19 June 2014

No, Not All Men #yesallwomen

A few days ago, I posted an opinion article on the hot topic hashtag #yesallwomen. Although I encountered both positive and negative response, the great thing was, I received a response. Twitter had the worst sort of comments, Facebook had the best, perhaps because I cull the douchebags and the rest that have survived the cut, I can have a healthy intelligent debate with any day of the week. My post gathered the interest of David Youngquist, head of Dark Continents Publishing and so, this post was written and sent to me. With gratitude and pride, I offer his opinion and not just mine. - C.C. 


No, Not All Men by David Youngquist

Because I shouldn’t have to hold my keys like a weapon and check over my shoulder every few seconds when I walk at night. - Sophia Bush.
Because even a taped confession admitting to raping me wasn’t enough to put him in jail. - Jessi Smiles.

These quotes are only a few of the thousands upon thousands that have appeared on #yesallwomen in the last few days. Painful isn’t it? Not all men Not all men are bad guys. I know this. I’m a guy. But flip that around. Turn it over and look at it. Every woman I know at some gut level has a mistrust and even outright fear of men. Because of the guys out there that are assholes. Who are misogynistic bastards who really don’t care who they hurt, but feel it’s their right, and in some cases their duty, to act the way they do “to keep women in their place.” (Yes, I have heard that justification before. No, I will not go into how much I wanted to stomp the guy’s face into a mud hole) This point has been driven home to me lately by three different women. All three had the same exact reaction to me when they walked around the corner and found me coming the other way. Immediate fear. Gasping and throwing a hand over their heart. Locked up in their step; frozen in place. It puzzled me, and bothered me at a deep level.

I’m not a big guy. I’m not a threatening-looking guy by most people’s standards. I’m not all inked up with a dozen piercings and a shaved head. I don’t look the stereotype (I’ve said for years the guys that worry me the most are the ones that look like Jeffery Dahlmer or Ted Bundy) and yet I got the same reaction from all three women. And guess what? This didn’t happen in some dark street or an empty parking garage.

I wasn’t some stranger to these women. One, as a matter of fact, was my wife of 15 years. The other two were at work and I had known them both for the nine years I had worked there. I apologized for scaring them (just by standing there) and we laughed it off. But it started me thinking about the why of it. In talking to one of the ladies, who was an older woman in her sixties, we kind of figured out a few things. She had grown up in the large urban area to the east of me (Chicago). The others had also lived in large urban areas. (I myself have spent times of my life in good sized cities, so I was beginning to understand things) We talked, and I asked her why I often got this reaction from women I catch off guard. “Dave,” she said, “If you’re a woman, you don’t know if the man you see or bump into is going to be a nice guy, or drag you off to rape you or worse.” That was an eye opener. That made me step back and think. This was from a well- educated woman. A woman who was an executive with this company. A woman who had worked her way up through the ranks of corporate American. A woman who had raised a family while building her career, yet she had the same gut reaction to a man she had known for nine years as she would to someone she would run into in a dark parking garage.

 I don’t have to live with that mindset. I don’t live with that fear. I learned how to take care of myself armed or unarmed a long time ago, and have been blessed to not have to use the skills I have learned. I’m a guy. The right body language and awareness in a given situation will keep me out of a bad situation and keep most other guys from giving me shit. Some idiots will think they have to prove it, but, there aren’t many of those. Women live with this fear. Even if they are confident, strong, aware, and know their surroundings, most women are going to lose out in a physical confrontation with a guy. The equalizer is a weapon of some sort. Which is why I have no problem with women carrying concealed. Which is another reason my 14 year old daughter started martial arts training when she was 10. The problem exists. Deal with it. Stop bitching about being blamed, and figure out how to be a problem solver. Don’t get defensive and point your finger at women as being feminazis or cunts. Deal with it. Admit it is there. Realize your wife feels this, your mother feels this, and most likely, your daughter is going to feel this as well. You personally are not being blamed. But rather than piss and moan and dig in your heels, do something constructive like figure out how to change it.

We’ve sexualized and objectified women on a massive scale I believe the real starting point was in the mid 1980’s, when we began to package and sell women as much as the product they were promoting or advertising. Certain women made a career out of being themselves and selling themselves based on simply who they were and what they looked like. Think Kate Moss and Cindy Crawford. Prior to that time, really, models were simply used to sell a product. These two were some of the first who actually became a product themselves. So much so that Cindy Crawford became the corporation Cindy, Inc. Women became products But that wasn’t enough. As people in advertising know, sex sells.

