101 – writing tips

Wag the Fox interview – Wilted Lilies

Sadly, the website for this interview is no longer with us. Should you ever see that on this site, shoot me a note through the contact page so I can give it a proper burial—like this one. The website, the wonderful Wag the Fox, is kaput but the interview is not. I save everything. Remember that when passing me notes…

Here you go, an interview with Gef Fox


1. So Wilted Lilies was first presented as a four-part serial in Lamplight. Was it originally crafted as a serial?

In a word: Nope.

The longer version: I knew the story (had the outline) and had just started writing it, when I decided to read the opening at the local bookstore. Jacob Haddon from Lamplight Magazine was in the audience—he and I had been discussing me being his next serial novelist. After the reading he simple grinned at me and said, “yes, that one.”

Each section was to be between four and five thousand words per issue, so I just needed to cut the action somewhere in that area as a teaser for the next installment. It didn’t change the storyline at all really, though it may have changed the pacing of individual scenes just a touch.

2. If there’s a supernatural entity that trumps vampires and zombies in horror fiction, it’d have to be ghosts, I figure. Would you agree? What’s the allure for you to ghost stories?

I would absolutely agree that ghosts trump vamps and walkers. Because vampires and zombies are monsters, born of something else. But ghosts? They’re scarier than monsters, because ghosts were once human. If you listen to my podcast about ghosts (Buttercup of Doom ep 10) you know I also think demons and devils and such were once human as well. The fact they used to be human adds a touch of terror to the idea of a haunting or possession. This isn’t some spell or a monster dredged up from the pits of whatever. This was a person. Born, raised and died.

The other sketchy thing with ghosts is that they’re unknown, and there are no rules with the unknown. There is no lore or superstitions that carries across beliefs. Oh sure, some believe this or that to be rid of them, but it’s not universal. Ask someone how to kill a zombie: shoot them in the head. A vampire? Stake in the heart. A ghost? Well… if you believe in god, you can call a priest. If you’re Wiccan you do this. If you’re agnostic you do that. If you’re atheist you don’t believe in them in the first place (usually). No set rules for destroying, vanquishing, etc. Which means there’s no set way to fight them. And all that leads me to my favorite saying for the unknown and ghosts: how can you hope to fight that which you do not understand?

3. What kind of considerations if any did you have to give the story’s pacing in serial format, as opposed to it now being released in its entirely?

I’ve only experienced this once, with WILTED LILIES. The pacing wasn’t really changed so much as it was more carefully controlled by word count location. For instance, I knew Tommy was going to show up in the beginning of the tale because he’s important to the whole story, but to serialize it properly and leave that gulp in the reader’s throat, I needed to make sure his appearance landed after that first break.

I don’t use a true outline. I use a notepad file with thoughts, scenes, dialogue bits, etc. put into the order they’ll appear. Usually I follow that. For this one, those were broken into four larger areas, and I planned the breaks based on what was there. Then I gave each area a header, so I would know what story notes were in each section. I thought about putting them in here for you, but there’s no way to do it without spoiling storyline. In the end, the only thing that really changed was pacing near a break.

4. You’ve got quite a few novella notches on your gun belt now. While you don’t concern yourself with story length as you’re writing, once you have a novella in your hands, how have you found the internet age lending itself to selling and publishing that length of fiction?

I don’t know if it’s the internet age or not, but I’m glad they’re popular. In truth, most of mine were planned to be novellas, by request of the publisher—the four to Paul at Thunderstorm Books for the Waking The Dead collection (Grave Wax, Survivor’s Guilt, Buried Memories, and Crossroads), Wilted Lilies to fit the format of Lamplight, Deceiver was requested for the novella line of Dark Fuse, and The Hatch was expected to be a novella (as a sequel to a novella: Waiting Out Winter) but went longer than the rest to tell the story naturally. The only two to naturally land as novellas on their own were the first two: Waiting Out Winter and The Neighborhood.

The audience is obviously out there as the length was repeatedly requested, but I also personally enjoy the length. It’s a good way to tell a simple story concisely, without purple prose or forcing it to stretch to novel length. Most of the time an author can tell from the idea what length they “think” it will be based on the complexity or scope. When they get to the outline (if they use any type of method at all) they have a more solid idea as things start to twist and turn and unravel. At that point, some will decide to chop some and make it a short story, or add to it and bring it up to full novel. Once I get to outline, I just write. The characters tell me how long it will be. And the audience seems to be okay with me doing that, so I’ll stick to that.

