Friday, July 18, 2014
Friday, July 11, 2014
Thursday, July 10, 2014
9 Self-Publishing Fiction Writers You Should Follow Today
9 Self-Publishing Fiction Writers You Should Follow Today
By Jason Kong
Smart indie authors learn from each other.
One way to do that is through lots of scrutiny. To become a better writer, read those who write well. To improve your marketing, learn from the people with that skill. It’s likely that there’s already someone who has done what you hope to do.
Of course, determining the reason why something works isn’t always obvious. Being a motivated observer doesn’t mean you’ll be able to deconstruct the process on your own. In the end, simply keeping tabs on your role models may be more inspiring than instructive.
The alternative to figuring it out by yourself? Find people leading conversations around the challenges you care about.
There are successful fiction writers taking the initiative, using digital platforms to address issues in self-publishing. These are places where like-minds gather and connect, to analyze and dive deeper into matters impacting indie authors.
If you read and hear what they have to say, you will gain additional perspective. You will have more ideas to advance your efforts. And you may even discover that contributing to the discussion is one of the best ways to get the clarity you seek.
I’ve identified nine fiction authors that have established followings interested in self-publishing. Give these folks a look, and see if you can acquire some insights that help your cause.
Jason Kong is a Contributing Writer for The Book Designer. He also runs Storyrally, an email-based subscription that helps fiction writers with their online marketing.Monday, July 7, 2014
The Characters are talking! - S.M. Bjarnson 07/07/14
The Characters Are Talking!
By, S.M. Bjarnson
The characters are talking, I can see them now waiting by the rippling waves for the next line in their wonderful love story to be written. I am the author and editor making remarks and additions into their simple lives, that I bring complex and unsettling feelings, because true love deserves to be tested.
They hold hands waiting for the sunset to clear to see the next page or chapter in each other's life, in one another's future history. So we wait, because as we wait I am struck not by grief of making them feel pain, but stuck in a rut of possibilities of the people they could become, they whimsical destiny they so long to live up too.
They are patient like no other person could be, not only are they understanding but they neither neglect or accept your judgments they merely nod and they deal with the forthcoming tides of a raging storm or the end to a beautiful sunny day.
There are more words to be shared and rather to be heard. They wait with anxious excitement to hear the next revealing course in which their lives must take! So please be kind and witty as well, your characters are starting to talk! Talk they will and so it will be about you if you don't finish their own words exiting their fictional mouths!
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Sneak Peek: Suspicions, S.M. Bjarnson
There has always been consequences for the things
I’ve believed to be truth. The way each maple leaf falls slowly as if it were
being laid down by the hands of the afternoon breeze. Circumstances led me to
assume the very same thing, that some invisible force was ruling the position
of my livelihood. I feared I would succumb to the changes and to the thoughts
that mankind had put inside my soul. In fact was it the beauty that chased them
away or the silence I gave them from it. They removed me from the world and
banished the very existence I had been given at birth. My name sake some sort
of mockery, the timing for fame had ended abruptly. I am closed off from this
viscous world, a torment by the pleasure in me. I am living.
My concentration broke and I was at the worst of
them. Breathing under strict rule of where and when I was to leave and bleed my
words and to whom. My glued eyes shut I reminisce in a once victorious land. I
stand alone at the battle field of the mercenaries. I am a king if not a queen
to the trap of solitude. I am the heir to a terrible crumbling kingdom. With
cruel intent I will seek them out to become more than just a maiden in a
chamber. There will be blood as there always is the red stain among the men in
history.
Wishful thinking tells us that we are longer good,
we are longer able. Who is the judge in the case? The ruler that signifies us
disruptive. For a short time we may live out the remaining years will a solemn
prayer of being an achievement of the human race, but you see that is the
mistake we are all in a race.
Hills and valleys will let us know if our succession
is relevant or rather a mistake of guidance on our elders part. We are children
being led away with a string or a rope, led to another world where our
imagination is held captive and our irrelevant lives became purposeful.
We stood through streams and creeks remembering our
fallen brothers. The cold chills turning over the aged rocks, exposing secrets
my lovely sisters kept. A dark hidden past was one thing and then another when
the light made it glow. Terminal, the position our beloved on us. Our potion
was a category for defeat and victory was not on the contents of victory.
