Interim News till Next Week

No, the blog hasn't died.. Over the weekend, I worked a marathon double-shift, which discombobulated me.

I've got my energy back just in time to begin a new third-shift rotation.

BUT: next week, to make up for the silence here, I'll release a small blizzard of posts, including: 
a) The thrill-packed 5th chapter of Reb MacRath, Action Manifester!
b) Master Hwang In Shikh's Great Question:  the master writing lesson I learned from a great martial artist, back when I lived in Toronto. And he ought to know--he co-starred with Bruce Lee.
c) A surprise post that will drop all jaws.

See you next week!

Tongues are wagging over this one!

My new Authors Electric posts about 'Literary Shoplifting' has caused a bit of a stir. Check it out and you'll see why!

http://tinyurl.com/lfsa2qq

Reb MacRath, Action Manifester! Chapter Four

The action heats up in our fourth installment as I call on Julius Caesar to help me cross the Rubicon that we all have to cross--whether we're writing a novel, continuing a quit or hanging in tough to a diet. 

In the third chapter, I addressed the central problem of personal change:

If you're human, then you know we all begin like gangbusters...then feel the wind go from our sails. We'll need to row a while, we know. And we're okay with that...we think. But every time, without fail--no matter the port of our choosing--the Sirens start to whisper: The journey's too long...You're not ready to quit smoking or work on your big novel yet...You're too busy...There's just too much stress in your life...Next year you'll be ready...

And I made a bold move in the next batch of five questions: Each day I tackled one more zone where I was still a pussy. I got a rush from doing this, and accomplished a couple of pretty cool things. But--I've got to be honest and tell you: I found myself facing a new kind of cat: a vision of a lifetime as nothing but withdrawal from the cozy little ruts that had at least offered the comfort of routine. Nothing but hard work and sweat? Nothing but advancing without ever really arriving? Where the devil was the fun?

Suddenly, I cried: "Oh-ho! Oh, Reb, you wicked devil, yesssss!" For I'd just found my new line of attack on the 5-question list I was working: How could I have fun each day while working through serious issues? How could I have fun, fun, fun while taking bigger baby steps away from crap that had plagued me for years?

For your entertainment, and personal use, here was the new list of five, one per day:
1) How can I party with the remaining items on my list of Don't Wants?
2) How can I party with the list of Do Wants that still seem far away?
3) How can I can party with the top items on my list of things I need to 'clear'--or work out--if I'm to be free?
4) How can I party with the intentions that I most need to see as already achieved?
5) How can I party with the things I most need to let go of?

As you can see, I'd shifted the emphasis to play--not suffering or work. Even the keeping of my log became a daily high. I did not ask myself--not once--What do I have to do next? No, I asked: What do I get to do next? Where else can I party with the things that plague me?

A few specific examples? Of course.
From day one: 'I don't want to be out of shape or get into daily encounters with bums that I meet on the street.'
    Party time: Hit the gym three times a week, regardless of my work schedule--and hit the abs six times a week. See each workout as a party, a chance to grow in bulk and strength. Eat well, and eat a lot, treating the proteins and carbs like royal transfusions.

From day two: 'I do want to create a more elegant personal persona.'
    Party time: Celebrate by throwing out old clothes that don't meet my new standards. Shop carefully, as the budget allows, each item reinforcing the image I choose to create: Ruby Reb. Party with far more attention to hair, absolutely impeccable grooming. Never wear anything cheaper than Armani Code cologne.

From day five: I need to let go--let go NOW--of people and places that still bring me down.
    Years ago, because of a business disagreement, someone put my name in a black box. There, he said, it would remain--never looked at , never spoken. I felt a little spooked back then because of the voodoo implicit in the cruel remark. But, damned if he didn't do just what he said--ignoring any efforts at reconciliation. Well! The other day I chanced upon, wouldn't you know it, a little black box from a Swiss Army pocket watch...
    Party time:  I quartered two pages from my trusty Moleskine notebook. And on each piece I wrote the name of a person or a place I would bury for keeps. I'm proud to say I didn't put my ex-friend's name in my black box. After all, he'd given me the party hat I needed.