5. In the acknowledgements preceding the actual story, you mention you’re not done with Lily May. Was she a character you saw yourself returning to from the get-go, or did she kind of impose herself on your imagination as you went along?

She’s a noisy one. I can actually her voice, little dirty twang and all. And I could from the first sentence. But worse than that, I started to hear the other characters she meets after the end of Wilted Lilies. One in particular, Caroline, is especially chatty.

Over the years I’ve heard requests for continued stories or the return of specific characters—Ryan from Survivor’s Guilt, Mark from White Picket Prisons, The Neighborhood, and Six Days are the most often mentioned. In truth, there are tidbits for some stories or characters among those requests, but I don’t know which will ever truly solidify enough to happen. Six Days probably has the best chance for a sequel. But outside those, Lily May jumps up and down in a place all her own.

Lily May had a sequel brewing before she was halfway done telling us Wilted Lilies. And if I’m to be truly honest, there’s more than just a chance she could turn into a serial character… it all hinges on what goes down in McMillan Hall.

6. I’ve seen you tinkering with Periscope. How has that experience been so far interacting with readers and others?

Outside of the fans with names I can see who interact directly with me, it’s creepy. Really. There’s no way around that fact. A little bit on the “skin-crawling, need a shower in bleach, new blackout shades, and maybe move to a new town and get a different name” side of creepy. It’s inviting stalkers to not only talk with you, but to look directly at you, or your eyes, hair, neck, whatever it is that gets them going, screenshotting their little creepy hearts out—and if you’re not careful, see your house, or surroundings, wherever you are at the time. Ack… creepy.

Don’t get me wrong, I think the program is interesting and could be used for good. I watched a sunset in Rome, saw a man play piano in Australia (his own music), and giggled at the yelling at a fish market in Japan. But I also ran away from other things, which felt mildly voyeuristic if not downright stalkery. I don’t need to stare at strangers doing private personal everyday things, like eating, or watching television.

I could see using it for a Q&A or live reading again sometime, maybe. But considering a couple things that happened on the tail of me using it, I won’t ever do a public session again. I’ll invite everyone who’s following me and they can use the app where they have a name and face and aren’t an invisible stalker. Because *shudder* eww. Just eww. The idea of people clicking a link to log into the web and just watch anonymously, with no name, and without even having the ability to interact, is beyond creepy. I think it’s a huge flaw in their program, and it’s one of the reasons I won’t do publicly open sessions again. (Read as: if any of your readers ever want to periscope with me, they’ll have to follow me so I I can invite them)

7. You also have your new podcast up and running. With fourteen episodes of Buttercup of Doom in the can, do you feel you’ve found your footing and a feel for what you want the podcast to be about?

I would love to say “yes” or “god, I hope so” but I think those would both be lies. I never truly find my footing in anything—life, writing or otherwise. I’m in a constant state of movement and growth. I don’t expect the podcast to be any different. Also, I’m my own worst critic, so I’m constantly striving to be better than myself. I like to think they get better as you go, but I don’t want to think that will stop and they’ll just plateau. That sounds so boring!

I’m having fun with it. I’m still humbled anyone listens, but am delighted people are enjoying it.

8. Now, last time we talked on the blog, you had mentioned the projects coming to pass this year, including Wilted Lilies as well as your Waiting Out Winter sequel, The Hatch. But you also mentioned you were working on a novel or two. How is the progress on your Lovecraftian homage, Floaters, coming along?

Floaters is coming along. It will be done and handed in by Christmas, and out sometimes early next year. I really like this one, and I think the fans will, too. My patreons will get a sneak peek of it before it goes to print, so if any of your readers are interested there’s that tidbit.

Did I say Lovecraftian? I may have. Usually I say “love letter to Frankenstein but most people will think it’s a Lovecraftian thing.” Time will tell what people try to compare it to or call it as they analyze my thought process while writing it.

It’s monster horror, like Live Specimens. Maybe not as red-shirt and gory, but definitely more of a monster horror than quiet thriller. Much more.

And after that, another monster… though I’m not sure in which order. It’s either time for coming of age, the end of the world, voodoo, or those damn vampires. And then Lily can tell me all about Caroline.

And Thank you, for asking me to participate. Always a pleasure. 


butterfly-wordsWriters write. It’s what we do. Whether it’s a coherent tumbling of sentences that happen to fall into a pile of paragraphs and make sense, or it’s just a random thought bouncing along a breeze like a flitting butterfly—we write. We jot ideas onto postie-notes and the backs of envelopes. We scramble for our voice recorders and voice-to-text apps. We will stop talking in the middle of a sentence, eyes glazing over, as we wander off to some thread of the muse’s whim. We may or may not always come back from that last one, and we do apologize for the interruption. But it’s what we are and what we do.

