Good morning all!
Well, I have four more precious days until I go back to work...have I written anything new? No...
Am I disappointed in myself? Sort of...except I have been working at the business of writing, getting ready for a book signing and what not, so it's not like I've been sitting on the couch watching TV. Although I have been doing that a lot too.
Anyway, I have to share this little bit with you because so many people seem to have a sort of mental block when it comes to marketing themselves as authors, that this was a bolt of light over my head.
Two nights ago Hubby and I were buying glamorous things like deodorant and a new handle for the toilet when we decided we needed a coffee. This is our one luxury, buying coffee at the big honkin' super popular coffee place. (Not sure I can use the name...let's call it CAR DUCKS.) We didn't go to our usual Carducks, where they know us and half the baristas have a copy of Dream in Color, because that Carducks was too far away. We needed COFFEE NOW!
So we stopped at the Carducks conveniently located in the store. It wasn't crowded, because who's buying coffee at 8PM? So Hubby and I struck up a conversation with the woman behind the counter.
I should say, she struck up a conversation with us.
She looked at me and said, "So are you an author?"
Now, this isn't usually how people open conversations with me. It's not like I have a halo around my head that reads "AUTHOR" in neon. (Gee...you'd think Sharper Image would come up with something like that.) What I did have was my t-shirt that reads "Careful, or you'll end up in my novel."
Authors, writers, we all have that t-shirt, right? Maybe you got is as a gift, but more likely you bought it for yourself from Cafe Press. You bought it hoping someone would see you wearing it and ask you if you were a writer.
I've worn that shirt a hundred times and no one said boo to me. But this woman, this one person, got me talking about my books...and you know YOU are the best marketing for what you write because YOU love what you write more than anyone else. So we chatted for a few minutes, I gave her my titles, told her about my book signing on Friday (Martha Merrell's Books 300 West Main Street, Waukesha. 6:30 PM. BE THERE!) and told her to buy my books for her Kindle.
I got home feeling more rosy about my writing than I have in weeks. (Let's face it...I can't quit the job I haven't started just yet...sales aren't quite there...ahem...) and I realized it was as simple as wearing a shirt.
We all wear shirts, right? It's a requirement to get in to anything pretty much, so we have a shirt. Why can't that shirt tell the world what we might be too shy to say? I WROTE A BOOK. I WANT YOU TO BUY IT!
To that end...my friends, I encourage you to do two things:
1) Wear your swag! Got something that mentions writing? Wear it! Got business cards with your website on it? Drop it in those free lunch bowls.
2) Don't have swag? Stop by my store at It's a Writer's World/Cafe Press. I make these shirts and coffee mug designs for fun...not for profit, but it's an easy way to get the world talking about your writing without saying much of anything!
3) (I know I said two things...but here's one more thing) BUY MY BOOK!
Now...go forth my friends and write!
NOW AVAILABLE!
A HERO'S SPARK: the final book in the Wicked Women series!
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Monday, June 14, 2010
I like my language like I like my coffee...
Good morning!
I had lunch recently with my mother and she informed me that one of my aunts was ordering a copy of "Dream in Color." Normally I would be really excited because I sold another book! (BTW, do you have YOUR copy yet?) But here's the thing: This aunt is one of those people who disapproves of EVERYTHING. I'm thinking she won't even have to get to the love scene...finding the S--- word on page two will do it for her. I'll probably have to refund the price of the book.
My mother once grounded me (I was fifteen) when she found a manuscript in my room that involved the word "S.O.B." Since she was convinced that I got that language from TV and radio (certainly NOT from the parochial school I attended!) I was banned from TV and Radio for an entire summer.
I try very hard not to use strong language in my daily life. I'm a Sunday School teacher, and a role model for my kids, so I "keep it clean" as best as I can. (It's a struggle, I'm not going to lie.) But when it comes to writing, my goal is to write characters who ring true. Face it, Jesse, the hero in "dream in Color," is a rock star. He's not going to get angry and say, "Oh fluffy bunnies!"
Authors who write inspirational are able to write compelling stories without strong language. I admire them for it, but it's now how I write. By the same token, I don't subscribe to many authors who pepper all of their dialogue with f-bombs.
Simply put, I like my strong language like I like my coffee; a little strong, but mostly easy on the taste buds, and warm rather than burning hot.
We all write differently. And we all read differently. I'm sure my aunt will be offended by the language. In fact, I know she will be. I'm ready for the disapproval. It's not like I've never had to apologize for being a writer. But I'll tell her what I tell a lot of people who are offended by one thing or another. Shut the book, turn off the TV show, walk out of the movie. And then move on.
Hey, I found the movie, "Dude, where's my Car" horrible. Ya don't see me scolding Ashton Kutcher at a family gathering, right?
I had lunch recently with my mother and she informed me that one of my aunts was ordering a copy of "Dream in Color." Normally I would be really excited because I sold another book! (BTW, do you have YOUR copy yet?) But here's the thing: This aunt is one of those people who disapproves of EVERYTHING. I'm thinking she won't even have to get to the love scene...finding the S--- word on page two will do it for her. I'll probably have to refund the price of the book.
My mother once grounded me (I was fifteen) when she found a manuscript in my room that involved the word "S.O.B." Since she was convinced that I got that language from TV and radio (certainly NOT from the parochial school I attended!) I was banned from TV and Radio for an entire summer.
I try very hard not to use strong language in my daily life. I'm a Sunday School teacher, and a role model for my kids, so I "keep it clean" as best as I can. (It's a struggle, I'm not going to lie.) But when it comes to writing, my goal is to write characters who ring true. Face it, Jesse, the hero in "dream in Color," is a rock star. He's not going to get angry and say, "Oh fluffy bunnies!"
