Selling Books the Write Way

A very helpful article on Authors that are bloggers, also.

HarsH ReaLiTy

Authors and bloggers both hate promotion, but at the same time they need it to gain visibility. Unless you are fortunate enough to have thousands of people reading your words daily and that are willing to spread the word like wildfire about your new release, you have to do much of that promoting yourself.

I am a blogger. I have done some book promotions, but really all I have done is present books by writers to those that frequent my blog. That is all I have done and it is the same thing I’ll do when I publish my own book. There is a fine line between promotion and spamming people. I’ll explain how I view that line.

People that get annoyed or upset by promotion are the same people that will get annoyed and upset over my posting habits. They are the same bloggers and writers that feel everyone…

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HI,, my name is Wildoats. I’m a horse so they tell me.

I’d like to tell you a story about how I came to be in book called “Saddle Spur” and John’s best pal. My story began when I was just a foal (young colt).  I wasn’t even weaned yet  from my mother’s milk when she was taken off to war, what ever that is.  I was locked up in a round pen with other newborn foals, their mothers went to war also. One day the human that fed us didn’t secure the gate properly and we escaped. I didn’t know what the others were going to do, but I saw the direction my mother had taken when she left me. I was going to find her. My legs were still a little wobbly, but I was determined. I knew she went in the direction of that bright object in the morning sky. There were fences I couldn’t jump over so I followed the wide dirt path my mother did. I found plenty of water near the path, but none of the food appealed to me. Whenever any human came along, I would run and hide, afraid they would take me back.

On the third day, cold, wet white stuff came from the sky and blocked my detection of the morning sun. I wasn’t sure if I was going in the right direction or not. The water that had been plentiful was now frozen solid. I couldn’t get at it. My hunger was getting worse also, I was about ready to give up and just lie down when I heard the braying of mules. They would have water and food, so I cut across a large barren field heading toward some buildings. I didn’t care if I was penned up again, just as long as I was warm, fed, and my thirst quenched. The buildings were all closed up except one small door. Taking a deep breath, fearing the unknown, I poked my head into the door. The smell of the mules, hay and other familiar scents greeted me. This was like home. Weak, cold and tired, I entered the dwelling. I instantly felt warmer getting out of the wind, even my meager coat wasn’t enough to prevent me from getting cold.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a trough with the frozen top cracked up, allowing me to drink the water. Two wooden rails prevented me from going into the barn any farther, but I could reach the water and used my muzzle to push aside the floating solid part and drink my fill. Once my thirst was quenched, I looked around for something to eat. Some hay from above littered the floor. I munched that, then a familiar smell led me over to several bags of oats, one was open. I dug right in eating as much as I could. Full, I laid down and slept for the first time since my mother was taken away.

 “What do we have here?” Was the first time I heard John’s voice. He came in as I struggled to rise. My legs were wobbly and unsteady. “Don’t be afraid, I will not harm you.”

John made his way past me without coming close, allowing me the open door to flee if I wanted. He then carried the oat bags through another door into another room. I went out the door but turned around, putting my head back inside out of the cold wind. John brought a metal container with some oats, sitting it on the floor near the other door he went in and out of. John then climbed over the rails and soon fresh hay was raining down from above to the area where I slept last night. Afterwards, I could hear John doing the same, throwing hay into the mules’ stalls. When John left by another door, I went back inside.

Later John returned but made no effort to come in where I was, instead, he leaned on the rail and talked to me. For some reason, his voice had a friendly, calming effect on me.

“What should I call you?” he asked, looking at me as he thought. “How about Wildoats, you are wild and love oats.” I never answered him then. I didn’t know how.

Each day for the next month or so, he came daily to talk to me and give me some oats. Not once did he ever try to close me in or put a rope on me. When the weather warmed, John came less for me, instead took the mules out. Since I was free to come and go, I soon started following him just so I could hear his voice. Later his touch.

This is Wildoats, the blogger said I will have to wait until the next blog to tell the rest of my story. Tune in and learn.


Get out and vote, you will decide our Nations future.


flagDiscussing politics is not my style. In fact, I hate it. I can remain silent no longer.

Just to be clear, I am not endorsing any of this year’s presidential candidates. Each of them has their pros and cons. For one in particular, I believe that the cons far out way the positives.

Inviting a foreign country to hack into American computers and commit espionage, and then backtracking a day later to say it was a joke, a sarcastic remark is not someone who is responsible enough to lead this country.