And we have to react. We have to jot it down and get it out. Whether we’re exorcising it or just sharing (there is a difference, “Blood Type” blog coming), the snippets must go or we’ll go crazy. You can only have so many voices in your head before you snap—just ask Sybil.

The following is one of those moments. It has been sitting, untouched though often thought of, in the “Random Passages” folder for years. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if it will ever be anything. But it’s there, like a lost child in an overcrowded department store. So for #throwbackthursday #tbt, I’ll toss out some ancient words originally scribbled on the back of a napkin…


The most dangerous things in the history of the world have been children playing with things they don’t understand. A child’s imagination was responsible for the original flood, as he pulled his hand through the mud and drowned the little pile of ants he had collected. A little girl’s whim toppled a mountain and destroyed a town when she wished fire would rain from the skies. And possibly most unknown, but with the most impact, was the little boy who made an entire civilization disappear with a handful of straw braids and his mother’s ink pots. By twisting magic together into one braid, and declaring what each was capable of, Carson destroyed Atlantis. And changed the future of the Earth, forever.

Thursday has become about sharing. Today I share with those who read my drivel, and nod to others who have the disease. But hey, you can all play along. Think outside the box for #tbt. Put the pictures away and share something else from the past. Here’s mine. What are your mental hallways harboring? Do you have ancient unheard words in your hard drive haunting you?


typewriterheadEvery writer is asked: Where do you get your ideas?
Quick answer: Everywhere…

The longer answer is: anything we may read, hear, see, a combination of them, or a completely warped version of them based on either playing the “what if” game or letting our muse naturally twist their reality into something we call fiction to keep the white coats away. *whew* (ideas and the muse are always run-on, editing fixes that in the prose!) Or just, you know, our random thoughts.

A prime example of the simple ideas: sitting in an airport for more than an hour people watching, or simply reading the news.

More complicated twists of reality come from a place deep inside us. A place the medical profession would like to dub with some terminology—if not a diagnosis—treat with drugs we can’t pronounce, and call us sick and unusual. But really? When each writer on the planet is capable of doing it, is it really all that unusual? Who’s to say we’re not the normal ones and there’s something wrong with all of you?

Nevermind. I know we’re the crazy ones. I just wanted to see if I could either a. say that with a straight face, b. get any of you to believe it.

Why do I know we’re (or at least me) the crazy ones? Because this happened:

I talk to myself. All the time. Always have. I don’t know if it’s part of my writer mind or just my own personal psychosis, but I do. A lot. This morning, as I rambled on about nothing while getting ready for the dayjob, an innocent (sort of) comment from my own mouth twisted on the way out and hung in the air around me. But let me back up and let you watch it happen…

First, I talked myself through several outfit changes (convincing myself I looked great in something, only to change out of it). I babbled to no one but the girl in the mirror (who in all seriousness really makes me angry some days, but that’s a different blog) while I attempted to tame the locks I consider unruly but many girls actually pay to perm just this way. And then I kept myself verbal company while doing my makeup. Now I don’t wear a lot of makeup, so as you can imagine, that was a pretty short conversation. But that’s where the magical spark happened.

“Hmmm… pale lips. Always with the pale pathetic stupid colorless lips. Need color. What shade? Something light. Not actual ‘look at me’ whore red or anything, just a little bump of color. Enough for the coroner to notice.”

Really? Where’d that last part come from? What the hell happened to me that made that a completely natural thing to say? Mom? Is there something I’m not remembering?!

I accepted the comment as normal for me and went on about my morning with a strange smile—almost pleased with my crazy. I put on the silver pieces, grabbed lunch & the laptop, and hit the road. But before I reached my exit, thirteen minutes later, I realized I hadn’t heard a single thing on the radio during the drive. I was too busy letting the muse twist that comment into an entire storyline. Poor Maggie. She’s not necessarily blue* and she’s definitely not out of lipstick*… but she’s got a path coming into view through the trees that will not be any fun at all…

THAT is where story ideas come from =)


* and that is how you sneak in a few pimps for other writers =) Go ahead, mouse over the links, click, check ’em out!

