Category Archives: Blog

Book Marketing 101: How to do it naturally

 

It’s always a delight to talk to my friends, especially if they are better at something than I am.  Isla McKetta is awesome at book marketing.

That’s probably her day job is working at a marketing firm. It’s also because, as a co-writer of “Clear Out the Static in Your Attic”, she’s used her marketing hat in her book life.

I got a chance to talk to Isla about book marketing during our Google Hangout recently. For her, book marketing comes down to five things: goals, organization, channels, be brave, and being human.

Want more details? Check out our latest chat in the video above. Then check out Isla’s blog or buy her awesome book.

What does your writing mean to you?

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Sometimes the present is so changed that the past is linked to the present only by a fragile word. To build something new, you must be prepared to destroy the past. – Yvonne Vera.

The first time I read that quote in Butterfly Burning I was in an immense amount of pain. I wasn’t in physical, but the internal pain was nearly unbearable. I was being pulled into several directions professionally. First it was my love, my work, journalism and being a reporter at a mid-sized daily. Then it was my first love, my future, writing and the MFA.

For a time there, it seemed that journalism demanded more of me than it had in the past, ironically during my graduate program. However, I wanted to give the program and this direction a fair shot.  I always wanted to write books and that they’d be fiction and that the road to finding my voice would go through this program.

What to do? Not sleep? Quit one or the other?

Then I read this quote. The word that linked my past and present at the time was safety.

Becoming a storyteller? Yes, that was in my DNA from the minute I could breathe. My brain doesn’t and can’t function any other way. But what made me (frankly) miserable during this time? Safety.

On one hand, I wanted to stay where I was as a writer and journalist because it was familiar. I found a sense of comfort in knowing things others didn’t, not because I gained that experience through learning but because I had some sort of seniority. I had become one of the “old timers” (mostly through attrition). Life had become predictable in a way and that make me feel so safe even though I knew that I was stagnating in my craft.

Me on the first day of grad school

On the other hand, this new thing, this MFA and this journey toward finding my voice? This was what I yearned for. New air. New thoughts. New muscles being flexed. I took to this life as if this was where I was meant to be. But this also scared me. There were so many unknowns. Would I…could I…actually become the writer I’ve always wanted? This was not the inverted pyramid of journalism but the truth of fiction where I could wound or heal myself with a phrase — there was no detachment.

Scared. I was scared either way.  Then I read this quote and it made all the sense in the world.

In order for me to stop being scared, I needed to be ready to destroy the past.

That didn’t mean to quit one or both — newspapering or MFA. That meant that I needed to rethink what it meant to be a writer and a storyteller. That meant I needed to define what that was for myself and how I could carve my own reality.

Once you understand the meaning of your writing, you can carve out your own destiny. (Click to tweet this)

That’s when I began to own who I really was — a storyteller who can tell a story in many different ways.  I chased stories with a new zeal and read everything I could get my hands on, including creative nonfiction. I wanted to learned how different stories and writers worked.

I became an apprentice to words. 

So now, among the sea of tweets and statuses and the speed of changing technology, I know that the world still needs storytellers. That talent is one of the building blocks of humanity. People will always want a story.

And that, readers, is the most freeing thing in this world.

 

It all comes back to the words

 

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Editor’s Note: This post is part of a 28 day blogging challenge from Imperfectblogging.com. The goal is to develop your blogging voice. To learn more, click here. But I’m so behind I can’t even catch up now so I’m kinda doing my own thing. 

Success. Love. Happy. Free.

These four words are something that nearly every human being I know wants in their lives.  How to get there is another thing entirely.

But this isn’t that type of site and I’m not that type of writer. I’m not here to tell you how to find these words in your life, however, I can help you find this in your writing.  Seven word advice. Ready?

It all comes back to the words.

Yes, that’s it. Very simple. The words. The writing. The act of writing. The preparation for it. The reading. All of it and the road to those 4 words comes back to that.

