Posts Tagged Marketing

6 things (you might not have considered) that will hold you back as a writer

1. You’re actually interested in the writing (you know, style, elegance of expression) — not just getting noticed for your hackneyed, no-intelligence, punctuation-doesn’t-matter story.

2. You hate Amazon: a company run by a psychopath with dodgy working practices being indulged by sycophantic governments as it moves towards a virtual monopoly position (my novel’s on Smashwords).

3. You hate Facebook: a data-mining company run by a psychopath (I’m not on Facebook).

4. You hate posts about how to promote yourself on social media (I deleted my Twitter account).

5. You find self-promotion rather unseemly, a bit undignified really (while recognizing you have to tell people it’s there — the novel, that is — if you want them to read it).

6. You think best-sellers are mostly shit (Dan Brown, James Patterson, E.L. James, Lee Child, Clive Cussler, to name a few), reflecting the poor taste of the “average” reader.

7 (bonus point). You recognize, at bottom, that this world isn’t really for you.

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Parenthetically speaking.

Consider this.

Would it really be quite decent (or prudent) to tell her he was dead?

The above sentence is from my novel. What we’re interested in here is the use of parenthesis or brackets, which I’m told I over-use, and which (I’m told) adds difficulty for the reader.

So – consider the following:

Would it really be quite decent (or prudent) to tell her he was dead?
Would it really be quite decent – or prudent – to tell her he was dead?
Would it really be quite decent, or prudent, to tell her he was dead?
Would it really be quite decent or prudent to tell her he was dead?

The question is: can and does the “average” reader mark the difference, appreciate the distinction? Or does the appearance of an “unfamiliar” punctuation mark (the brackets) simply act as a distraction, a stumbling block, a jagged impediment?

Consider, too, the following:

My hair is shoulder-length and mousy and (outside the private domain) invariably worn tied or clipped back. I had been a (the) DCI in Amberton for two and half years, having briefly been a DI in the Met. Amberton has a population of eighty thousand or so souls and a slower pace of life than the capital. Friends and colleagues had assumed (quite correctly) that I had craved a quiet (or quieter) life. I had, indeed, begun to find London brittle and dispiriting.

Here it is again with the parenthesis replaced with dashes:

My hair is shoulder-length and mousy and – outside the private domain – invariably worn tied or clipped back. I had been a – the – DCI in Amberton for two and half years, having briefly been a DI in the Met. Amberton has a population of eighty thousand or so souls and a slower pace of life than the capital. Friends and colleagues had assumed – quite correctly – that I had craved a quiet – or quieter – life. I had, indeed, begun to find London brittle and dispiriting.

To me, there is something of the theatrical aside to the parenthetic content, a change of tone, an extra thought – some of which might survive with the use of dashes, though it is distinctly weakened. With merely commas or no punctuation at all, this (the tone change, the extra thought) is entirely lost, and the meaning (not so subtly) changed.

Here it is again with the dashes stripped out and not replaced:

My hair is shoulder-length and mousy and outside the private domain invariably worn tied or clipped back. I had been a, the, DCI in Amberton for two and half years, having briefly been a DI in the Met. Amberton has a population of eighty thousand or so souls and a slower pace of life than the capital. Friends and colleagues had assumed quite correctly that I had craved a quiet or quieter life. I had, indeed, begun to find London brittle and dispiriting.

It seems to me a lot of tone and voice is lost in the above if one compares it with its parenthetic counterpart.

But… perhaps all this sounds rather too precious, and one should simply go with reader feedback. In this word-processing, digital age, these things are easily changed. It would take very little in the way of effort to swap out the parenthesis for dashes and/or commas, and I could later argue that brackets – as a punctuation – are just too visible for the “average” reader, too much of a surprise. They’re not used to seeing it, I would say regretfully, and don’t quite understand why it’s there, nor how they should read it. Nuance, I would add snarkily, must be sacrificed on the altar of marketability.