101 — with Nicholas Kaufmann

As part of my ongoing 101 section for newer writers, I’ve asked a handful of colleagues—and mentors of my own—to participate in the name of preventing mistakes and paying knowledge forward. I asked them all the same question… This edition is brought to you by Nicholas Kaufmann, author of General Slocum’s Gold, Chasing the Dragon, and more. And now, Nick…


If there’s one thing I wish someone had told me when I was just starting out, one thing I wish I hadn’t had to learn the hard way, it is simply this.

You can say no.

You can say no to publishers. Sure, it can be enormously flattering to have a publication offer, especially when it’s your very first. But as any woman who has ever been hit on in a club or bar can tell you, not every offer is a good one. There are a lot of shitty publishers out there—many of them in the horror micropress—who prey on writers for content and give them nothing in return, not even that elusive promised “exposure,” because nobody actually reads the books these publishers put out. And you became a writer to be read, didn’t you? So aim high instead. There are plenty of publishers out there whose authors are read, they’re just not as easy to publish with as the crappy ones. But who said anything worth doing is easy? Keep striving. Keep challenging yourself. You’ll become a better writer for it, I promise. And you’ll feel a lot better about yourself knowing you’ve made business decisions (and yes, this is a business, folks) that value the time and effort you put into your work.

You can say no to idiots online. Message boards and social media sites are full of them. Mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging, reactionary boneheads who don’t know what they’re talking about, but who insist there is only one way to become a writer. You have to start with short stories. You have to start with the small press. You have to read Ed Lee or Richard Laymon or some other splatterpunk darling. No, you don’t. Thousands of successful authors have started with novels. Thousands more have had their first novels published by major New York houses. (And don’t give me that old sawhorse that the major houses don’t publish horror. They publish horror every day, it’s just by authors you may not be familiar with because the online idiots don’t start threads about them.) Read widely, following your interests, not the interests of others. Put simply, there is no single path to success, no matter what any of these morons say. I wish I hadn’t listened to them when I was starting out and they told me to stop reading literary novels with gothic or horror bents and start reading the horror small press instead. I honestly believe my own career is ten years behind where it should be because I followed their advice.

You can say no to services that are clearly intended to do nothing more than separate authors from their money. For example, there are review sites that charge a fee to review your book. They’ll tell you that without reviews your book won’t sell well, and they’re not entirely wrong about that, but that doesn’t mean you (or your publisher) have to go paying for it. That’s not how it works. Real reviews, the reviews that actually have weight, the reviews that matter to readers, appear in magazines, newspapers, or websites that pay their reviewers themselves. (Blogs are a whole different subject, but in short, blog reviews can move copies, too. It’s just another form of word-of-mouth.) Publishers and authors never pay for reviews, because reviews that are paid for are meaningless. Once money changes hands, they’ve lost any possibility of objectivity. There are other examples of this pervasive fleecing of writers, too, such as companies that offer to turn your novel or story into a film treatment written by “professional screenwriters,” often for several thousand dollars. They’ll tell you that you can’t sell your work to Hollywood without it. Don’t believe them. It’s bullshit. Books are optioned all the time without treatments attached, and authors are rarely asked to write treatments themselves. Be smart, and beware. Use your noggin. There are a ton of scams out there that prey on desperate and eager authors. Don’t fall for them. Remember, money always flows to the writer, not from the writer.

When you want something really badly, saying no can be the hardest thing in the world. But when it’s for the right reasons, it pays off. Be smart. Keep your wits about you. Treat this business like a business, and treat yourself with respect. Keep in mind through all the ups and downs, all the waiting and disappointment, that nothing worth doing is ever easy. And remember, as a writer you are creating the content that publishers want. You’re supplying the commodity. That gives you the power, and the right, to say no


Thanks to Nick for playing along. Please visit him at http://www.nicholaskaufmann.com to see what he’s up to and grab the books you haven’t read yet…


Mini-Interviews from Horrible Saturday

Horrible Saturday is a lovely event held at the York Emporium. It brings together local horror authors, artists, actors, and whoever else they can find. We do interviews, panels, movie showings, and this particular year, we talk to this guy.

Tom Joyce, from the Chamber of the Bizarre, did little mini video interviews with several us, including Mary SanGiovanni, Bob Ford, Jack Nemo, Chet Williamson, and me. Check out the video here… and maybe come see us at the next Horrible Saturday!

101 — with Lee Thomas

As part of my ongoing 101 section for newer writers, I’ve asked a handful of colleagues—and mentors of my own—to participate in the name of preventing mistakes and paying knowledge forward. I asked them all the same question… This edition is brought to you by Lee Thomas, author of The Dust of Wonderland, The German, and many more. And now, Lee…


(The use of the word bitch in this article refers to its use as prison slang and is in no way specific to or related to gender or sexual orientation, and no such interpretation should be made.)

