Tag: #amwriting

What happened to February, I seem to have missed it

I’m on my late night reading of blog posts by the bloggers I follow, and a lot are saying February has gone, and are weighing up their achievements for the month.

I don’t think I got anything constructive done, notwithstanding the intent of making a new years resolution list and stick to it.  The only sticking was sticking it to the wall in from of my desk.

Oh, I finally got down on paper and onto the writing blog most of the episodes of the four stories I started while I was away.  It was easy to write on the plane, especially when there are 12 to 13 hours to be spent in an uncomfortable chair.

Anything to ease the pain, and take the mind elsewhere.

And, no, I did not incorporate a plane crash, but I did have a helicopter crash.

I did not get to the two novels that need to have editing finished.  That’s now slated for March.

But, the grim thing about two months disappearing like it has, the first I’m getting older, and feel like I have one foot in the grave, and the other, one-sixth of the year is gone and Christmas is approaching.

Don’t you worry, the supermarkets and larger chain stores will have the Chrismas decorations out on display before you know it.

I hope we still are calling Christmas, Christmas, because in these days of political correctness, and the will not to upset anyone other than the Christians (no, I haven’t noticed a sizable build up of lions and the building of a huge arena, yet!).

But…

I’m still working through the ramifications of my (probably stolen) idea of mutual purchase and honestly reviewing books (because we all know the value of an honest review) by fellow authors with ebooks on Amazon that sales are sluggish.  That’s because mine are.

More about the idea can be found here http://bit.ly/2SZzJGk

It all goes back to the marketing strategy of getting reviews, and this is the hardest part.  So, why don’t we do each other a solid?

What’s the upside?  You get sales, which lift’s your book in the saleable scale that Amazon uses space rocket technology to work out.  The author gets a review and some income, perhaps so he or she can purchase the next book to review, (or another well-deserved cup of coffee) and it keeps the author’s presence on Amazon, who seems to be closing down those who are not ‘performing’  (I guess using the same space rocket technology to decided that as well).

Comments on the practicality of the scheme or the fact it might or might not work are always welcome at cwheath555@gmail.com.

Roll on March

Back to the treasure hunt – part 3

It has been cooler for the last week or so, and the ideas for the treasure story have not been flowing.

Now, it’s back and I’m back in the cinema of my dreams, figurative following the treasure ‘map’!

 

This was not the time to panic.

There could be any number of explanations for what I just saw.  Boggs had certainly got me wrapped up in his mysterious treasure hunt, and immediately my mind jumps to conclusions.

I took a deep breath.  There had to be a rational explanation.

Boggs lived with his aunt, his parents had gone away one day and never came back.  He had no brothers or sisters, so he assumed rightly or wrongly, they’d abandoned him.

For the last few years, Boggs and I had been looking for his parents.  That’s how he found the treasure map, in a box of stuff his father had left at his brother’s loft.

Now, his aunt was Spanish, or perhaps that was not totally correct, she was Mexican who spoke Spanish.  Her husband was Boggs’ father’s brother, and they had no children, so they had treated Boggs as their own.

Perhaps the men were known to his Aunt and they were taking him home before he got into trouble.

It didn’t explain why they were talking about the treasure map, whether it was the one being sold by the bar owner or the one Boggs found.  Boggs had it with him, so if they were after it, they probably had it by now.

We’d come to the beach by bus, and I took it back, then walked the mile or so to Boggs’s house.  It was about three streets away from where I lived.

When I turned into the street, there was the kidnapper’s car out the front of Boggs’s Aunt’s house.  A minute or so later I went in the gate and up to the front door.

It was open, so I loitered in the shadows and listened.

A man’s voice, and Boggs’s Aunt.

Again I was struggling with my Spanish, “You should be keeping control of your brat, he’s getting into trouble, in bars and such places.”

“Drinking?”  His Aunt sounded incredulous.

“Perhaps, I know not, but asking bad men questions about the treasure.  Where is the map?”

So they hadn’t taken it off Boggs.  What did he do with it?

“What map.  He has no map, none that he’s told me about.  Besides, that treasure’s a myth, made up by Dooley to get tourists in his bar, if that’s the var you said he was at.  Don’t tell me you’ve been sucked into that myth?  Isn’t it about time you got a real job?”

