When I Have a Whole Pie
I have visited and read so many blogs lately, my head is spinning.
Authors write about the importance of book covers, promoting their novels, the nuts and bolts of the writing process, etc. Any writer could make a long a list of all the blog info and book promotions bombarding the net. This is all free information.
I have read sites advertising to help authors advertise for a small or large fee—depending on what package an author wants to purchase. Other sites that will—for a fee– make author’s bookmarks, business cards, etc.
There are sites advertising to make beautiful covers and trailers for books, or to help you self-publish your work, even to help improve your manuscript—for a fee.
Well, of course no one wants to work for no monetary gain, I understand and agree with business ventures. But the competition for an author’s meager royalties is fierce and honestly, quite scary—to me.
With the warnings of so many scams on the net, how can you tell which ones are legitimate?
Let’s face it; the net has taken over the world. And I feel that everyone wants a piece of my tart. I’d say pie, but my earnings so far don’t warrant pie-size. Perhaps when I get a few more novels out there, I’ll proudly say pie.
So what do I do?
Well, I’m still going for the freebies with author blogs, like today with Susan who has been kind and generous enough to offer me a guest spot. I’m still a little fish swimming in an ocean of new releases.
But let me share what I have learned as a newbie for you other newbies out in the great big webworld.
Some say to “network” although I’m not quite sure of the meaning of that word. I have it in my head that it means go to conferences, talk to well-known writers and editors, and learn about the business end of publishing. I have done that and yes, I’ve learned a lot, but much is still gobbly-gook to me. And the publishing world is going through the biggest upheaval of all time right now.
My advice is to make author friends. I have met many, some you “click” with immediately, some you don’t. But, I find all of the authors to be very helpful in guiding me on the right path. They have trod the same path I am now walking.
I’m proud to say that I have made some very dear author friends who have given me some solid advice. I’ve made friends that I will walk, in turn, many miles for. All of these advertisements that I have read, I can ask, “Do you know of anyone that has tried this outfit, and are they legit? How did it work out for that author? Or for you?”
I trust them, and trust is built through sincere friendships. Friendships are built by helping each other when called upon, or just to chat in general about the novels and the business of getting your name out there.
So, when I have a whole pie, guess who I will be asking about the pay-for-help and purchasing promotional material sites?
Rita Moldova’s best-kept secret, a crystal amulet that shows her the last image a victim had seen when they died and has helped propel her career as a homicide detective – until prostitutes start dropping.
A ritual killer dubbed the Ripper by the media is terrorizing her town and it’s Rita’s job to help end his killing spree. The problem – Rita’s mystical amulet, passed down through her Roma bloodline, has failed for the first time in memory to do its job – and it’s making it a real bitch for Rita to do hers.
To make matters worse, the FBI has sent in hunky agent, Matt Boulet, to lead the case – and Rita finds herself attracted to him.
When Rita visits her mother – a gifted seer in her own right – and her uncle to glean what she can about the history of the amulet and the lore of their clan, she learns much more than she bargained for, and the truth is too much for her to swallow.
As the investigation continues, Rita learns she can’t deny the lore of the ancients, or her growing feelings for Matt Boulet.
Excerpt and part of the first page.
Detective Rita Moldova peeked around the corner to make sure the hallway was empty. Making a quick right turn, she slipped into the autopsy lab to have a few minutes alone with the body. She tucked her white shirt tighter into her jeans and zipped her windbreaker to stay warm in the chilly room. The harsh odor of formaldehyde hit her nostrils and stung her throat.
Her heart twisted at the sight of the young, auburn-haired woman lying on the stainless steel table. A white sheet covered her to the navel; bruises blemished the once pretty face. Contusions marred the pallid skin from elbow to shoulder. The gash on the front of her neck gaped, exposing open veins and torn tissue.
Rita flipped her thick, dark braid back over her shoulder, snapped on one latex glove, leaned over the corpse, and peeled back an eyelid. In her bare hand, she clasped a star-shaped crystal hanging from the gold chain around her neck, an endowment from her maternal Roma bloodline. The crystal heated in her palm, warm energy pulsing up her arm to her shoulder. The face captured in the victim’s eye coalesced and stared back. Rita drew in a sharp breath. Bobby Driscoll! She had known him since high school, and now he worked as a uniform in her precinct. What the hell was going on?
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