My good friend Kelli asked me to guest blog, and naturally I was glad to do it because she da rock, but the prompt she gave me proved a bit of a challenge. She asked: “What one thing during your writing career did you have to learn the hard way, on your own? Something you wish someone had told you or warned you about?”

Well, quite honestly, most everything. Still, in thinking about this, I was reminded of a very good piece of advice that–had it come with a caveat, or I had been smarter–could have been even more valuable. You see, I used to be really new at this, too. I entered the publishing industry naïve and eager, but we’ll get to that soon enough. First, the good advice.

One of the best pieces of advice I ever received, in regard to the publishing business, came from Douglas Clegg, though it is unlikely he knows this. I was at my first horror gathering, which happened to be the first Horrorfind Convention, with my friend Kris. Being far more gregarious than I, but also a novice looking to break into publishing, Kris made quick friends with a number of people, and I tagged along behind her, smiling, nodding, keeping my mouth shut and trying to keep my fanboy reflex in check whenever Ken Foree or Michael Berryman walked by. One afternoon Kris was speaking with Doug, and he mentioned the HWA and their message board (a very different beast than the board they have now). He suggested she join the organization and then just observe the comments on the message board to get a feel for what was going on. He also encouraged her to ask specific questions, but mostly he felt it would help immensely if she just read the posts and absorbed.

What I got from this exchange was that it was important not to come screaming into the conversation, but rather to sit back and listen. What he did not say, and it is something I believe would have proven beneficial was: Everyone wants to be helpful, and they will give freely of their knowledge—whether they have any or not.

I feel qualified to speak to this topic because, as noted above, I entered the business wide-eyed and dumb as toast. I didn’t have the knowledge or the confidence to navigate the system in the way that would have been most beneficial to my career. I took quite a lot of bad advice and made every mistake a new writer can make. This happened because upon entering the business, my assumption was that everyone knew more than I did, and therefor, everyone’s advice was pretty much equal in value. It sounds ridiculous in retrospect, but there it is. I let the business make me its Bitch.

The thing is when you’re new to this (or any other) business, you might assume, as I did, that anyone further along in the process has something useful to teach you, but think of it this way: you’re about to enter a prison system and you can either come in as a Guard, a Thug, or somebody’s Bitch. After all, you can have a person in the publishing correctional facility for 3 months, 3 years, or 3 decades, but a Guard’s experience is going to be far different from that of a Thug’s.

A Bitch’s experience is going to be the worst. These boys and girls come into the business vulnerable and uncertain, and they are looking for quick and easy ways to establish themselves. They do this by becoming a Bitch. Note that I am emphasizing the words Quick and Easy—let’s call it Queasy—because that is the key to being a Bitch. It is Queasy to send poorly written material to a freebie site. They have nothing to lose by posting your story, so you get jazzed, thinking you’ve accomplished something, but the fact is, the “publisher” takes no risk by accepting whatever is thrown his or her way. Similarly, you place your first novel with a “publisher” who uses CreateSpace to format and distribute the title. They do minimal promotion, expecting you–the newbie author–to fling copies far and wide, effectively doing more to promote the publisher’s name to other Bitches, who will eagerly sign on for the same reasons you did. The title becomes an ebook and it’s on Kindle! Along with millions of other titles. If sales are bad, do you think the publisher blames his or herself for bad packaging (because your cover will suck–don’t doubt it), insufficient marketing, or any of the other facets of book failure?  Mmmmm, no.  And there’s no reason they should. Again, there is little risk involved for said “publisher,” so there is no need for concern, and certainly no motivation to discern quality work from not-so-quality work.

There’s very little effort required to survive publishing as a Bitch. You take no chances, expend minimal energy, and you find peace, even satisfaction, at your chosen station because it is safe. And you can surround yourself with other Bitches all assuring you that you’re doing the right thing.

In a highly publicized research study from David Dunning of Cornell University, some very interesting theories of self-perception were discovered: “The research shows that incompetent people are inherently unable to judge the competence of other people, or the quality of those people’s ideas.” As such: “Very smart ideas are going to be hard for people to adopt, because most people don’t have the sophistication to recognize how good an idea is.”