Someone who mocks people with disabilities, makes demeaning comments about women, obsesses over one of those comments and then tweets about it at three in the morning lacks the ability to assure the rights of all Americans. Even Gold Star parents have not been immune to these disparaging remarks.

A person who blurts comments without checking facts, who doesn’t…

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A Writer’s prerogative to change

dd785-lit2bcut Most writers feel that their books needs changing even after editing. I am one of those. Do you think it is right to go back and change something even after it is published knowing the reader will get confused if one bought the original and another bought the revised edition. Chances are they will not know it unless they are in the same circle and start discussing the book. For almost twenty years I spent writing and rewriting the original Lightning in the Tunnel series. Still, when I published it, I was not happy with it. It started out three books and ended up being ten. Now that I am off writing a western, this is my third rewrite of the story, for some reason the first series came to mind and I was thinking about what I didn’t like about it. My wife pointed out that it was not totally realistic in one aspect. A bunch of women would never get along and share one man. That was the center piece of the story besides having to survive in a post nuclear world. I guess I need to go back once again but I am hesitate to do so again. I’ll keep on working on Saddle Spur and feature “Wildoats” his horse more who has become the co-star of the book.

Does any other writer agree or disagree with me on changing a book after it is published?

Talk back, I’m listening.

Finding a place to dream.

f5c9c-dec2b302c2b20142b113a513a342bam Dreams can happen anytime and any place. They are not necessarily only for nighttime. As I wander through this thing called life, I have found that dreams are the inspiration that sets you on a path to do something or just accomplish a dream. I have been a blogger for a few years now and I’m impressed by how some dreamers make their dreams come true. For example, there is one Cindy Knoke that I follow her blog. She is not a professional photographer but loves to take pictures of places, animals and other points of interest. She has become very good at it, I always enjoy her posts of birds, wild animals and places very few of us get to visit. She doesn’t claim to be a professional but I can’t tell the difference. Her pictures of life in the Holler are to be enjoyed as well. Writers are dreamers as well, especially fiction writers like me. They have to do it with their eyes open and fingers on the key board or paper. We have to picture the characters, places we invent, and see the action taking place in our mind to get it right.

Where do you dream at? Don’t tell me that you never dream. You might not know it but dreams are a place where your controlled mind can escape and think of what if? It might dream of a better life, doing something you never did before or even fantasize about your soul mate and where to find them but you do dream just never noticed or recalled.

Talk back, I’m listening and have a great day.

Blogging a must for a writer

b8199-goodreads_logo_140-5b3e47356388131c1699f0baca28a234  Even though my time is limited for blogging because right now I am caught up in writing my story called “Saddle Spur” I realize it is important to remain in touch with my readers and the world. Unlike when I wrote my previous books, two or three at a time, Saddle Spur has me concentrating and working on it alone. The story keeps rolling through scene by scene faster than I can put it on the computer. Yet I know I can not negligent my blogging time.

I was under the weather for the past few days and tried to write but it wasn’t coming out right so as not to screw up the story, I just didn’t write during those periods when my train of thought kept getting derailed. I don’t know what I had but one thing was clear, I lost a thought in mid-motion trying to put it on the computer. I think I’m getting better, been taking medicine to clear my head. Still you can see by this blog jumping all around that I am not really back to my old self. I hope whatever this is goes away quickly. I have a lot more writing to get done and back on my other books that are partly complete.

I hope you can follow my ramblings in this blog. Anyway talk back, I’m listening as always. Have a great week.

So busy writing, no time for blogging

f5c9c-dec2b302c2b20142b113a513a342bam Every once in awhile I get locked in writing one of my books. Right now, I’m locked in writing my first and most likely my only western, well sort of it is set back in 1870. I wrote 90% of it then went back to rewrite the whole thing. Outside my front window I can see a horse called Freckles. He gave me an idea on improving the story after talking with my wife. In her younger days she was a horse trainer and trick rider. I told her about some of the things I wanted John’s horse to do in the book as John’s side kick. So I rewrote it adding the parts I thought I wanted, she checked me and said it is all within the rim of possibility so I wasn’t having Wildoats do anything that was not do able. I think it adds extra flavor to the story besides John’s miss-adventures in life. Tonight’s typing was one of the best scenes, in my mind anyway but you all will have to wait and see when the book gets out later this year, I hope.

Anyway, thanks for dropping by, I hope Saddle Spur will tickle your fancy and offer you a good adventure story. I am still wondering when it is published whether to classify it as a YA or adult western because John is only nineteen when his adventure begins. What do you think, there is hilarious parts also. Hmm.

Talk back, I’m listen as always.