I re-learned that lesson today. My life currently is in the process of turning upside down in so many good ways — a new business to launch, clients to finish work for, an audience to build, a new job and therefore a move and a new city. So many things are happening at the same time and I am being pulled in so many different directions. It was no wonder that this morning I woke up in a less than chipper mood.

Okay, I was insufferable. I’ll admit to that.

And I know that when that happens, I have to think about the last time I wrote…anything. After some quick math, it had been a while, a very long while. Reading? Forget it. The book still had the bookmark in it from MONTHS ago.

I have all these amazing things going for me and I am beyond thrilled (though thinking about how I’m going to move my furniture is causing some gray hairs) but for me, the writer, it comes down to the micro level of things. It comes down to the words. That is when I am my most successful, I feel the most self-love, I am the happiest, and I am the most free.

LESSON: On the road to becoming a storyteller, one must figure out their own story if they hope to tell others. (Click to tweet this.)

So, I’m back to craving out time — getting up early or sleeping late. I know for those four words to happen, I need to go back to the practice and that starts with doing this.

Interviewing characters. Who is Jennie Manning?

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Editor’s Note: This post is part of a 28 day blogging challenge from Imperfectblogging.com. The goal is to develop your blogging voice. To learn more, click here. 

If you’ve been getting the emails about my mystery series, the Jennie Manning Mysteries, you probably know that I’ve had one character stay with me since age 13.

Please, don’t do the math.

This is the year that I’m bringing Jennie and her gang of misfits (okay, there’s only like one misfit and everyone else is a cop or dead) to the world but starting the mystery series. Her first story, Santa’s Last Flight, was the first story and an exclusive to the folks who are on the list.

But as I went to write this blog post for Imperfectingblogging.com (the assignment was to interview someone) I remembered that Jennie and I had our own moment as reporter and source and that her first story was back in 1999.

What? I interviewed a character. Why…yes! It’s one of the techniques I tell my writing students to do when they are developing their characters. I did this with Jennie Manning and the results still drive her origin (re: backstory) to this day.

As I re-read this interview from 2007, I see there are some things that have changed. Others, like Jennie’s sense of remorse and redemption, haven’t. I love reading this because this tells me that after several years, I know this character is solid. I know what she is capable of and who she is and her story is one that still interests me.

So, enjoy reading some early Jennie Manning character development. If you want to follow her adventures, sign up here. Her next mystery, Dancing with Death, is turning into something I’m really loving.

Detective Jennie Manning has these eyes like toasted chestnuts and this hair the color of cinnamon at the bottom of a cereal bowl.

But those features are like the trance of the mongoose before she attacks the cobra. Many a thug had confessed before knowing they had. As she sat on the wooden stool in the middle of her catastrophic office the size of a peanut, she slouched, as if carrying the weight of a thousand burdens on her back. Her face was defined but smileless. Her look was serious but not angry. Her clothes, an interesting combination of comfortable camo with cargo pants and a man’s white sleeveless t-shirt thin enough to see her plain white bra. Manning is not a woman of girly sophistication but of function – no make up, no heels, like jewelry. Just a gold necklace of the Virgin Mary, which rested on her chest.

I ask the first question and her body stiffens.

“I grew up on the East side of Houston when all there were, were cows and trees. When to high school at North Shore High. Didn’t go to football games. No dances. No clubs. Happy when those four years were over.”

She ran her long fingers through her long her and exhaled as if confessing a secret she had wanted to forget. Jennie licked her lips and shifted her weight on the stool, her right fist on her hip, her left elbow leaning on the left extended thigh. Her posture dared me to ask another question. So I asked it.

“One sister. We are kinda close. I did my own thing growing up. She did hers. Dad died when I was a senior in high school. My mother is a lunatic. Was born one. Will die one. I try to call her once a week. Same time every week just so she doesn’t get the idea of flying out to see me.”

She pursed her lips and looked around the integration room. I was intrigued by her behavior.

“How much longer is this going to take?”

Keeping my composure, I continued asking questions.