My only two internet explosions, which is to say, the two occasions when I felt I behaved very badly on message boards were a direct result of individuals who fell squarely into the description above. They were incompetent and remain so, but they fought for their right to be ignorant at every turn, going so far as to insult well established professionals in the field.  My issue was not that they questioned/berated/annoyed me, but rather, that they were insulting to real industry leaders who had decades of experience and who were trying to help said idiots: free and solid advice from people who knew the business! And just because what was being said did not fit into the juvenile philosophies of these two individuals, the professionals ended up being treated like diapers.

Were the prevalent environment such that these two gentlemen proved to be anomalous–just a couple of nimrods who were unable to accurately weigh the value of advice or expertise—then the problem of bad advice would be inconsequential, but that is not the case. One of the magical qualities of human nature can be boiled down to the old saw about another class of the animal kingdom: birds of a feather flock together. This they do, and often enough they shit all over the landscape. So instead of one or two people with bad ideas perching above our heads, there is an entire flock. From these groups come philosophies that are tailor made to make the incompetent feel capable and even successful, mostly because the bar is set so low. I call this the Gospel of the Bitch.

It is very important to point out that these people do not mean any harm (well, most don’t). As noted above, they want to help. Their hearts are in the right place, and they may well be the nicest, sweetest, most generous folks you’ve ever encountered. They should be applauded for taking the time and energy to offer you assistance, but understand that they are preaching a gospel, and the more people they can bring into the congregation the happier they are, because you and others will be supporting their faith.

How do you know the Gospel of the Bitch? It goes back to the Queasy I note above. Bad advice can sound incredibly logical, but if something will get you somewhere fast or easy in publishing, it’s best not to invest all that much hope in it. Now again, I’m speaking to NEW writers. Folks who have been around for a while can make up their own minds. They may be Thugs, Guards, or Bitches, but my warning is for the new kids on the haunted block, who are honing their craft, testing the waters, and looking for legitimate guidance.

What kinds of things will the Church of Bitch suggest? “It’s important to just get your name out there.” Definition: spend hours of labor and imagination on a project and then give it away to whoever will format it and throw it on the web to be forgotten. LISTEN closely; one sale in a reputable market is worth 100 “sales” to most freebie websites. I want to use names to exemplify my point, but I won’t. Well, I’ll use one: Laird Barron. He spent (probably still spends) weeks, sometimes months on a single short story, novella or novelette, and those stories regularly appear in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction and a truckload of Ellen Datlow-edited anthologies. His output might be seen as minimal, but the value of his work and his reputation are unquestionable. Other authors have sold dozens, maybe a hundred, stories in the same time frame, but mentioning their names here would give them far more publicity than they’ve earned.

Another choice bit of advice is “Self-publish. Digital has made publishing a level playing field.” This is not an argument about the merit of self-publishing. You can visit Joe Konrath’s blog for that discussion. This is about craft. As a new writer you need, emphasis on need, to hone your craft, and you need experienced people to help you with that. Editors are one such group of experienced people. You may think your work is done, polished, good, even rivetingly magical, but it probably isn’t. If it is, then it will sell to a recognized market and you won’t need to self-publish. If it isn’t, then you can save yourself some embarrassment by working on your technical skills and submitting to legitimate editors. Sure you’ll get some form rejections, but along the way you’ll receive more personalized notes and possibly even sell some stories. If you jump head first into self-publishing you eliminate any semblance of quality assurance. No one is going to edit it for you once its published, readers are just going to add a single-star rating and a “God, this blows” to your Kindle reviews.

Further, if you don’t have enough confidence in your work to take your lumps with editors and critics, why should anyone have enough confidence in your work to spend even a penny on it? Maybe you’re absolutely brilliant and your work will be discovered. Maybe. Not likely or even remotely common. For every self-pubbed title that becomes a sensation, there are tens of thousands that come and go like gnats on a summer’s eve (douche reference intended).

Here’s the thing. All advice isn’t equal. Know who is giving the advice and listen to it critically. If it sounds too good to be true—if it sounds Queasy—you are likely hearing a tract from the Book of Bitch. Obviously, there are exceptions to everything I’ve noted here, and your experience might be vastly different from others, but if you’re in publishing, you’re here because you can’t help it. You certainly didn’t get into it for fame or fortune. You have to be here, because you are compelled to tell your stories. And it’s a life sentence.

So welcome to the cell block, New Meat. Enter with pride and confidence. Believe in yourself and earn your place in the yard. After all, there are no victims in the Gospel of the Bitch, only volunteers.


Thanks to Lee for playing along. Please visit him at http://www.leethomasauthor.com to see what he’s up to and grab the books you haven’t read yet…

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