“Just make sure your brat stays away from the bar.”

I could hear footsteps heading towards the front door and ducked into the bushes just as he came out, slamming the door into the wall before stomping off to his car.

I waited till he drove off before coming out, and walking into Boggs, grinning.

“See, I told you it was real.”

The horrid uncle, the map, or the myth?

 

© Charles Heath 2019

In the world of ebooks, there is a magic number

Five!

I have spent the last few years studying the art of marketing books, and whilst it seems that in most of the accounts I’ve read, tips, hinds, and everything in between, it seems it works for the writer, but very few if any, others.

And this advice doesn’t come cheap.

But one unequivocal fact seems to be, once an author has five reviews a whole new world opens up.

So…

Out of all this reading, and failing, and watching the slow, if any, sales of my books, one relevant fact remains undeniable.

Reviews sell books.  And five seems to be the number that starts the ball rolling.

And, I have no reviews.

Of course, there is a plethora of writer’s advisors out there that will tell you, for a price, where to look for people who will do reviews, free, if you’re willing to wait a few years (as I still am) or quickly if you are prepared to pay, sometimes upwards of $50 or more.

And it costs more to have these uploaded to Amazon as ‘authentic’ reviews.

So, the issue is, on Amazon you have to be a registered customer, buy a book, and then you can leave a review.  Once upon a time, you could have a review without this requirement, and people were using Fiverr to add reviews at $5 a pop.

I’m not sure how relevant these reviews were, but $5 seemed to equal 5 stars.

Amazon not only stopped that by aforementioned rules, but also took down all the reviews it seemed were written by Fiverr people, and it seems relatives or ghosts of the author (using the same IP address to post reviews of their own books under a different name) as well.

Glad I didn’t spend my money on that.

But there could be the answer to those authors out there with sluggish sales, imminent closure of their author page on Amazon, a means by which they can get authentic reviews and just a small boost to their sales.

REviews, as we all know, means sales.

None of us authors who have books on Amazon with sluggish sales are by any stretch of the imagination rich enough to buy reviews (some of which can be better depending on how much they’re willing to part with).

Me?

I’m willing to pay the price of your book, read it, and post an honest review.

An author who critiques a fellow author’s book carries a lot of weight, and like pushing a manual car with a dead battery, it only takes a small push to get things started.

To get those 5 or more reviews, it might only cost between $30 to $50, the price of one from a ‘professional’ reviewer.

But…

There is a catch.  If I buy your book, you have to buy mine, and leave an honest review.

This has probably been suggested a hundred times before, but I haven’t seen it recently.  It doesn’t mean it hasn’t been around for a while, and by no means is it meant to cut across any other means you may have of getting reviews.

For me, though, this seems a simple and elegant solution to an age-old problem in the indie authors world of marketing.

Nor am I saying that I’m a really good writer, that’s for my contemporaries to decide.

You can, of course, make your book free for a period on Amazon and try to get reviews that way.  I’m not saying that doesn’t work, but it seems to me you’ve put in a lot of effort to write the book, don’t you deserve something out of it?

From what I’ve read by a lot of authors who have gone down this route, it hasn’t exactly provided an adequate response.

I don’t price my books expensively, just $2.99.  I’m one of those ‘you sell more if it’s $3 than you would if it was $24.

Therefore…

This won’t work without others jumping in, even if only to add some comments on how this perhaps unoriginal idea might work for all of us.

By the way…

I write thrillers and mysteries, and have a large library of books in the genre, and will be willing to read your book.  My to be read list is rather lean at the moment, and new books cost more than I can afford at the moment.

Your book, if reasonably priced like mine, would be ideal for both of us.

Does it sound like we are ‘buying’ book reviews?  No.  I believe it is a valuable part of the publishing industry that authors review their fellow author’s books.  After all, so many of those reviews on Goodreads, are from people who have bought books.

And the best part…

We get to meet new authors who have a similar interest in a genre.  This could build into something else, but, of course, that sometimes means a lot of work.  Perhaps that might come later.

As you can see I’m excited about the prospect.

If you’re interested, send me an email at cwheath555@gmail.com.