“I went into law enforcement because all things are not equal. Some times the good guys lose and the bad guys win. I want to make it right, okay? Why so many questions?”

Her position on the stool didn’t change but her shoulder looked more tense. I dove deeper. I wanted to know what brought her to Phoenix, AZ, a long way from Houston.

“I needed out,” She placed both feet on the stools last bar, rolled her hand into fist and placed them on her hip bone. Her back was straight and stiff. “I love H-town but if I had stayed, no way I would have been a cop. I’ve traveled to a different part of the country after high school. Phoenix just stuck. Graduated the academy at the top of my class. Worked for PPD for five years. Detective three. In record time.”

What brought you back to Houston?

She slumped down again and began playing with the necklace around her neck while looking at one of the corners of the room. Her lips pouted. She sat there in silence for awhile before answering.

“I wanted to be a good sister.”

How so?

Her pair of chestnut eyes looked directly into mine as if beaming a laser from them. Jennie stopped playing with the medallion the gold chain in mind motion.

“To catch my sister’s killer.”

Her answer was direct, almost blunt.

What will happen when you catch him?

“I’ll kill him.”

And then?

“The dreams will stop. My guilt will go away.” She dropped the medallion and ran both hands through her hair before resting her forearms over her knees. “I was helping her get her life back together. After dad died, she belonged to the street. She got mixed up with some wrong people. She ended up trickin’, druggin’. She was 23 when she was killed. Slaughtered like an animal and raped in the back seat of the car I helped her buy. She…”

Jennie trailed off. Sherlock, her tall, drink of water partner walked with a short, clear glass of water in one hand. The other was behind his back. Jennie looked up appreciatively, took the glass and dumped the liquid on the floor. She handed it back and Sherlock rolled his eyes. Taking it from her, he revealed the secret he had hidden behind his back – the final glass full of Jim Beam. He poured it, handed the glass back to Jennie and left the room.

I waited until she took the first gulp before continuing. She emptied half the glass.

How often do you drink?

“Not often. Only when it gets bad. Like now. The memories flooded too quick. This calms me down,” she said holding up the glass and taking another sip. Jennie finished it and placed it on the desk next to her.

That drink is a little strong, don’t you think? Why do you feel so guilty?

Jennie stared down to her lap where the thumb of the right hand stroked the inside of the other.

“I wasn’t here. I wasn’t here to defend her, to protect her. I left and the streets got her.”

But that’s not you’re fault.

“I’m the oldest,” she snapped. “Of course its my fault.”

She looked back down and her hair guarded her face. I listened to see if she was sobbing but I heard nothing but her breathing. After a prolonged silence, she lifted her head with eyes transfixed and large, and said painfully. “Are we done?”

There was more I wanted to know but Jennie looked like she was about to become a cage animal so I left her off the hook. There would be more questions later but for right now, she needed a breather and so did I.

The writing quote that keeps me going

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Editor’s Note: This post is part of a 28 day blogging challenge from Imperfectblogging.com. The goal is to develop your blogging voice. To learn more, click here. 

Sometimes life gets in the way of life. It’s just one of those things, I guess.

Here I am in a program to write a blog post everyday for the next 28 days and I am so behind it’s almost like starting over. Life has kept me from becoming more consistent with this challenge. Add to that that I’m so ridiculously behind on my Jennie Manning story, I just want to crawl into a hole and sleep until it’s over.

But here’s a little thing that I’ve learned about writing and life: sometimes it’s just a series of starts and stops. Starting over is the new starting over and the only way to fail is by stopping.

That’s why I love this quote from Clarice Lispector. Frankly, I love everything that woman has ever written. Another one of her quotes is engraved on my laptop.

“I only achieve simplicity with enormous effort.”

Clarice Lispector

Both of these quotes give me hope and warm fuzzes but the first one, about questions and answers and writing, that one keeps me going when the copy isn’t flowing as it should.

