In today's post I talk about short story markets both online and offline. I explain how you can find the right magazines to sell your stories to, where you can sell reprints of that same story, how to get into anthologies, the realities of a publisher accepting a short story collection, as well as how, and most importantly, when you should self-publish short stories to maximise your income.
Read the rest at: Making Money From Writing, Part 1: Short Story Markets
but looked again and it's not my story, phew!
On Universal is a film called RING OF DECEIT. That's the title of my book I'm working on.
the write up on sky is
An art expert examines an antique ring belonging to a museum patron, but begins to suspect a connection to a murder.
My story is about a ring, museum, murder......
I'm going to watch the film to make sure it's completely nothing like mine.
so far it's american and modern. That's a good start. mine is set in 1952 btween scotland and Wales.
In today's post I look at Amanda Hocking, John Locke, and the
rise of the 99 cent e-book. I cover criticisms that this is a
race to the bottom that will ultimately devalue books in readers'
eyes, and I finish by outlining strategies to succeed at higher
When an author or publisher uploads their work to Amazon (and the rest of the e-tailers), they are free to choose the price that they sell at. With most companies, the minimum price you can sell at is 99 cents. Until recently, only a small portion of writers were choosing to sell their work at this price, mostly new writers, without an established audience, hoping to build a following.
On paper, that’s a good strategy, although other writers have
complained that this was a race to the bottom, and that they were
being priced out of the market.
Read the rest of Will 99-Cent E-Books Destroy The World As We Know It?
This blog isn't about me.
I'm writing this blog to request everyone who reads it to spare a thought and a prayer for Mrs Hooper who was a passenger in Denise's car along with Denises husband and both foster children as it skidded off the road and plunged into the depths of the lake whilst holidaying in mid Wales.
All but Denise perished in this terrible accident.
The story has even reached the national news.
Mrs Hooper had been a customer at my sisters hairdressers on Barry road for decades.
She was a deeply religious lady.
The fostered boys were well known and liked by everyone who knew them.
Denise's husband was also very well liked and loved. It has been repeatedly and truthfully said that these were good kind people.
This accident has been a dreadful shock to fellow customers at the hairdressers and neighbours alongside the relatives and friends.
I'm also sure I don't ask too much of folk to send their love and healing prayers to Denise herself, to help her come to terms with it all.
And help her through this very sad time.
accident happened at Llyn Clywedog resevoir, near Llandidloes - Powys
Even then, just to confuse yourself, you let words in often. Now you are a poet because you could at last let poetry go for however it doesn't need you yet.
Sometimes you agree with yourself too much and it defies you. Poetry cannot be in a house with you now. You need it to be with you.
Poetry cannot wait in sequences.
And you cannot move forward, not yet—enough for poems to appear.
It used to come with intention. Now more often, it is leisure of the mind. You don't need to find it lazy or adjectival—you just know you have to.
It is public in the instinctual sense. And with this, you are ready, as ready to breathe words into something else too wordy to come to you as thought.
The evening is clearing and you've written something.
Not poetry. Only words.
And language you use so much. Not to affect anyone.
You realise too that no one may understand—and you care just enough. You thank the people with your speech, their attributes with your silence—your shyness remains shy even in language.
And you are not trying to be different from anyone. And some may consider it strange, pride misplaced. How else can you arrive with it, but with it?
When I think I've run out of poems to write, I forget everyone. There is a reason—then, there is not even that. No reason to write. Why should there be one for poetry? For writing poems. It just comes like a breathing delayed then remembered for what it is.
Poetry doesn't have me. When I think I don't have it, it is there at once with held breath and foregone decisions. Something to change like reason to further reason. Like power to powerlessness—in a second that flies by without you.
All you are left with is a blank page and poetry that exchanges language with words then nothing after that.
If it is written down, you read it like a second occasion. A second inspiration. It is finally not yours. Only something that came from you.
And also not only from you.
Poetry has an origin. You are not beginning nor anywhere it can end with.
Is it wisdom? Yes. Wisdom and knowledge taken together to forgive you with hope.
Wherever poetry enhances and where you falter, you calculate whatever cannot be confused. Where can you be? And there is no success when you expect so much of here, and none of what's here.
Then you arrange then's and there's and forget time and place. You reiterate the possible like the sun. Then the moon heats up the night while the dark sustains and suspects—and you are the witness to this falling, this wherever turning and never compromising.
Sometimes, just before you give up, there you are with nothing you want. Thankful for thankfulness, the way you can still live on the strength given you. How did you know luck when you seem excessively come upon like the dark which grows frantic with giving?
You want peace and war comes like peace for once.
For the one who courses into you lightly.
For the third twos who refuse like you are also there.
Anyway—a word to be disguised with everything.
Anyway—one compound word complex with vagueness.
Today, you hadn't thought of poetry until you wrote a few words. How is it with it? Handle with care the attitude involved with going about your business.
You like to let poetry be. Where it resides, you allow for nothing else. There is no suspicion in poetry—only what you can't be.
Here, poetry is eloquent along with your wisdom.
Can anybody take that away?
You write it down to remind you that where speaking allows, you cannot disavow. And poetry is silence in the way it is written.
This seems a little empty, so, to stir some conversation, how do you encourage creativity?
I figure I'll just wait for another idea to come to mind, then just interlink them. Most of my stories are actually seperate past-ideas woven together. How do you do it?
All Festival goers were promised that three lucky people would be picked for free extra help & support by the WW. We've picked the first two of those:
- Kerry Fisher. Who won the comp on Saturday night, and got an agent very interested in her completed project ... but not quite interested enough to offer representation. That agent is, however, very keen to see Kerry's WIP, so we've promised to help Kerry with that, as soon as she's ready for us.
- Our very own John Onceupon. His MS has dangled tantalisingly close to publication standard for a while, but he's got one agent very interested in his work - and with a bit more editorial work from him and a good old shove from the WW's finest, I've every hope that he'll finally gets the success he deserves
Kerry and John have every chance of making the grade, I'd say, and it'll be an honour for us to help em get there.
and it's 1.40hrs in.
It was a good interview, which is chiefly down to the presenter. Whenever I do interviews of this sort I'm always impressed again by the professionalism that underlies this kind of daily general programme; how presenters can switch from topic to topic, with the briefest of briefings, talk to people in a different studio 100 miles away, and weave it all into something agreeable and easy to listen to, beats me
Nothing in the publishing world inspires more diverse reactions than the mention of agents.
For some, agents are the holy grail, the star-makers, the gatekeepers to the dream factory. Others are less kind, and I won’t repeat their opinions, but suffice to say they view agents as amoral Svengalis who, like recruitment agents, have created a need for their services where before there was none, and are an additional, superfluous barrier between writers and publishers (and readers).
The truth is somewhere in the middle, and agents, like any profession, run the full gamut of experience, ability, and propriety. There are some that can send your career into the stratosphere, and there are others where you would have been better off having no agent at all.
But what future do agents have in a digital world? How will agents survive as more and more people decide to self-publish? How are some agents preparing for the future? And how is this causing the beginning of a split in the agenting community?
Read my blog post to find out: Double Agents?