 

 

A story inspired by Castello di Brolio – Episode 5

Another story inspired from a visit to an old castle in Italy.  It was, of course, written while traveling on a plane, though I’m not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver.

But, there’s more to come.  Those were long flights…

 

I knelt down to Jack’s level and whispered in his ear, “Time to go, mate.  Things are about to get a little sticky here, and one of us should get away.”

I’m not sure he understood what I was saying.

I pointed towards the trees that ran along the wall.  “Go, now.”

He walked slowing in the pointed direction, then turned to look at me.

“Go.”

Another hesitation, then he headed towards and then disappeared into, the trees.

Behind me, I could hear the sound of boots on the rock floor of the tunnel.  The men had broken through and cut off my escape.  I didn’t believe for a minute that Jackerby was there to help me.

Well, out of the frying pan, I thought.

I walked through the gap between the trees, getting a scrape on the side of my face from a prickly branch, then burst into the open.  Jackerby had taken about twenty steps down from where he had called to me, and hearing the trees, turned and took a few steps back towards me.

Seconds later the two men from the tunnel came through the same gap and took up positions so I couldn’t escape.  Guns not drawn but ready in case they were needed.

“Where’s the dog?” Jackerby asked.

“Rats desert a sinking ship, why should dogs be any different.  Guess he knew I was for the high jump.”

“Didn’t have to be that way.”

I don’t remember getting an offer to betray my country and decline.  Significantly, he had made no more mention of his offer to help.  But, I had to ask, “Which side are you on?”

“The right side, of course.”

It was hard to tell what version of the truth that was.  He had one of those faces I associated with a professional poker player.

A nod of his head and we headed back towards the castle.  Jackerby walked beside me, the two guards about three yards behind.  Running wasn’t an option, I’d get two bullets in the back before I got ten yards.   There was very little cover to hide in, so that was out as well.

I wondered what fate awaited me back at the castle.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

So, I’m sitting down and having a Scotch and Soda when…

There’s nothing more I like to do at the end of a day than sit down and have a drink, usually Scotch and Soda or Bacardi and Coke.

But that’s the problem.

What is your definition of the end of the day?

No doubt for most it is probably that time when they get home from work, and take some time between then and dinner.  From my memories of American sitcoms of the 1950s, it was over Sherry and included a summary from every one of their day.

It was a time when women, apparently, preferred to stay home than go to work.  Odd, for some reason, that Hollywood would ignore the hard-won rights of women to have jobs, though some might argue out of necessity because of the war.

There was no computer games, contrary children, and that period, for the children was between coming home from school (doing homework) and going outside to play.

Yes, none of this disappearing into dark rooms for secret conversations on mobile phones or playing games on computers, or, dare I say it, being stuck in front of a television, pigging out on snack foods.

Any man these days who thought the 1950s sitcom scenario might be a social norm would be vilified by all and sundry.  His children would be in a permanent battle to be left alone, his wife would divorce him if he even remotely suggested she stay home or have dinner on the table when he got home, and that peaceful hour or so before the expected dinner, well, that disappeared a long time ago.

If it ever existed in any era.

So much for American sitcom stereotypes.

Now, in similar sitcoms these days, the children are obnoxious to their parent, yes, every family it seems in the USA is broken, and the mother is the long-suffering one stuck with the children and having to work, whilst the ex is out having a great time with his new girlfriend/trophy wife.

Hollywood is still stereotyping, but it’s much more dark and gloomy.

This is added to the continual threat of online predators, online pornography further reducing women’s hard-won right to be seen as more than just a sex object, bullying, not only at school and online but in the workplace, and above all that it seems men still treat women as second class citizens, not the least of which are corporate entities, and government.

Oh, and the mention of having a drink before dinner in this day and age would be associated with alcoholism, or a drinking problem, caused by excessive stress, and almost always added to an apparent addiction to painkillers or antidepressants.

What might also be worse is the alarming statistics of the number of women now drinking wine by the gallon rather than a few drinks in that period between picking up the children from school and dinner, driven by, take your choice of, obnoxious children or absent-minded or chauvinistic husband.

Damn, have I stirred up a hornet’s nest?

Sorry, I think I’d better cancel the notion of having after work drinks, and since I do the cooking, so there’s no expectation for someone else getting dinner on the table.