Let me clarify that.

A woman’s sexuality sells. Before you yell at me, look at the advertising campaigns out there. How many of them have sexy, ripped guys standing around in their jockey shorts (besides the people trying to sell jockey shorts) versus how many products are sold by undernourished women in their underwear? Sexuality is a business Multibillion dollar business. Everything from mangos to perfume to cars are “sexy, sleek, stylish.” You don’t go to auto shows and find a new model car surrounded by guys in thongs.

 This sexuality has wormed its way deep into our psyche. My eighth grade daughter would come home from school to tell us of girls in fifth and sixth grade wearing pushup bras and makeup. Why the hell are we doing this? Why are we sexualizing our daughters at an age when they should be playing with dolls and stuffed animals? (don’t even get me started on pageants) Because it’s been ingrained in us that in order for a girl to be successful, she has to fit the image. In the media and the world around us, women have become sexualized objects. Not people. Not real human beings. Things. They have been reduced to what’s between their legs. Nothing personal. Cop a grope. Yell at her. Insult her. Knock her around. She could be the CEO of a major corporation, and some guys (again, some guys) will see her as nothing more than boobs and a butt. The societal standards for what is acceptable behavior have all but disappeared What do I mean? Let me give you two examples from my Grandpa Warren Westcott.

One time, Grandpa took my brother and I all the way across the state to watch his beloved Cubs play at Wrigley Field (they lost to the Pirates 8-5 in 14 innings). We parked several blocks from the stadium. As we were getting close, we could hear the crowd. We had box seats, and were anxious to get to the field. As we were walking past some of the brownstone homes in that neighborhood, we saw an old lady trying to pull her grocery cart up the steps to her apartment. My grandpa stopped, tipped his hat and asked if she needed help. In her very thick Polish accent she thanked grandpa profusely as he wheeled her cart up the steps. We weren’t late for the game, and it only took a couple minutes of his time.

Another time we were waiting in line to pay for gas. The guy ahead of us apparently was in a hurry. The clerk behind the counter was apparently new, as she was having trouble ringing up the sale. The guy started cussing and swearing and calling the woman some unflattering names. After about the third or forth outburst grandpa spoke up.

“You watch your mouth and apologize, young man,” Grandpa said. “There’s a lady present.”

The guy turned around and glared at grandpa. “What did you say, old man?”

My grandpa was a WWII vet, and a big guy. Even when he was near 70, he could be pretty imposing.

 “I said you apologize to that lady. She’s doing her job. You don’t have a right to be rude to her.”

The guy glared at grandpa for a second longer, turned, and apologized to the clerk, who by now had the sale rung through. He took his change and left. The woman thanked grandpa, who brushed it off, and we went about our day. Those things stuck with me. They made a major impression on me. My father is the same kind of man. I never heard the man swear in the first 21 years of my life. I have tried to pass these values to my son, and from what people have told me, I’ve succeeded.

But how many of us drop the ball? On a daily basis? How many of us have seen guys do shitty things, and not call them on it? How many of us have heard a woman insulted, and not said anything ourselves? How many of us have looked the other way when we see a fight or argument between a couple?

I’m guilty on some counts. I’m not pure or perfect. But I try to change things where I can. When I can. We need to start patrolling our own ranks, and correct the guys who do these things and let them know they are not acceptable. Women are not objects. We need to stop selling them as sexualized products. I have a wife. We’re raising a daughter. We have raised a son. You have to raise them slightly differently (believe me, boys are easier) but they are raised with the same values. One of the differences is simply the fact that my son is six foot two and two hundred and fifty pounds. He has a concealed carry permit. I have very little worry about him being dragged off. I have even less worry that he would do harm to a woman. I am more sure that he’d be the one stepping in and helping a woman out if she were in need. My daughter is five foot six, and all off 110 pounds soaking wet. She’s blond haired and blue eyed. Trim, and with a nice figure. Which is why she started taking martial arts at the age of 10. I have no illusions for her future. She’s smart. She’s an independent thinker. She’s amazingly artistic. None of that will matter if some jackass decides he wants to drag her off, rape her and blow her brains out. Our daughters, our wives, the women we know are at a risk we as men will never understand. Women are our equals. In some cases, they are our betters. (spend time in a birthing room guys, and tell me how strong you are)

I am blessed to have worked with some great women over the years. From teaching, to training horses, to writing, I have had a lot of women in my life, starting with my mother, who have taught me to respect women, to treat them as equals. To talk to them and interact with them as people. Understanding is a whole different topic, but just simple human interaction between two people regardless of gender is how it should be, and how it needs to be.