See, writing whether it’s fiction, nonfiction, journalism, poetry, or some other combination, is about truth — finding it, exploring it, denying it, accepting it. Truth is in the center of all forms of art and that is what makes it beautiful. (Click to tweet this.)

I have so many questions about life, all aspects of it. Why do people do the things they do? What is love? What is the meaning of humanity? How does it all work?

So many questions but not that many answers. As a writer I need to explore, to make it understandable or at least to come to a sort of peace with the answers to the questions. Writing allows me that freedom. That reminds me of another quote.

“The great luxury of my life is the freedom to sit at this desk.”

Richard Rodriguez, Hunger of Memory

Luxury? Necessity. My pen will never stop moving. As long as I have curiosity and wonder in my heart for things I know nothing about, I will write to learn more about them.

Why do I have this drive? I guess every artist is looking for something…

chandler

 

 

The dinner party that will never happen

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Editor’s Note: This post is part of a 28 day blogging challenge from Imperfectblogging.com. The goal is to develop your blogging voice. To learn more, click here. 

Who would you invite to dinner (living or not)? What would the conversation be like?

That’s the assignment for today’s Imperfect Blogging. Since this is a writing blog, I thought it’d be easy to pick my favorite writers and maybe write a scene about how dinner would go. I’d write about what I would serve and the phenomenal, creative, inspirational conversation that would happen around my table.

But that’s not the dinner I want to happen.

The dinner I really want to happen will never happen. Because Death, the bastard that it is, is permanent and everlasting. Also because, just as bad and semi-everlasting, is Fidel Castro.

The dinner I want to have is with my family — my dad, my sister, my long lost brother, and my half sister and brother in Cuba.

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I’ve not written about my long lost brother, well, ever. I never thought we would find him. I was right. Last year, he found us. The thing about blogging is that everyone and anyone can look for you if they really wanted to find you, you just have to put yourself out there. I did. I wrote about my dad on one of the anniversaries. And then suddenly I get an email through WritingtoInsanity.com while I was watching a movie that was so ridiculously boring that I couldn’t recall it even if I tried.

My brother. He emailed. He’d been looking. It took a good 10 minutes before I could react.

When I finally saw a picture, I could see dad in his face. Mr. Fernandez lived in the face of a 40 year old man from Arizona. Dad died wanting to know his son, to hug him, to talk to him, to explain so many things. He wanted to explain to him that life did what it did and that was why they didn’t grow up together. He wanted to ask him about his life. He wanted to tell his son about his (there’s so much to tell). Simply, dad wanted to be a dad to his son.

But that didn’t happen. No matter how much we search and tried, we never could find him. I’m glad that he found us.

So, it was up to me to tell him everything daddy couldn’t. I was able to tell my brother that he had another sister here, in the US and another brother and sister in Cuba. He told me I had three nieces and a nephew. And darn it if one of my nieces doesn’t have the same facial expressions that I do, which I learned from dad.

My sister in Cuba and my sister in Texas were stunned to hear that we had found him. They want to get to know him, embrace him into the Fernandez family. They wanted to welcome him home.

But the Castros being who they are and the sticky red tape being, well, sticky, that’s a long way off. Way off. Not saying it couldn’t be done, but we’re not there yet.

I’m recalling all this because today is dad’s birthday. He was a spring baby and it seemed fitting because he was a person of constant renewal.  “No te aogas en un baso de agua” (don’t drown yourself in a glass of water) he’d say. That’s because there were an infinite amount of ways to move, or solve a problem, or do whatever.

I wonder sometimes how that dinner party would go. It would be a long one (the family tends to be long winded). There would be plenty of tears, some yelling, laughing, anger, and love. Above all love. I’d serve roasted pork. Dad would watch me make it and give me some tips and then I’d hand him a beer and tell him to go watch the game. My blood sister would arrive late and she’d make a bee-line to the rice and beans and ask me when dinner would be done. I’d slap her hand away from grabbing a mouth full and tell her to go sit with dad. My Cuban brother and sister would put on music and dance and that’s when the party would start. Loud talking would sound like yelling. The trio would teach my blood sister to dance salsa even though she’s got moves no one has seen yet (her words not mine). The smell of a wonderful dinner would wrap itself around this moment. That’s when I would wish and pray that the smell of pork and yucca would just keep this moment going forever and that time would be my friend again.  My long lost brother would arrive and that’s when I would emerge from the kitchen, to watch the moment I’ve always wanted to see, the reunion of the Fernandez children with their father.

