Tag Archives: Amazon

You Can Sell More Fiction Books!

The Pitch

Okay, let’s be honest. You’re reading this because my title hooked you which means you’re probably an author (fiction) who is trolling the web for the secret amulet that will make you a NY Times success.1

Sorry to disappoint or even mislead, but I’m not your messiah.

So why would I bait you into reading? Do I want to vent and pout and demonize those that are more successful? Is it to manipulate you into buying my books?

I simply want to take an honest look into the marketing dilemma we face as authors and thought that maybe, just maybe, you might want join the discussion.

Prophets

When I first began, I jumped on the latest trends to find a way to cut through the hoopla of the marketplace.  Remember buttons for FB or your web? How about the crap of “like my book and I’ll like yours” even if we hadn’t read it yet?

2Currently, the market is saturated with authors desperate to try anything to cut through the noise. Supply and demand has created sales gurus waving shiny tickets to the promise land. We join their mailing list, chant the mantra, maybe even shell out some cash. The only thing that changes is they’re a little richer and we’re discouraged, until a new prophet arises, and off we go like a lemmings, hoping that beyond their promise isn’t yet another cliff.

Are You Mad?

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results.” Now that my third book is out, I’m re-evaluating my marketing plan…if nothing more than to find sanity. 3

I recently asked several author friends to reveal their trade secrets, their insights into how to navigate the maze of marketing.

Their answers were candid, vulnerable and insightful.

They also revealed sane minds.

Next Steps

In my next post, I’ll dive into what they shared as well as what I’m going to try next.

It probably won’t help you sell more books but you’ll at least realize you’re not alone…or going crazy.


Kings, Worms & Whispers

Book III is out!WhenKingsClash_6x9cover_revised02

Early reviews are good…

“Lowder has done it again-created a world for us to immerse ourselves-intensity, discovery and a pathway of epic portions into the ‘What ifs’ and the elusive hope.”

I’m Pumped!

What has me really excited are the readers who liked the Worms of Bal-Malin (dragon-like creatures) as well as Phinnton and Mälque: two boys of 13 summers.

Why?

Because as a writer, I was excited to create the Worms of Bal-Malin and the adventures of Phinnton &  Mälque; I just didn’t know if the readers would be as juiced. I know it’s still early in the polling, but it looks like my gut instinct was spot on.

Oh, and if you’re interested in purchasing or reading a tidbit, here’s the Amazon Link, or simply click on the book cover.


Out With The Old…

New Nook!

New Nook!

Changes!

In one month we:

  • downsized to a condo.
  • became empty nesters.
  • I had rotator cuff surgery.

One of the perks has been “letting go” of my office and Mac G4 for the nook and iMac (pictured.) My only regret is that we didn’t do this sooner!

Learning Curve

I wear a sling 24/7, and since I’m not left-handed, life has slowed down. Add to that trying to learn new software and there are days I feel I’m not progressing at all. But I am, just at a snail’s pace. Too bad I’m a hare!

Writing 

I’ve always been a Microsoft Word guy but I’m rethinking this choice. I’m not about to shell out huge bucks for Office when all I want is Word so I may just opt to use Pages that comes on the Mac. From dabbling with it, I think it will do everything I need. Which gets me to my question…

What do you use?


Looking for Love…

…In All the Wrong Places.

Even if you hate Country music, I think you’ll agree that the songwriter really hit the target…or a nerve!

A Treasure Chest

I’ve had seasons when I was a carbon copy of this song. Sometimes I was the recipient. Other times I was the devil. As a writer, these emotions/experiences are a treasure chest for character development.

Acceptance

We all want it. We all crave it. But do we ever find it? In my journey, it’s taken a professional counselor to help me face the truth about myself. Such insight and discovery has not only freed me to be a better friend, husband and dad, but has empowered me as a writer when fleshing out my characters.

So when that guy or girl dumps you, don’t loose heart. Instead, turn them into a character and let ’em have it! 🙂

For those following the “300 x 2” FREE book, here’s the next installment.

Chapter 2

Forged Friendship

Elabea darted away from her home, longing to escape her parents and more importantly, the shackles of the Oracles. She did not consider herself a rebel, or one brave enough to defy Ebon’s might. She simply hungered for two qualities her home and village could not provide.

Love and acceptance.

She glanced at the parchment clutched in her hand. The tingling sensation was gone, but the thought that it had been delivered from Claire sent goose bumps racing over her back. After all, she had been taught that Claire was destroyed in the Dark War, and that it was a land of death and deception. The parchment and the Moon King were proof otherwise.

As she ran, she took in the cottages of Hetherlinn. Constructed from planed boards, they were stained white while the windows, of which there were only two, were sealed with dark green shutters. Thatched roofs sloped off the quaint two story dwellings and nearly touched the ground. However, the most notable feature was the numbers above the unpainted doors. Black stain, sloppily brushed by Ebonite warriors, numbered each cottage.

Another requirement from the Oracles so Ebon can tally us like cows!

Hers was Number 17 and sat at the bottom of the crescent. She liked being far away from the others, especially when her father had had too much wildeberry wine.

Another glance. Another painted number.

Fourteen.

She recalled seeing a young boy, Phinnton, peering at her from his bedroom window. She would wave, but he was too shy, and would dart back into the shades.

At night, the sweet refrains sung by Phinnton’s mother floated like a dream into her bedroom. She would open her shutters and rest on her window frame, soaking up the musical serenade. Every now and then, when the wind was blowing her way, she would catch some of the lyrics.