With DCP, I work with four ladies who help make this company function. They’re writers, editors, and idea people. I’ve never resented that. I’ve never grumbled about it. Matter of fact, I kind of went out of my way in getting some of them involved in the first place. Why? Because they’re good. I don’t care if they’re men or women. Tracie, Sylvia, Nerine and Carrie are exceedingly good at what they do. Talent, skill, intelligence, creativity are not gender based.

So there it is. My opinion on this matter. We can change these things. If we want to continue as a functioning society, we need to change these things. It can’t be done by women alone. Guys need to realize what has happened, take some piece of this, and work to make the change as well. It’s an attitude change. It’s cultural change from the shallow, to the deep, more realistic, more human attitude. And it needs to change at every social strata. It’s not going to be a quick, easy fix. It took better than 30 years to get here. It’s going to take awhile for it to get better. To actually change, not just mouth the word. Let's get started.

D.M. Youngquist has had many jobs over the years; from horse trainer to painting contractor. Through the years, he has always had a passion for the written word. His first paid writing job was while he attended Western Illinois University, where he worked for the college paper. After graduation he freelanced between teaching gigs for places such as Carousel Horse News and Trader, American Hunter, and SHOOT! Magazine. He became bored with nonfiction, however, and turned to the dark side of fiction. His first story, ’77 Coupe DeVille was published by the British webzine DarkefireUK in 2006. In 2007, his first collection of ghost stories was published by Quixote Press, followed in ’08 by his second. Frustrated with the publishing industry, he turned with five others and founded Dark Continents Publishing, in 2010. He currently serves as President and Publisher of DCP. He lives in Illinois with his wife and family.

Dark Continents Publishing
Buy Snareville on Amazon
Buy Black Jack on Amazon

10 June 2014

On handling disappointment and coffee #writertip

Today has been one hell of a day. Maybe not to you, but to me. I'm stressed and can't punch anything within plausible reach realistically, so I'll blog.

Lately, there seems to be a drive for author support, such a review an author, share links, etc. Which works fantastic, as word-of-mouth is really the best referral a customer, client, or especially reader in this case, can give. But what if we get a not-so-exuberant review?

Stay calm
First off, it's not the end of the world if a reader doesn't find your plot line particularly exhilarating. And what if they don't get that your story is a great big subtle metaphor for the state of the whale rights in Patagonia? Be safe. Stay calm. Most importantly of all, keep your retorts to yourself.

Even on social networks.

Stress turtle says less-stress
That's right, filter your response to the world. Because the world is watching folks, and it's even judgier than you.

Some authors are all sunshine-farts and bubbles of Eau de Madre Theresa, others are stormy individuals, subject to instant mood-shifts with tongues of lightning. It doesn't matter. Very few authors get ahead by talking shit about the very people they write to amuse, entertain and/or inform. Readers are friends. Readers are family. Readers are also customers.

Let me demonstrate.

The Starbucks state-of-mind
If any of you have set foot in Starbucks coffee chain stores lately, you might have noticed there's a new campaign for "love your coffee or we'll make it right." Right? You pay your five bucks, or whatever, they craft a coffee-infused delicious goodie for you and you are guaranteed to orgasm in your stomach or they will make that sucker all better. Well, what about books?

Do we get a guarantee we're going to love every single word? That the punctuation will be utterly flawless, enough to make Ellen Datlow weep over her keyboard with tears of joy? No. And if the reader doesn't like the book (aside from a return on Amazon and usual return policies at brick-and-mortars) do they have an iron-clad open offer to toss the book back across the way for a refund, or better yet, a full-rewrite? Not exactly.

It's a gamble
So, what Carrie's saying here, every book means taking a chance. Spending well-deserved time of relaxation on this pretty cover or that hot recommendation from RT magazine. Disappointment's a bitch.

Back to coffee.

IF your coffee was made wrong, would you go back to the barista and tell them only what was right about the coffee? Or would you say, it's bitter, too sweet, etc, and state the problems with the creation?
Aha. Gotcha.