Tony Robbins referred to his better strategies as 'elegant technologies'. I plan to borrow that term from now on, with all due credit to Robbins. This breakthrough at the end of my fifth rotation has brought me onto higher ground. And from this new vantage point I can see things that I couldn't before. More elegant technologies.

Today I begin my sixth 5-day rotation with a still different tack: How will I feel when (I've completed the following list)?

Onward and upward now! See you next time.

Coming Wednesday!

The 4th chapter of REB MACRATH, ACTION MANIFESTER is running just a little late...but for a good reason. A breakthrough in strategy now brings the true adventure onto higher ground.

Tune back in on Wednesday--and you won't regret the wait.

Selling vs. Selling Out

Some of the world's best-selling writers have been hard-as-nails at business too. Virgil drove a tough bargain with the emperor Augustus and became one of the wealthiest men in all Rome. George Bernard Shaw and Lord Byron both kept gimlet eyes on sales and dickered with their publishers. James Clavell was once described as a 'filthy sea pirate' in all matters pertaining to contracts. I'm sure we could come up with a very long list of like-minded sharpies. But then we'd need another list of writers, even great ones, who were financial clowns with no sense of the market and no interest in sales.

At the end of the day we'd know on which list our own names belong. And I wouldn't mind seeing two long lists at all. But I have something else in mind: a general confusion about writing and money or writing and success. Take a quick look around and you'll see no confusion about this in the fields of music, sports or acting, where earning hundreds of millions of bucks is the common goal. 

But pity the poor writer. Sit some of us down at a laptop, or a yellow legal pad, or a Moleskine notebook, and our noble brains are filled with images of geniuses--too good to live in this cruel world--dying dead broke in their garrets. Many have, true. But then many of those simply failed to see the difference between selling and Selling Out.

To some extent, all writing is and must be salesmanship--and not just in the marketing, in the creative act itself. What are we doing but selling when we devise an outline to ensure that our structure and pacing are sound--and sure to draw in the most readers? What are we doing but selling when we revise over and over again to make sure each word does its job--and has the most impact on readers? We'd do well to admit it and sell just as hard in the writing as in the marketing. For the better we well, the better our chances to earn the bucks we need to buy the time to write more books.

Well! Now that we've got that cleared up, let's move on to Selling Out. For once the Sixties got something dead-right. Though the Hippies were also confused about selling, they knew that Selling Out was wrong. To Sell Out means to compromise something of great value for money or security. A brilliant film may be sold out to a committee that insists upon a different ending. A masterful book may be sold out at an agent's insistence, gutting it of parts deemed to potent for buttoned-down brains. But generally we use the term in a more general way, referring a dazzlingly original talent that's been deliberately watered down for commerce.

Two examples. One a Sell-Out, one not quite.

1) James Patterson is less a writer these days than the superintendent of a literary factory. He lends his name to projects that he conceives but which are written by 'co-writers' then, he says, polished by him. Some are quick to say that Patterson's Sold Out. Not quite. His literary aspirations were never really high and he'd already gotten rich as the 'god of all things creative' at  J Walter Thompson. Patterson was a master marketer with a passion for money, business and great hooks. He simplified his style for speed: short chapters, snappy sentences, two-line paragraphs, etc. And from there it was a simply a logical step to mass produce the novels...then stop writing them, almost completely. Say what you like, JP never Sold Out. He kept putting new spins on his marketing plans. And he went on to rule his world exactly as he'd planned.

2) Robert B Parker, however, is a different story. The first half-dozen entries in his Spenser series were bold and fresh and young and new. In a world of jaded and tired P.I.'s, Spenser came on proudly as something new under the sun. But read the last books, if you can, then sit there and weep for a while. Paint by numbers all the way with Patterson-style paragraphs and uninspired prose. Parker had become, in his own mind, his hero. The saintly Susan had become his wife. The books were now speed-written Valentines to the happy couple...and their bank account. Parker joked about laughing on his way to the bank, near the end. But the joke was all of his fans. He'd Sold Out.

