two conventions this year, and I’m planning on volunteering for ICON in November. Despite what Jim C. Hines’ advice that he had never seen a bump in sales from attending a con, I don’t have sales yet, and I like cons (which is why Jim keeps doing them.)
Part of the problem is that I have trouble presenting myself as any sort of expert. Sure, I’ve run a writing group, I do paranormal investigations, I know a reasonable amount about computers, and I have a book coming out. But why would anyone want to listen to me? Sometimes I wonder if I suffer from Impostor Syndrome. Other times, I just feel like an impostor.
Sisyphean
Today, Amanda Hocking is a big time author with St. Martin Press, but a year ago, but back when she was a 26-year-old, self-published author, selling a mere 100,000+ books a month, she was quite frustrated with the editing process.
What I find most frustrating about editing and being indie is that everything else I can do myself. Writing, covers, marketing, etc. But I cannot edit properly myself. It’s just not possible.
–Amanda Hocking, when she was an indie author
I totally feel her pain–about the editing stuff, not about the becoming a millionaire by selling kindle books. (I could am prepared to get used to it though.)
My upcoming book, Minion of Evil was edited by my wife, my critique group, me, my beta reader and by editor before I gave it my final read-through.I found around one error every four pages. When I was through, I asked my wife to go over my first chapter again. Two more errors were found.
EXPLETIVE DELETED
Today I was reading an Internet discussion about whether or not grammar is important to writers. I would never even think to ask that question. To me it would be akin to saying: Is it important for a carpenter to be able to use a table saw without slicing off their fingers?
Bad grammar, typos, and errors trip up the reader. They interrupt the flow of the book. They stop reading from being an enjoyable experience. Of course, not every person is going to read every error, hence the errors of mine alluding an editor, a critique group, and a bevy of beta readers, but every one you fail to clear adds the chance that you’re going to lose some of your readers.
Okay, on the bright side, or maybe the zeitgeist side, I have read big budget books with errors. Still, I want to put my best foot forward and make reading my book a worthwhile experience.
Going way too far
Will Smith doesn’t have to cuss in his raps to sell records. Well I do.
–Eminem, The Real Slim Shady
Lately, a lot of people have been telling me that they’re going to buy my book.
Imagining the impending release of Minion of Evil, a story of violent acts, swearing, awkward bathroom situations, over-sized condom humor, rough sex, and other utterly gross things, I can’t help but think, “OMG, my mother is going to read this.”
My mother has often stated that she does not appreciate bathroom humor.
But not only my mother, there’s also my favorite barista, a wonderful woman who is put off by mild swear words, coworkers, and other people that I have not let in on the secret of my filthy mind.
Even more than the worry about the reaction of all the filth in my books, I’m concerned that people won’t like it.
I’ve always gone for entertainment over good taste, and in my critique group, it seems like the further I push the envelope, the more people like my stories, like gawkers, drawn to a car accident. I have to wonder if I’m just so delicate in my sensibilities that I am overestimating the eww factor, or if I really have crossed some unforgivable line, from which I can never return.
Fan Death
This is a short piece I did for my writing group. Here was the promt:
An elderly man, frail but mentally sharp, who seems to be in unfamiliar territory, is sitting at a bar near a young loudmouth who is bragging about how he is not afraid of something that has the neighborhood scared. The bartender is a good-natured and middle-aged woman who would rather the loudmouth didn’t start anything.
And this is what I wrote:
A young man sat on the bar stool next to Daniel and announced, “Koreans are idiots.”
In any social situation, this would be an awkward phrase, but in a bar at the edge of a bustling Koreatown, the statement nearly constituted a call to action. Daniel glanced around to see if anyone had heard, but other than the bartender, there were only a couple disinterested old men, about his own age, playing mahjong in the corner.
The middle-aged Korean woman working behind the bar gave them both a nasty look.
Trying to indicate to the woman that he did not know the man making the offensive statement, Daniel went back to his crossword.
“They’re afraid of fans,” said the young man. “They believe that if you fall asleep with a fan running in your room, you’ll suffocate before morning. Fan Death, they call it.” He turned to Daniel, “Have you ever known of a person killed by a fan?”
“I suppose anything’s possible,” Daniel said, trying to be judicious.
The bartender slapped the bar and let go a torrent of her native language with enough force to push Daniel back an inch on his bar stool. She slapped the bar again for emphasis.
“Well,” said, the young man, “nice talking to you, but mom says I have to get back to work.”