Authors who write inspirational are able to write compelling stories without strong language. I admire them for it, but it's now how I write. By the same token, I don't subscribe to many authors who pepper all of their dialogue with f-bombs.
Simply put, I like my strong language like I like my coffee; a little strong, but mostly easy on the taste buds, and warm rather than burning hot.
We all write differently. And we all read differently. I'm sure my aunt will be offended by the language. In fact, I know she will be. I'm ready for the disapproval. It's not like I've never had to apologize for being a writer. But I'll tell her what I tell a lot of people who are offended by one thing or another. Shut the book, turn off the TV show, walk out of the movie. And then move on.
Hey, I found the movie, "Dude, where's my Car" horrible. Ya don't see me scolding Ashton Kutcher at a family gathering, right?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
You can keep the green beer. I'll just drink what's in my coffee cup.
Good morning all!
My father was a Lutheran School teacher for 35 years. He was my principal, my teacher, and my high school English teacher for 12 of my 13 grade school through high school years. I realized this week that I've inherited one of his weirder habits.
My father is a coffee drinker. Try and mom did to get him to stop in the 70's when coffee was roughly the price of a week's wages. She bought Sanka, because she was on an anti caffeine kick, and she bought Postum because, well, I'm pretty sure she was mad at dad for several years.
Quiet man that he is, he drank those awful brews and made it through his days. But I knew, since I was with him at work EVERY DAY, that he had a coffee maker in his office. More importantly, he had his coffee cup!
My father's coffee cup was a rummage sale find, like most things in my mother's kitchen. It was an odd shape, the handle was the smallest round loop I've ever seen on a mug. It had a wide pedestal base and the upper rim was curled outward. The picture was pure patriotism: An eagle with an American flag in the background.
Dad liked the cup because, being a right handed man, his beef with 99% of all coffee cups was that the picture or writing was always on the wrong side. Go ahead, check it out. If you've got a "one sided" mug, and you're right handed, lift up your cup. Who sees the picture? You or the people you're with? Yep, that was my Dad's beef.
This cup, however, had the picture on the correct side for a right handed person. Dad LOVED this cup. So much so that he NEVER BROUGHT IT HOME. It stayed in his office.
One day, mom went over to school to pick up something and found the cup. To say it was dirty and disgusting is a gross understatement. Dad NEVER washed the cup. He maintained that washing the cup ruined the flavor of the coffee. Mom is a neat freak. Mom washed the life out of the cup and put it back that same day. (Dad must've been at a conference or something.)
I've never seen my father cry, but I'm fairly certain he did that next day when , upon taking his first sip of black brew, instead of layers and layers of aged coffee flavor, he got a strong undertone of Ivory dish soap.
Oh Dad still has that cup. He keeps it at his office. But his office is now far enough away from home that Mom doesn't mess with it. She still tries to make him drink decaf and I swear I saw a jar of Postum in the cabinet the other day.
Meanwhile, I've inherited the lack of hygiene when it comes to my coffee mug. Mine is a well used Partylite mug that I usually forget to rinse out day to day. Today, since it's St. Patrick's Day, I'm determined to raise a cup of piping hot coffee, regardless of what may or may not be growing in the bottom of the cup, and celebrate my father, the bravest coffee drinker I know.
Here's to ya, Dad!
My father was a Lutheran School teacher for 35 years. He was my principal, my teacher, and my high school English teacher for 12 of my 13 grade school through high school years. I realized this week that I've inherited one of his weirder habits.
My father is a coffee drinker. Try and mom did to get him to stop in the 70's when coffee was roughly the price of a week's wages. She bought Sanka, because she was on an anti caffeine kick, and she bought Postum because, well, I'm pretty sure she was mad at dad for several years.
Quiet man that he is, he drank those awful brews and made it through his days. But I knew, since I was with him at work EVERY DAY, that he had a coffee maker in his office. More importantly, he had his coffee cup!
My father's coffee cup was a rummage sale find, like most things in my mother's kitchen. It was an odd shape, the handle was the smallest round loop I've ever seen on a mug. It had a wide pedestal base and the upper rim was curled outward. The picture was pure patriotism: An eagle with an American flag in the background.
Dad liked the cup because, being a right handed man, his beef with 99% of all coffee cups was that the picture or writing was always on the wrong side. Go ahead, check it out. If you've got a "one sided" mug, and you're right handed, lift up your cup. Who sees the picture? You or the people you're with? Yep, that was my Dad's beef.
This cup, however, had the picture on the correct side for a right handed person. Dad LOVED this cup. So much so that he NEVER BROUGHT IT HOME. It stayed in his office.
One day, mom went over to school to pick up something and found the cup. To say it was dirty and disgusting is a gross understatement. Dad NEVER washed the cup. He maintained that washing the cup ruined the flavor of the coffee. Mom is a neat freak. Mom washed the life out of the cup and put it back that same day. (Dad must've been at a conference or something.)
I've never seen my father cry, but I'm fairly certain he did that next day when , upon taking his first sip of black brew, instead of layers and layers of aged coffee flavor, he got a strong undertone of Ivory dish soap.
Oh Dad still has that cup. He keeps it at his office. But his office is now far enough away from home that Mom doesn't mess with it. She still tries to make him drink decaf and I swear I saw a jar of Postum in the cabinet the other day.
Meanwhile, I've inherited the lack of hygiene when it comes to my coffee mug. Mine is a well used Partylite mug that I usually forget to rinse out day to day. Today, since it's St. Patrick's Day, I'm determined to raise a cup of piping hot coffee, regardless of what may or may not be growing in the bottom of the cup, and celebrate my father, the bravest coffee drinker I know.
Here's to ya, Dad!
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