Reb MacRath, Action Manifester! Chapter 3

The question for today is this: How long can you look at it without becoming ill?

As some readers race for the exits or hills, I call out: Hey, wait a sec! This really ain't that kind of blog any more than I'm that kind of dude. By "it" I mean your Moleskine or whatever brand of prompter or journal you use for your own inner trip. You won't get far without one, whether you're starting a novel, quitting smoking/drinking, going on a diet or beginning to work out. (From here on I'll refer to your Moleskine as your whatever.)

If you're human, then you know we all begin like gangbusters...then feel the wind go from our sails. We'll need to row a while, we know. And we're okay with that...we think. But every time, without fail--no matter the port of our choosing--the Sirens start to whisper: The journey's too long...You're not ready to quit smoking or work on your big novel yet...You're too busy...There's just too much stress in your life...Next year you'll be ready...

The worst of it is, you know better. You do! You know if you don't stop your footsteps--right now!--they'll take you to the corner store...where you'll buy those cigarettes...Or you know if you put off the gym for a week. Etc., etc., etc. You know what will happen! Yet happen it will--unless you learn a cool new trick to keep your whatever alive.

Let's start with the problem that all of us share: In repetition there is strength--but there is also boredom without some variation. My own whatever--my Moleskine--has five questions, one of which I tackle each day. And each question is then broken down into five parts.

Week one electrified me with its freshness and its promise: What Don't I Want? What Do I Want? (Chapter One spells out the details.)

Chapter Two livened things up just enough by getting more specific in my plans of action: What Are the Top Two Don't Wants That Can Most Impact the Rest if Corrected Now? What Are the Top Two Do Wants...? Etc.

I was beginning to see some real progress in my first manifestations. And yet...I needed to shake up the process somehow--or risk hearing the Sirens still louder. For the third round of five questions, I took (for me) a bad-assed move. For each of the five questions, I asked:

Where am I Still a Pussy and what must I do?

Now, I don't think of myself as a Pussy--or at least I never had. But for the purpose of this exercise I forced myself to do just that. In doing so I found myself pushing the envelope time and again:
--I went straight from third shift to the gym before going home for some shut-eye.
--I added protein to my diet to help fuel the muscular growth...and other needed nutrients to really get in me in the pink.
--Knowing I'd need money to finance  my move in mid-summer, I refused to cut my hours at the second job.
--I forced myself to stay on track for completing the rewrite of The Suiting for online publication in August.
--I continued reading a mystery I'd committed to review.
--I worked harder at broadening my mastery of Twitter and being more fun to follow.
--I worked harder to become a better friend and ally.
--After too many years in The Desert, and too many nights alone, I spruced up, had my hair restyled., splashed on some Armani Code and opened my arms to rejection. Long ago, so they say, Babe Ruth had the record for homers--because he was fearless about striking out. I like to think the Babe is smiling as he watches the Rebster hit nothing but air.

But I'll sign off by sharing a secret: I see myself succeeding. And, with my whatever to guide me, I will.

Stay tuned for the breathtaking 4th Chapter.

Do You Need to Up Your Ebook Game?

Just in case you haven't heard: Achieving visibility in EbookLandia is no easy task--not with several hundred thousand ebooks comin' every year. If you've slaved at the writing, then buffed and fine-tuned until your very eyeballs bled...if you've found the perfect covers and have won some warm reviews...if you've worked on Social Media, blogged and networked to no end...but still your sales are dragging--the following post is for you.

I'll give you the moral upfront: Pay attention to results and don't grow too attached to what you're sure are cool ideas. I did just that when I divided my books into two camps. On the one hand, I had some wild hardboiled thrillers with a Southern Scot named Boss. On the other hand, I had some highly unusual, much shorter books, blending suspense and romance. So a marketing split of some sort made good sense. But here's where I ran into trouble by attempting to get over-cute.