Then, the healing begins….

Lessons along the writing journey

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Editor’s Note: This post is part of a 28 day blogging challenge from Imperfectblogging.com. The goal is to develop your blogging voice. To learn more, click here. 

Where were you one year ago today?

Think about it. Where were you, at this moment one year ago? I knew where I was. I was taking this picture.

And I thought about placing this picture on my wall.

When I took this picture, I was looking for beauty in the smaller things in life because the bigger things weren’t so beautiful.

Far forward to March 2014 .The same tree, which is outside my window, is blooming again. It’s growing toward a bright, spring sun in a fearless way. It doesn’t matter if its cold or windy or if the sun is a little less bright, these flowers still grow and blossom. Why?

Because no one told them that it was a bad idea to bloom on a cold day.

I’m relearning this lesson, which started during the year of revision. It’s one of the things I wish I had told myself when I was younger.

So, in the spirit of growing (literally and figuratively) here’s some advice I would give myself if I could go back in time a year ago.

  • Trust your gut. It’s right. 100 percent.
  • You need to understand that you are capable of so many things that you don’t even know of yet. Follow that instinct.
  • No matter how talented you are and show it, there will be those who don’t think you are. Ignore them.
  • There will be a time where you no longer believe in people. That moment passes and who you become after that moment is amazing.
  • Your voice is the most important part of you. Defend it at all costs.
  • Fearlessness sometimes means staying home and watching Doctor Who.
  • Keep being stubborn. It’s your best attribute.
  • Happiness comes in small things — gestures, packages, moments.
  • You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.
  • Chocolate fixes everything. Just FYI.

If you could go back in time and give yourself some advice, what would you tell yourself?

What’s worth more than money?

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Editor’s Note: This post is part of a 28 day blogging challenge from Imperfectblogging.com. The goal is to develop your blogging voice. To learn more, click here. 

Look at that. I’m already a day behind in this 28 day blogging challenge.

But it’s fitting because the theme today is about winning the jackpot and what that means for you.  For me, it’s less about money and more about time.

However, I wouldn’t mind the money if I had to take it.

Time is one of those things we wish we had more of to use. If I wanted something to be endless, it would be time — time with family, time with friends, time to pursue projects, time to write. Just time with things and people that make you blissful. I wish that was never ending.

Sometimes, it seems smiling has a deadline. It’s shorter than a wink, only slightly longer than a thought.

The time outside of happiness or being blissful is so long. Too long. You can mark the passage of that time with each frown or worry wrinkle. The older I get the more I find out that there are too many of those in the world.

For me, my wildest dreams are lived in those moments of bliss. In those moments we are all beautiful and at peace.  When I’m not in them, I yearn for that time so I look to create it everyday, if only of a fraction of a second.

Happiness is worth chasing. Always. (Like that thought? Click to tweet it.)

And in the meantime, in between time, I remind myself that the next session of bliss is around the corner. All I need is to give time some time.

Who do I talk to? Finding sources for your story

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Recently, I received a question from a starting journalist that took me back down memory lane.  The question was about sourcing and how to find potential sources for a news story.

Usually, I deal with fiction questions on this site (and sometimes I do a video or two but you really don’t want to see what my hair is doing today). But this was a great question I think would apply to not only journalists but freelancers and fiction writers.

So, how do you find those pesky sources?

Depends on the story.

Really, when you talk about sources you’re talking about sides of a story and how people see the world. The saying–there’s more than one way to tell a story–applies here. As a reporter/journalist/storyteller, your job is to gather as many different and relevant viewpoints to the story as possible. Tell the full story.