Reviews are a choice, people. They are generally a right. People reserve the right to form an opinion based on what their five senses are telling them, and if your book (or mine) sets their stomach to a roil, or crashes their brain, they can completely say so. This is for honest, open reviews, not in reference to trolls that set out with pure intent to damage an author's career by smearing their works.

So what matters in this particular entry is a state of mind that you want to have, should you happen to catch a nasty little slash at your latest beautiful and all-perfect production. Understand that society is generally a "hated-it" sort of crowd, or ZOMG I WANNA HAVE BABIES WITH IT FIVE BILLION STARS WITH TOO MANY EXCLAMATION POINTS THAT FALL OFF THE WIDTH OF THE FUCKING WEBSITE...and not much in-between.

Now, make sure you leave a review every once in a while, and enjoy that perfect coffee.

28 May 2014

#yesallwomen

I usually live in a little comfortable bubble. But I watch social media as a means of entertainment/education/horrification/etc. One particular topic that has come up is the hashtag #yesallwomen. If you're not familiar with it, perhaps you should take a look. Women from all over the planet are sharing their worst moments because of gender inequality and misogyny. How even in this day and age, women are secondary individuals. How women are groped at conventions, given lesser salaries, being raped and then asked by the police what might they have worn, as if it is somehow the woman's fault.

She was asking for it...look at those hot pants. Damn I just wanna stick my

I'll leave off right there.

I've seen more than a few big-shot name responses to the issue that has somehow popped up out of nowhere and is now The Topic to Bitch About This Week. Now wait, before you even begin to form some kind of nasty retort, hear me out.

I'm sorry, but what? Oh, you mean the shit we women must put up with every single fucking day. My apologies, do continue in your quest to save the women along with the whales.

Misogyny is so deeply embedded in nearly every single culture, that it will take probably the rest of this generation and half of the next to eradicate. From movies, to books, to comics, cartoons, art, music...everything is guilty. The ones who have fought out against it in the past have been labeled Feminists. Feminazis. Dykes. Think of some more names...and written off as woman-static.

Many women are trained from birth to need men. To seek out their approval in everything, especially appearance. Do we wear those uncomfortable platform pumps for ourselves? How about the makeup? The way we walk and talk? The shy-coy girl looks we perfect over the years across the room to that handsome dark fellow there in the corner?

This is a conundrum. Women like to flirt, be bold, daring, trail-blazing. We want the fancy car, nice place, vacations and comprehensive benefits package too. We have only recently begun to realize we can achieve it under our own power. No sugar daddies. No rich husband. Just estrogen power and away we go... But wait. I forgot the salary inequality. Whoops.

Is there a decent balance between needing and wanting? And can men understand when they are told that what they are doing is not okay? I speak for the filthy sleazeballs that catcall and whistle and dig nasty sweaty hands up skirts at concerts and gatherings. That follow and stalk and conspire to make a female theirs. That threaten and rage, rage, rage against the power of the almighty fucking vagina.

Some of us have sons. Sons that are highly-impressionable and will be the future of Man. Is the cycle of misogyny destined to continue? Or can it be broken? Must we eliminate every trace that this inequality ever existed? Burn the flag of the Alpha Male?

The spotlight on this gives my heart a little jump, but not too much. This isn't the first time this shit has ever been brought up, and look. It seems to still be a problem. So excuse me if I don't piss myself in excitement. I will do the same thing I've always done. Check my mirrors before getting out of the car. Lock the doors and avoid enticing any sort of interaction that might be perceived as a come-on. Dress modestly. Keep my mouth shut when necessary. Because the storm isn't over, ladies and gentlemen. Lightning's just striking again.

The change begins with each and every one of us. Just as picking up litter in the park, even though you didn't make the mess, creates a more beautiful environment, so can your frame of mind. Can women be treated equally, universally, finally?

Hope still lingers.

Comments are moderated.

17 April 2014

Let's.

Let's celebrate. Revel in the joy that we have life and people in that life. Let's appreciate what we do have, not dwell on the things we cannot get. Let's know our limits and be kind to ourselves. Let's make a story. Our story. The one that always ends up the same way, just with different plots. Let's use the plot twists to our advantage. Let's live that life.

Let's get better.

- C.C.