The Singing Stones of Addoli, she reflected. How I wish I knew what that meant…

Several summers ago, the singing stopped. Elabea assumed the boy was older and grew tired of bedtime lullabies. A rumor spread that she had been whisked away one night by the Ebonites for violating an Oracle. From that day forth, Phinnton and his father became hermits.


Night Mystery…more Free “Tears”

Here is today’s portion of Chapter 1, The Moon King from Tears of Min Brock…

Elabea rolled her eyes and began banging her bowl again. Areall gently stopped her drumming, and with a patronizing smile, returned to her chores.

The conversation was over.

After a moment of silence, Areall asked, “Would you like to continue learning how to knit?”

Elabea let out a dramatic sigh. “You know I hate to knit! And why aren’t you willing to discuss this? Why do you pretend all is well?   Do you really like the night raids and wearing this?”

Elabea yanked at her tunic.

Areall flashed her another belittling smile just as Elabea’s father, Quinn, stumbled out of the bedroom. Bumping his forehead against the low threshold, he muttered something unintelligible. Rubbing his sore head and mumbling angrily, he staggered toward the fireplace. There, he fell into a wooden chair to begin another day, sitting and staring into the glowing embers that held no answers to his misery. Like the days prior, Quinn would slip further into despair, an occasional grunt about Min Brock shattering the silence.

“Father,” Elabea said, knowing when he was hungover it was better to leave, “I’m going to the meadow.”

Like the other parents of Hetherlinn, Quinn and Areall had banned her from visiting or climbing the oak. Despite their threats and even subsequent punishment, Elabea continued to visit. Overcome with their own personal pains, they resigned themselves to defeat, hoping against hope that the Cauldron would not discover their wayward daughter.

Quinn waved a rubbery arm while Areall huffed disapprovingly.

Elabea threw the door open. The cold breeze took her breath away; she pulled her shawl closer. A rustling sound near her ear made her turn to inspect. Embedded in the door’s rough plank was an arrow. Wrapped about its shaft and secured with a leather strip was a parchment. It was twitching in the breeze.

The THUD I heard last night must have come from this arrow!


Free Tuesday! 300 x 2 Fantasy Giveaway

Tears_of_Min_Brock_Cover_for_Kindle

Good afternoon! Here is today’s portion from Tears of Min Brock. We’re still in Chapter 1, The Moon King. Thanks!

Morning came too soon, and she groggily climbed out of bed. She tiptoed quickly across the cold planks and threw on her brown tunic. Woven from a thick cloth, it resembled a floppy bag more than it did a dress. It was the required outfit of Hetherlinn as ordered by the Oracles, creating uniformity and squelching individualism.   She often wondered if the other nations had to dress similarly.

She pulled her wavy cinnamon-colored hair out from beneath her tunic and it fell past her shoulders. Her eyes looked like morsels of dark chocolate that reflected a fiery heart, and her smile was inviting, while a few freckles—sprinkled like nutmeg—adorned her creamy cheeks. Although Elabea was an attractive girl, she did not consider herself pretty. In fact, aside from an occasional compliment from her mother, many in Hetherlinn, especially the widow Mithe, insulted her on a daily basis. As a result, she accepted their demeaning comments as true.

Slipping on warm wool stockings and then her boots, she quickly strapped a thick leather belt around her waist. With it snug about her, it at least gave her the sensation of wearing something more stunning than a sack.

She stepped to the square opening in her floor. The warmth from the kitchen fire below embraced her while the aroma of breakfast porridge made her stomach rumble. She descended the rickety ladder and the rungs creaked with her weight.

“Mother,” she asked as she dragged herself to the table near the fire. “Did you see anything last night?”

“No,” Areall answered dully as she scooped porridge from the large black pot. Like everything else in their cottage, the fireplace was simple and primitive by order of the Oracles. Rough in places with some cracks here and there, it was anything but elegant. Black soot covered the stone, rising up to the thatched roof.


Free Thursday! 300 x 2 Fantasy Giveaway

tearscover_w_spine-copy.jpgThanks for checking out my post! If you’re new, I’m posting 300 words from my War of Whispers book, Tears of Min Brock, twice a week, thus the 300 x 2. If you’d like to start at the beginning, check out the “300 x 2” category section of my blog. Thanks again for taking the time. And now, here’s the conclusion to Chapter 1, The Moon King

 

She pushed away her blankets and found herself once more at the crack, staring out into the moonlight. The warrior hovered in the same place, but this time, the sight of him sent peace coursing through her veins.

The steed rose and boxed the air with his front appendages, and in a silvery flash, they disappeared into the deeper of shades.

Elabea stared, mesmerized by their flight.

Lying back down, she knew that sleep was out of the question, but not because she feared his return. Her imagination simply could not leave him be, so throughout the night, she examined every possibility as to his identity.

Being restricted to her village by the Oracles, she was limited to information beyond her border. Nevertheless, she quickly reasoned he was not from any of the surrounding nations. Already concluding that he was not from Ebon or a creation of the Cauldron, she was led to another question, one that went against the teaching of the Oracles.

Could he be from Claire?

The idea stirred her fantasies to the wind. High within her imagination they swirled, like snow on a zephyr. Sleep finally came, but before she drifted off, she felt the need to bestow him with a title.

The Moon King.


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