And just because people have the same  “title” doesn’t mean they have the same viewpoint.  For example, one 5th grade teacher could think that the principal is doing a great job while another thinks the school’s leader is the worst thing to happen to education.

Because this question came from students and beginning writers of articles (i.e. folks who want to start freelancing) I’m going to break it down to two types of sources: primary and secondary.

Primary

These are the people directly impacted by the event, issue, etc.  Think of this as the folks on this scene. In a cops story, it’s  the people who were robbed, etc. It’s also the cops on the scene (usually the public information officer) and any witnesses. Always talk to these folks. Always.

Secondary

These are the folks who are not directly impacted by the event but can add perspective. For example, the person who was robbed has a wife or husband, or mother or father. They weren’t there but they were/are around to deal with the aftermath of that experience. They are also impacted themselves because for a moment, no matter how small, their world was turned upside down because the person they loved was in harms way.

My favorite type of secondary source is the “expert” or what I like to call the guru. These are folks who study the issue or event in a broader sense. They are able to give you great stats and can talk about the big picture impact of things and even what will happen next.  These sources are great to give a story a bit of depth.  Sometimes these sources are national, meaning they can give a big perspective or sometimes they are local or regional, giving a more targeted point of view.

If nothing else, the guru gives the story context.

With the example of the robbery, a crime guru who can talk about how many burglaries happened in the area (that includes the type, the time of day, and whether these crimes are typically solved).  A guru can also talk about how a series of burglaries can impact a neighborhood (think socially and economically).

Now, that basic crime story has legs.

How does this help the fiction writer? Point of view. A fiction writers needs to figure out point of view — what character are you using to tell a story?

If you’re fictionalizing the robbery, are you using the victim or suspect’s point of view? The investigators? A guru? Which one and why? How are they tied into this event?

Fellow writers and journalists, what other advice do you have for j-school students about sourcing?

*Shout out to the UTA Shorthorn! Hey guys!

WordPress adventures: Pageviews vs quality

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It’s been a little over six months since I moved this blog from Blogger to WordPress and rebranded it from Writing To Insanity to IcessFernandez.com. It’s been eye opening.

When I say eye opening, I really mean oh-my-goodness-I-have-to-relearn-everything. Well, maybe not everything but enough to know about what I want out of this blog. Here’s what I don’t want….

A massive amount of page views.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I do want people to read this blog and all the things that come with it — the newsletters, the Jennie Manning stories, etc.  What I mean is that I’m not chasing page views, not like I did with Writing To Insanity.

At the peek, my former blogging home earned 10,000 page views a month. For a site that published only a couple of times of week, that’s a lot of eye balls on content. However, did I produce the best content? Nah. Not by a long shot. Some of it was okay. Maybe there were one or two posts that I thought really helped people become writers.

To gain that many page views, I used a combined strategy of SEO, well executed social media, and a blog post jump start (writing a post every day for two weeks, which turned into a month, which turned into several). With that strategy, the page views grew and so did my exposure, not necessarily the quality.

So, what if I stopped chasing page views? What if I concentrated on writing the best possible blog posts?

Now, the game has changed and this blog is gaining followers because of the quality of the posts, not because how often they see me publish. Note that I said followers and not page views. That means a bit more to me because followers get a copy of this blog in their email box every time I publish. They sign up for my newsletter on writing, or may want to take a writing class with me and find their voice, or are excited to read my first mystery series. That means they want to stick around for more than just a click or page view.

That’s what I mean about quality.  Now page views mean very little to me.*

“I want to be in a position to help people reach their dreams. I want to be a helper.” (Click to tweet).

And that’s what I’m doing with this blog.

So, how’s your blog doing? Have you made the switch to a different platform? How’s it going?

 

*However, if you’re a site that lives and dies by page views (I’m looking at you news sites and sites that sell ads) forget  everything I said…for now.