10 April 2014

Introducing Icy Sedgwick and The Necromancer's Apprentice


Quite excited to see that The Necromancer's Apprentice is finally out. I've admired Icy's almost whimsical British writing style, reminiscent of C.S. Lewis and Charles Dickens, and her new release delivers as expected. 
See my review for The Necromancer's Apprentice here.
 Here's an interview with the lady herself:


Your train is pulling into the station and you have less than 20 seconds to tell someone you've just met what your novella's all about. Go!
It’s a retelling of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice tale, replacing the sorcerer with a necromancer and the brooms with mummies, and with the addition of a fight sequence involving a double-headed axe and a scythe!
Eufame is a deliciously scary character. Tell me more about her.
Eufame’s a strange character because she’s cast as the villain but I’m not entirely sure that she is. I think she came out of my frustration with the way gender is handled in a lot of fiction at the moment; female characters are either shoehorned in to try and woo a demographic, they’re just there to make the numbers up, or they’re nothing but mothers or love interests. My favourite female character of all time is Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty, and she’s this exceptional force of nature, and I wanted Eufame to be a bit like that. She’s the necromancer general, so she holds a really powerful position in the society of the Cities, but she doesn’t like to admit that sometimes she needs an assistant because she can’t be in two places at once.
Why do you think things go so horribly wrong for Jyx?
Part of it isn’t of his own making, but mostly it’s because he doesn’t recognise his limits. He doesn’t come from a magickal family, and he hasn’t been exposed to magickal practitioners before he goes to the Academy, so he doesn’t see the downsides or the risks to using magick. He just sees what he can do, or what he thinks he can do, so he doesn’t stop to think about whether actually doing it is a good idea. He’s not a bad person at all, and he’s not a stupid or deliberately malicious boy, he’s just impatient, and he’s incapable of recognising that just because he can’t do something yet doesn’t mean he won’t be able to ever do it.
Can you tell us more about the mummies?
Death and burial take place in the ‘normal’ way for the ordinary people of the Cities, but people of note, particularly royalty, are interred differently, and the relationship between their bodies and their souls is maintained in case anyone ever needs to consult with them. At the start of the book, the Crown Prince decides he wants to resurrect them all temporarily to form a procession at his coronation. The biggest problem is that if you resurrect them wrong, and don’t provide sustenance for their souls from the Aether, then their bodies are going to seek sustenance elsewhere…
Why do the Wolfkin take such a subservient role? Can you tell us a little more about 
these enigmatic creatures?
The Wolfkin are descended from the dog-headed god of the dead, who is based very heavily on Anubis from Egyptian mythology, and centuries ago they used to live alongside men. Of course, men don’t really like or appreciate anything that’s different, particularly if the thing that is different is more powerful, so gradually men used their superior numbers and ability to legislate to force Wolfkin into more subservient roles as guards. That said, the Wolfkin that work for Eufame don’t strictly work for her, they rather work with her. They have a unique relationship with their souls so it’s only natural that they’d work at the House of the Long Dead. The ones that work for men do so for the time being, but they don’t see that arrangement as being permanent.
What are some of your favourite parts of this story?


 I’m particularly fond of the fight sequence near the end of the book, that was a lot of fun to write. So was the destruction of the lab, which is what prompts Jyx to try resurrecting the mummies to help him to tidy up. I think most of my favourite parts involve Eufame – Jyx might be the main character but Eufame’s an interesting character to spend time with, and she gets some good lines!
Bio
Icy Sedgwick was born in the North East of England, and lives and works in Newcastle. She has been writing with a view to doing so professionally for over ten years, and has had several stories included in anthologies, including ShortStack and Bloody Parchment: The Root Cellar & Other Stories.
She spends her non-writing time working on a PhD in Film Studies, considering the use of set design in contemporary horror. Icy had her first book, a pulp Western named The Guns of Retribution, published in 2011, and her horror fantasy, The Necromancer’s Apprentice, was released in March 2014.
Links

19 February 2014

Valentine's Day came late

Luke knows me. He really, really knows me. So, he's been working on this for some time and tonight, it was finished. Getting art from him makes me all gushy and girly, so here was my custom valentine, complete with cephalopod, anatomical heart, and of course his sweet whisper of nothing emblazoned across.

Along with that, I received a black diamond. A. Black. Diamond. And flowers. [eyeballs husband]
I've been accused of being more girly, complete with girly needs, not in a bad way.

But! Octopus valentine! Eeeee!

Okay, I'll bite.

C.C.

10 January 2014

The Liar #Fridayflash

That sure as hell wasn't five minutes. What do you mean? No. I won't accept that answer. You're out of your fucking mind. Yeah, I heard you and no, I don't care. I won't. I can't. Please? Pretty please? I'd donate vital organs at this point if you would. No, really. I would. I swear!