Some of the shorter suspense tales had subtle Christmas settings--and I set out to make my niche by stretching that connection...and offering dark, gritty, edgy thrillers--a few of them containing violence...sold under the umbrella heading "Reb's Rebel Yell Anytime Yuletide Chillers". And for the Boss MacTavin novels, I gave this series title: "Reb's Rebel Yell Crime Tales for Bad Boys and Girls."

A long story made short: recently I realized that the series titles were probably doing much more harm than good. Even with the word "Anytime", I'd put off the following readers: those who don't like Christmas tales...those who don't like gritty Christmas tales but do enjoy gritty suspense...those who might not mind a gritty little Christmas tale--but not in the middle of summer. Furthermore, Reb's Rebel Yell might sound just a little too precious. As for the Boss books, 'Crime Tales for Bad Boys and Girls' sounds too cutesy Young Adult.

I traded ideas with some writers I know and made these decisions:
1) I had to stop billing the short books as Christmas tales. In the books themselves, the setting is subtly played--just as it is in Die Hard 1 and 2, Reindeer Games and many other fine thrillers that happen to be set at Christmas. One writer friend pointed out that the tales all had to do with retribution, in one way or another. And that thought led to this new heading: The Fast and The Furies: Suspense. I now gave the genre and the unifying theme. I then went on to revise the copy (see below), experimenting gingerly with a couple of changes in font for effect.
2) For the Boss books, I kept my game still simpler. I'd been wrong in billing them as thrillers. They're mysteries, but with a lot more action than some mystery fans might expect. So, keeping it simple: The Boss MacTavin Action Mysteries.

Now here's the sample I promised, for one of The Fast and The Furies.

Each standalone book in this series will take you to a grave new world where those who've played fast with their lives or the law are on the run from karma. Breakneck thrills, hairpin turns and forces hellbent on collecting await. Only the noblest souls will survive.

Magic and Suspense

In The Vanishing Magic of Snow, an old man is horrified to learn that he was a villain for much of his life. Now starving and faced with eviction, Jay Penny has only one hope: a magic trick that caused the death of a brilliant young magician in the Seventies Toronto. The glory days, Jay's always thought, when he'd been dodging the draft.  But, looking back, he sees the part he played in Sonny Storm's death.  And it seems clearer by the day that Sonny's vengeful spirit is manifesting Jay's own ruin.  Or...could Sonny be trying to teach him the trick? 

Like the other series entries, TVMOS weighs in at 35,000 words--a bit shorter in length than readers may expect. But the books are in fact novels, not long short stories or novellas, just as the following titles are all sold as novels though under 50,000 words: The Old Man and the Sea, The Pearl, Of Mice and Men,The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde...

Trivia:

--The Canadian scenes are based on hard-won experience. Reb did live in Canada, with thousands of other draft dodgers, for the ten years recorded here. And he really did meet Doug Henning, Michael Ondaatje, Michael Sarazzin and most of the other stars who appear in cameos.

--The scenes set in present-day Charlotte, when Jay Penny is down to mere pennies, are based on true events. Reb came within three days of ruin by the Great Recession...when something astonishing happened.

--You needn't believe in The Secret or Real Magic to enjoy this story. The subject of manifestation--in which thoughts become things--goes back a very long time. Some say to the ancient Babylonians. That's open to debate. But from Ralph Waldo Emerson to James (As a Man Thinketh) Allen to Napoleon (Think and Grow Rich) Hill...to Wayne Dyer and Deepak Chopra...the philosophy's ancient and still going strong. And the springboard for this tale of terror is this: How do we avoid Creepy Karma if all we can see is our ruin?

--In its own fictional, fanciful way, the book offers an answer that anyone can use, whichever camp they fall in--Believers or Non Believers. When the wind is taken from our sails, we all need what Jay Penny calls an Almighty Shockeroo: one electrifying image to get us back in gear. And you'll learn how to find your own in The Vanishing Magic of Snow.

Let some Real Magic into your life with this book.