I worry about this, of course. I fear the ability to read generally has been (is being) degraded, that poetry and its cousin, style, are now regarded with suspicion and mistrust. Will I, then, be searching and replacing my brackets? No (actually), I think not. There are so many other reasons for the novel to fail (in terms of the market), its subject matter for a start. The “average” reader is not going to be clamouring for my book anyway, parenthesis or not. And there’s surely something to be said for authorial integrity, for an artistic rather than a mercantile decision.

You can be sure, though, I’ll have it in mind for my next novel (partially built and in abeyance), which will be written third-person (the “average” reader is more used to this) and unburdened with “eccentric” punctuation.

I’ll end on this:

While I was sleeping in Italy, I heard news from overseas – England to be precise – that affected me emotionally and made me want to write a poem in protest.

Or:

As I lay asleep in Italy
There came a voice from over the Sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.

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Now ABSOLUTELY FREE.

An Individual Will by J.G. Ellis. Yours at NO COST.

To DOWNLOAD this elegantly written work of antinatalist detective fiction, simply go HERE and click on the format of your choice.

Reviewer Ruty B said on Goodreads: “The book is intense, and if you are looking for a sweet, light and simple story this is not for you… profound reading and the topics leave you thinking and wondering about your own life.”

Kris, in the office, said: “I read four chapters and couldn’t go on – it was too depressing.”

Sheila, in the office, said: “I enjoyed it, but I wouldn’t give it to anyone having a baby.”

Author J.G. Ellis said: “I thought this book was going to change my life. Clearly I was wrong.”

But here it is for YOU. FREE. No fuss, no logins, no joining-ups. Simply click on the format you desire, and copy it to the device of your choice.

An Individual Will by J.G. Ellis.

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Writing Services.

Have you written a novel? Well done! Pat yourself on the back. That’s a BIG achievement. You’ve every reason to be proud. But maybe, just MAYBE, you need a little help! I’m Doctor John, your manuscript doctor.

Yes, in your enthusiasm for getting your story done and OUT THERE, you’ve neglected the boring but IMPORTANT part – the writing. That’s where I come in. For a modest FEE, I can take your novel and make it into a book ready for an agent or publisher and the world. Remember, it’s all about YOU and your most important creation – your STORY.

It’s tedious, isn’t it? Worrying about boring things like punctuation and grammar and (don’t be silly) style when YOU just want to tell your story. I’m here to help with that. Send me your three less-good pages – and, hey, why not consult your friends to help you decide – and I’ll send them back to you EDITED. Not PROOF READ (that comes as a happy incidental), but EDITED. For FREE. Yes, your three worst (sorry, least-good) pages edited to the high standard agents and publishers demand. And, you know what, where I can detect a style, I’ll bake it right into the EDIT for you.

Once you have your FREE, fully EDITED three pages, do with them as you wish. They’re yours. Read them, learn from them, show them to your friends (the same ones you consulted earlier). They’re my no-obligation GIFT to you. After all, it’s your novel, your story, your work; I just helped a bit here and there with the boring part. Enjoy your writing and your life.

HOWEVER…  if you find yourself thinking, “Hey, wouldn’t it be REALLY great if all my novel were that well-written?” – well, hey, why not hire me. I’m yours for a one-off, flat fee of £10,000. Imagine. A mere £10,000 to make your novel, your story, your pride and joy, the best it can be. And while, of course, I can’t guarantee an agent or a publisher, I can guarantee you’ll have your special story as special as it can be.

But, hey, no worry, no obligation – read those magic three pages, talk to your friends, and ask yourself, “Is this story, my story, worth £10,000?”

I’m here for YOU! You know where to find me.

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Scent of a profit.

If I made a fortune selling scented shit, I’d be congratulated and feted. I’d be a successful business person, a job and wealth creator, an entrepreneur. This is the emptiness at the heart of capitalism. Profit is king, money god. Price matters, intrinsic value not so much.