You're breaking my heart here. See? It's pouring out on the floor in some kind of gelatinous mutiny. There are pirates in those sticky red waters. Stop it.

Why though? Why?

It's impossible. You jumped through a time portal in order to arrive five minutes later. It's not that to me. Will you quit? Just stop?

I'm begging you. Stretch out time. If you chewed it for awhile, it'd get soft. Like reworked bubble gum snatched from under a school desk. God no. I haven't done that. That'd be gross!

Fine! Now fuck off! I mean it. I'll find something heavy to hit you with. Does it look like I'm kidding?

Alright. Alright! Enough already. You've ruined my entire day with your screeching. I'll get up.

Even though you're a goddamned liar.

09 January 2014

Price yourself - The value of your work

I've seen a few articles and comments around the internet lately about "worth" of writing. Some articles deal with pricing and potential financial gain (this link may disappear), while others are simply the equivalent of sitting in a corner and whining because shit isn't working out the way a person assumed it would. I won't point the latter out, simply because it's okay to feel down about something not turning out quite how one expected.

But what does this mean for us as writers? There are so many examples of overnight success stories, yet there are millions of books that haven't been widely read, and I'd like to imagine that the authors of those stories love their work and want to share with the world. Sure, you can quit. If the publishing/self-publishing racket isn't your bag, go ahead. But what's to gain from quitting?

I'm sure many of you remember the famous story between the tortoise and the hare. At times in my life, I've felt like either of the characters. Zip through life, take time to relax and bam! Life has run me over. More so lately, I feel like the tortoise, and the finish line isn't getting any closer. But what is it exactly that I'm after here?

I have no fucking idea.

If I could make a wishlist of what I'd like to achieve, it'd be a lot more than just writing books. I'd love to learn guitar, see the world, go back to school. Some things I will be able to do, eventually, provided I am patient and bide my time. Other goals cannot be achieved without a deal of severe sacrifice, such as writing full-time. Unless something fell out of the sky to change that fact, from this vantage point, I would have to stop working the real job in order to provide enough time to pursue my dreams. That's not going to happen, but what I can do is not quit. Do my best to not complain about how I'm not getting what I feel I deserve from the world. The world doesn't owe me a goddamned thing. Unless it's in a contract, then that shit is due when agreed. See? Simple.

The point of this ridiculous blabber is to simply say, hey. I see you there. Trying. Working. Writing. Things can be easy, or they can be tough. Things change. The industry is changing. On all fronts. Media in general, whether it be newspaper, radio, music recording, writing, etc. The experts have no fucking idea where we are going in all of this. Technology has progressed at lightning speed, making it easier and easier to get what we want, when we want it.

Maybe that's why it's so damned frustrating when it doesn't rain paychecks. I don't know how old you might be, reader, but I'm old enough to remember the time when, if I wanted something, I had to work for it. Even if it just meant driving to pick it up physically, in person, and hold it in my IRL hands. I try to remember that part of the reward is the challenge itself. And that comparing myself to people who have worked their asses off, without working my own ass off, is juvenile.

Let this be a note to myself and maybe you. Be your own challenge, and no matter what happens, if what you are doing is what you must...then do it for yourself, above all. Before the champagne and limousine dreams. Write because it brings you peace.

C.C.


08 January 2014

Losing my head - Watching an ebook go off-market

I'd mentioned in the previous post that Crooked Fang would be disappearing from the electronic vendors' virtual bookshelves and that has happened. The vanishing occurred within twenty-four hours of said-notice, in fact. I've decided to take the ebook back to Katarr Kanticles so the ebook and print book can be under one roof and make many happy Crooked Fang parties together. Also, it's easier to keep track of what went where.

Going from Lyrical Press to a different publisher has proven to have some drawbacks, not all which I anticipated. I will admit that it's been a bit of a process to look back through a book previously gone through approximately 12 MILLION TIMES and catch anything left that can be addressed, without alienating the print copy owners. One thing is for certain: print and ebook versions are linked. If one is changed, the other should be as well. This produces [drumroll] Da-dada-DAH, a version 2.

A second round, a second version of one, which should not be all that different. This is the trick to not pissing off the readers. Fortunately, I have the print manuscript, so correcting the digital version, book...this is getting confusing here...should be a breeze. But what were my other implications?