At least we are still married, and the children never had to deal with a broken marriage and two warring parents, but if any of the reports on why children are the way they are, I guess mine missed out on playing one parent off against the other, or get to live in different houses, or tolerate parents other boy or girlfriends, and live on junk food, well not all of the time.

Are they normal?

Perhaps when someone defines normal I will probably tell you.

I ceased being so-called chauvinistic a long time ago, and I had to have an attitude readjustment along with it, because, I’m told, we live in a different world now.

Perhaps I will have that drink or three; it’s certainly a necessity in order to watch the increasingly bad news, the antics of our politicians, and to watch the world gradually go to hell in a handbasket.

Whilst being politely told that I drink too much!

 

Travel is part of the story; dealing with airports, the very definition of misery

Our airport experiences so far have been all relatively incident free, although from time to time the sight of police or soldiers patrolling with guns can be disconcerting.

We have also experienced the odd problem in London at Heathrow, firstly trying to get help from the designated help staff and then to find the check-in desk of an airline apparently no one available knew existed.  They were not very good ‘help’ staff.

The fact we couldn’t find the airline counter left us cursing the travel agent.  It existed in name, we found it in the phone book and on the internet, but …

The phone rang out – ugh!

The internet site could not be used to check in or manage the booking on the same day as the flight!  Double ugh!

Until a little footwork found the agents desk and the misunderstanding was sorted out.

By the way, the airline itself was a pleasure to fly on, the staff were very helpful and most of all we arrived just before the airport closed.  It was odd to discover that some airports closed, particularly Florence.  It was the second time we were the last people out and having to turn off the lights.  And, because I booked the transfer to the hotel myself, he was there waiting for us!

Holiday over, the joys of visiting relatives we hadn’t seen for a long time, and an unusual but wonderful New Year’s Eve and a wedding two days later, only a flight stands between us and getting home.  After days, sometimes weeks, it is that moment we all look forward to; sleeping on our own beds, making our own food and getting to the gym to work off those extra kilos put on by delicious hotel food or local fare where calorie counting is not part of the dining experience.

Of course, getting to the airport from the hotel can be an experience in itself whether by taxi, perhaps the taxi driver from hell who knows only two speeds fast and stop and is also, unfortunately, color blind.

Or whether you have arranged for a transfer only to discover it’s not coming because the company went out of business or someone forgot to tell them.

Or the travel agent made a mistake or forgot to confirm the booking.  Oh yes, it happens.

Sometimes we have a hire car and return it to the same place.  Leaving the airport is usually early in the morning or late at night, dark or just around dawn, and the holiday’s starting, who needs to take any notice of how to leave the airport.

Let’s hope the signage at the airport makes it easy to find the rental place when we come back.  In London we had a hell of a time trying to find it; good thing we were hours earlier than we should be.

In Chicago, the car rental depot was miles from the airport.

And just because the sign says ‘rental returns’ for the lane you’re in it doesn’t necessarily follow it’s the right lane.  Then as you miss the exit, and get stuck on the one-way road system, all of a sudden you have left the airport and you’re heading back to the city.  If you’re running late …

But if everything goes to plan, and we are now more tuned into the problems that can happen, we now usually get to the airport with time to spare.

Most of the time.

So, don’t get me started…

It was going to be a quiet and productive morning.  I had all my ducks lined up in a row, something that hadn’t happened in a long time.

And then it happened.

The phone call.

I’m not sure whether it is the same the world over, hang on, only the European speaking countries like Australia, Canada, USA Britain, as a small English speaking sample, that get incessant calls from call centers in India (or places like it)

It seems the Australian telephone listing has been sold to them, and every single number put in their rotary dialing system, and it lands on mine about four, sometimes five times a day.

It’s a little past nine in the morning, and picking up the phone to answer it., I was expecting my wife or daughter in law to ask about my granddaughter whom I was minding for the day because she was too ill to go to school.

The dead giveaway it’s either a scammer on someone on an information fishing expecdition., is the momentary silence followed by a clicking sound, a few more seconds silence and then the Indian salesman-woman/scammer, call him or her what you like.

Yesterday it was solar panels.  Got them.

Or external shutters for windows.  Got them too.