Sacrifice on the other hand was a very big ingredient in the poison.
Fruit taken from the tempting tree were we all at
the devils hands, tug graves and cutting corners. There was music in the air.
Swirling the temptations of what had come and what had not. We would not last
the night, the morning dew taking the place of our final determination. Trembling
words fluctuated around the matters of factual and factious.
Could you remind me of my crime dear sir? Could you
so ever gallantly refresh my deprived memory of the crimes you accuse of me
committing?
There was a line I had drawn upon the fallen walls
of the kingdom we called home. White marks leading up and down and curve to
remind us we were never to be left alone in this day in this age, we were
prisoners. We were the answer to the most disgusting of questions.
The solutions for a match made in ever. Our
turbulence qualified for a ok landing, but there was nothing and we stood for
exactly that.
Remove the contacts from your thoughts and memories
and who is left if not you to make them account for something. Who is left if
not you who bring the others to life? You bring them to a whole other realm of
living, the breath of excitement exists only in the power of your thought, your
touch.
A piece at a time. One step after another, reminded
of the crime.
Friday, July 4, 2014
Promote Your Dope: Lisa Hannigan, I don't Know (Indie Singer/songwriter)
Lisa Hannigan- I don't Know
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
One Day, S.M. Bjarnson
ONE DAY
One
day, I remind myself, yesterday neglected to falter and tomorrow you shall rise
again! One day I tell myself there will be plenty of days when one cannot
concoct happiness into the pages she/he has written. One day I confirm there
are plenty more just like this one coming my way. Wouldn't I engage to say that
I would suffer this writer's depression of those many days for the decades of
success that await me? I plead with myself I need this victory this win I have
to claim as mine.
With
every word flowing out as a chaotic struggle to sound a bit above water, yet
remaining under the brink of solitude. IT bites at you and swiftly there is a
quiet comforting voice in the background whispering to you that tomorrow is
another day and you will survive this one so you may endure and enjoy the next
one. I let myself know you have become strong. Your weakness only make you
exceed limits only you are aware of. There is a beauty in this battle. A
welcoming tone as the chime of the fight begins, you are startled at first
wondered where this potential victim came from, you are your opponent.
You
close your timid eyes wondering how quickly it will be to take down that which
is yourself, inevitably. Your stance in position for a fair fistful. Were you
obligated to take over this mortal enemy? Was it possible to merely avoid the
situation and forfeit the war that raged among the heart and mind? Were you
wise in your steps that you could so carelessly shake hands and let that be it?
Did
you take certain precautions that would allow you to have a pass here?
Welcome
to the Writer's Realm, fight for your life, or rather your words!
Consisting
of structures you wrote and once loved silhouettes of images you portrayed,
betraying you at every inch. Bandages bleeding from the coursing in my veins I
was a viper stinging in my own thoughts. Poisoning the very thoughts that
caused such a perfectionist writer.
My
vision of stories blank as blackboards. The wisdom of my elders vanished as I
took my first blow. Where were the faults I tried to correct? I wanted to
search in depth for the wise words I once lost.
There
were mentions of talents long forgotten.
The
talent in which one grew like a plant that you watered and fed daily of light
and literature. I confessed to having that very plant grow inside me once and
now it had sprouted and took over the very being I called home. I commenced the
silence. It tries to steal the very soul I live in.
I
followed in my own footsteps and alas won out among the blood and tears of the
fore comings. My bravery was a mighty win. My courage rang clear as my words
were set free. My mind finally at ease. My world at a calm humble peace.
I
stood on the podium, the day had finished with a stream of cruelly words.
I
was victorious.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Willow Tree, S.M. Bjarnson
As the moment we jumped out of the
car there was only one place to be at grandpa and grandma’s house.
Each time we ran to the tree it was a
new experience of life and freedom.
The branches swing, the branches
swung high and low they flowed.
They began to make indents in the
wind.
Over and over again little leaves and
bark would splatter into the air.
We danced and danced forming a
whirlwind of happiness.
My sister and I moved along the beats
of where the branches whipped the crimson air.
Moving over each print and desire of
the old willow we would swing and sway to the rhythm bouncing through the
trees.
By when the darkness struggled into
the sky, it was time to leave our great friend, tree.
With all the time in the world in
moment it ended, with a last hug to thank the tree for its love.
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