As a successful purveyor of scented shit, I’d have to grow my business. I’d get a business loan from the bank, employ someone or ones to market my scented poo, my marketing department. I’d also have an R&D department to blend the various scents with the different colours and textures of shit. Runny Brown Rose could be a market leader with Lavender Log more of a connoisseurs’ choice. We would sell celebrity scented shit, which would come with a certificate of authenticity and said celeb’s autograph. We would also promote a cheaper celeb product, the celebrity smear, in order to allow everyone to participate in the exciting world of scented shit. The Celebrity Smear would be a scented, autographed, coloured napkin (and we’d seek to grow our range of scents and colours in response to market demand) on which a celebrity had wiped their bottom. Perhaps we could add a “story” to the moment of the wipe because buyers of the smear would be interested in what was going on in the life of the celeb at the time they applied the napkin to their posterior.

With the company growing, we’d need to find a way to keep manpower costs down – by off-shoring and making use of automation. Developers would write programs to implement scent-to-shit formulae without the need for human sniffers, who would likely prove expensive in the medium- to long-term. In the event our high-end product required human sniffers, we could and would sub-contract to India or East Asia, where they have competitive labour laws.

With our stock high, we’d form the SSBF (Scented Shit Business Forum) to lobby governments to legislate in our favour by removing barriers to the scented shit industry worldwide. We’d create a fund for discreet  donations to political parties in return for honours and concessions.

An empire built on shit would have me and the board smelling of roses, and I’d tour the country and world giving talks on how to create a successful business. Of course, I’d have “written” a book, No Shit! The Sweet Smell of Success!  which I’d sell at these events and online along with other products, such as T-shirts and mugs.

And, yes, I’d be proud to accept the Donald Trump Award for Business Excellence.

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Marketing your novel.

This is not a vacuous (copy and paste type) post about marketing your novel (designed to attract eyeballs and comments). It’s more to do with the dreadful necessity of doing it (marketing, that is), and the feeling of unseemliness that accompanies the so doing.

First, you have to be (or have something) “out there”. I’m not going to reflect overly long on the kudos afforded by the fact of being “out there” in a loud, notice-me, capitalist world. It’s perhaps enough to remark that it might be making a virtue of necessity where artistic endeavour is concerned, since post-production you’re engaged in the game of getting noticed.

Picture me walking into a room of disparate people who share my plight. My name is John, and I have something “out there” – a novel to be (somewhat) more precise – a stylish, philosophically bleak work of detective fiction. One of my readers (and, like all rare things, I value them all) told me recently that they’d read a quarter of it and put it aside because it was too depressing. Clearly, it’s bleaker than I thought.

Okay, so let’s put together an entirely fictional marketing strategy. You persuade twenty people to buy the book (I managed that bit). They read it (mostly succeeded in that. Thank you, dear readers), and then… what? Well, they feed back to you, which is helpful and useful and generous and kind. Unfortunately, what you really want them to do is blog and tweet and Facebook and review (on books sites, preferably those from where they purchased your book). You need to be talked about on social media. I’ve entirely failed in this. I just don’t know those sorts of people, and it’s surely deeply unseemly to be nagging people who bought your book as a favour in the first place to spend time reviewing it. I mean, life is very busy. I do more blogging than anyone I know.

In short, then, to succeed from Nowhere, you have to become a needy, whining, attention-seeking wannabe prattling on about yourself and your work at every opportunity, constantly racking your brains to come up with ways to attract attention to yourself. Not very dignified, is it? That presumably is what agents and publishers spare you, allowing you to get on with the art and (mostly) skip the marketing, notice-me indignity of it all.

I’m writing my second novel (or was; I have 9,000 words of it), which is much more mainstream in terms of subject matter and, perhaps more importantly, style. This is what feedback does to you. Needed and necessary, ultimately it promotes conformity. Truly individual voices go unheard.

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