Or my house needs aluminum cladding, more than likely the same stuff that burns dangerously as it had in London.  Just got the outside done,  but not with cladding.

You ask what are they selling, They, in barely understandable singsong English that I can barely hear let alone understand, tell you ‘nothing’, but then immediately launch into the spiel about the government rebate on solar panels, and I’d better get in quick.

No, definitely not a sales call.

Pity they didn’t redirect one of their government’s satellites and check to see if I have panels first.

There are others, pet insurance, death insurance, cars, holidays, house appraisals.

Yes, I definitely need to spend upwards of a hundred thousand dollars to fix my roof with is imminently going to fall, even though there’s nothing wrong with it.

Apparently, the day after I turned 65, I became a total idiot.

Hald an hour later, I was being reminded of the accident I had, don’t you remember.  Lately, I’ve taken to saying I’ve had about twenty and they have to be more specific.

I hate it when they immediately hang up and I can’t torture them some more.

Several hours after that Telstra, one of the largest communications companies in this country rings up to tell me they’re cutting me off from the rest of the world over this unpaid bill.

Since I don’t use them for anything, I tell them please do.

Then it’s the turn of the NBN to tell me that they’re cutting off my internet as if that would make a difference in this place.  I’ve got better speeds using an 1800 baud modem.

A recorded message \by a person who speaks perfect English.  Wow!  The scammers must have got sick of the verbal abuse and everyone hanging up in their ear.

Oh, did I forget the people from Microsoft who tell me my computer is reporting it is infected and they need to fix it?   I pass this call to my middle granddaughter who torments them until they realize they’ve been scammed and hang up.

But, as for today, and my first call…

I got annoyed, and asked them rather abruptly what they wanted, and then got abused for being rude.

Then don’t goddamn call me, scammers, liars, thieves, and crooks, and I won’t.

 

 

Conversations with my cat – 15

There are good days and bad days

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This is Chester, a cat looking for trouble

 

Bad days, today, trying to make the bed and the cat decides to get under the sheet and chase imaginary mice.

Peel the sheet back, toss the cat off the bed, go to remake it, and, you guessed it.

OK, we’ll come back to that.

Good days, sometimes occurring, but not often, he’s off the bed and on the prowl, though what he’s looking for is a mystery.

Perhaps there’s a gecko somewhere.

Good news, he’s out of my hair and not sitting on the keyboard trying to make a statement.

Working on the new chapter, I hear the patter of cat paws on the steps down into my office.

I turn to give him the ‘go away’ icy stare.

He returns it, in equal measure, tentatively puts his paw on the ground, ready to run if need be.

I shrug.

He goes over to the rug and flops down.

Under the fan.

Yep, they are lazy days of summer for some of us.

Saturday has come and gone

Although the main reason for its existence is to follow Friday, in some cases, it is the first day of the weekend.

Once upon a time, Saturday used to be a working day, you know, those days when we worked a 48 hour week.  Then it became a 44 hour week and we only worked in the morning.

Sd time progressed, we started working 40 hour weeks and had both Saturday and Sunday off.  Sunday, of course, was always a non-starter.  The churches made sure you were able to go to church on Sunday.

As time progressed, weekends started to begin of a Friday, with the day in question being granted by employers as a Rostered Day Off, provided you made up the time during the preceding two week period.

Now it seems the standing joke is we should work weekends, and have the week off.  Odd, it hasn’t quite caught on yet.

But, as usual, I digress…

After a week that got out of control, Saturday was supposed to pull it back into some sort of shape.

In a sense, it happened.  I looked at that list of things I had to do, picked one and got on with it.

PI Walthenson now had the intro to the plot diversion, and I’ve started putting the final edited versions of episodes 46 on, on the blog, ready to post them next week.

That done, I moved onto the helicopter story, otherwise titled ‘What happens after writing an action-packed start’, currently sitting at Episode 8, and now, with a solid few hours, had episodes written to 14.  These will be edited and transcribed to the blog for publication this or next week.

I never thought maintaining material for a blog would be so hard.

But…

Now I can say last week wasn’t a total disaster.

“The Devil You Don’t”, be careful what you wish for

John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums.  Looking for new opportunities, prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favor for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favor’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follows.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

Purchase:

http://amzn.to/2o7ZtxZ

 

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