Loss of Reviews

I'd like to take the opportunity here to say thank goodness for Goodreads. This particular situation has more than highlighted the residual worth of the giant review and share book-centric website.
Amazon, however...SHAME ON YOU.
Crooked Fang (Kindle version) had roughly around 44 ratings and 14 reviews, if memory serves correctly. Since the publishers for each version type of book were different, the two stories weren't merged in the Amazonian mega-system, leaving the future edition version of Crooked Fang practically naked. Granted, the thought of Mr. Crooked Fang naked is appealing, however naked ebook listings are not.

These are the things that produce the "ut-oh's" in the writing life. Werd.

Loss of Cover Art

I didn't have this problem, but more than a few of the rights-takebackers (yes, I made that up) did. When rights are returned, they usually do not include the cover art. And this is why we see different covers for the same book throughout the years, true? Possibly.
Getting more cover art is no problemo whatsoever as long as you have 1.) an artist, and 2.) payment. Have only one or neither, and there could be an issue.

Identity withheld to protect the innocent
General Public Confusion

But wait, one might say. Isn't it just like a transfer over, leaving the ebook posting intact and perfect
with all of its trappings? Ah, but in the future, young Jedi. Each posting is in fact, a storefront for a specific book file (started to write "bile") so when that store decides to drop the strawberry-scented shampoo you've always loved, they aren't going to leave a place-marker on the shelf, no, NO! It will be replaced by coconut, coconut, COCONUT! Like strawberry never existed. 

Which brings me to:

How I Will Survive the Crooked Fang eBook Holocaust

Even before my ex-publisher ever crafted a cover, I'd already demanded determined that I wanted to keep the print rights, which (according to contract) could not be the same cover as the ebook. This led to an alternative version variety fuck it, version of the Crooked Fang cover. The very same that graces my print version book to this day.
Since I had to essentially go off on my own blaze of glory direction, editing was thrown in at the checkout stand also. Which left me with a lovely document just begging for release. That came out so wrong.
Annnnd! I'd commissioned a website already out of pride foresight for marketing, so I still have that same storefront (which is a front for other stores) website url and the whole blue thing going on.

So, as you can see, I'll be fine. A little extra crap I did back in the pre-publishing days paid off. A fortunate turn of events. Hell, I was just lucky.

In case of a fire (sale) are you prepared?

C.C.

03 January 2014

Crooked Fang ebook is moving - News

Beloved readers of Crooked Fang:

The new ebook cover of Crooked Fang
Soon, the ebook links for my flagship novel, Crooked Fang, will be removed from vendor sites. Lyrical Press has undergone a business change and I decided that was not the right direction for my series. I'm in the process of changing the ebook back to the way it was written, accent marks and all. I've a goal to get the book back up on the vendor sites as soon as possible.

These changes only temporarily affect the ebook version of Crooked Fang. No other title will be changed from the current form.

If you are a current ebook holder:
To my knowledge, this will not affect your copy. I will be extending an offer out of courtesy in the near future to all Crooked Fang ebook owners to get a free updated version. The updates will be both cosmetic (both versions will now have the dark blue "print" cover pictured to the right) along with extremely minor edits in the text. Main changes will be the re-introduction of native speakers' accent marks as appropriate (and respectful) back into the story.

To get your free updated copy (when it becomes available) you will need to email a proof of purchase.

For all new purchases of the Crooked Fang ebook:
You will get the new version of the ebook (all vendor sites). 

Watch this space for updates. Or this one. (Crooked Fang book website)

Again, thanks for reading and continued support of the Crooked Fang series.

Carrie Clevenger

PS: Further inquiries can be directed to the "Email Me" form on this blog's sidebar.

02 January 2014

Making resolutions and shaping goals - Thoughts

The year has come back round again to January, which prompts an onslaught of resolutions, dreams described and other determinations. Yet I see so many "These are fucks I give," or other grievances against those who will at least try to make changes. Why would we make resolutions or set goals? What's the goddamned point, you may ask. Perhaps history can be of use.

[insert wavy flash-back shimmer]

Augustus, just because.
According to more than a few articles, notably this recent one, the Romans took New Year's Day as a day to reflect on the past, while looking ahead to the new year. Citizens exchanged food, apparently, along with greetings and blessings.

And according to Wikipedia, the ancient Babylonians made promises (to their gods) at the start of the new year that they would repay their debts and return borrowed objects.

[shimmer effect fades]

Great, so you say. What's this got to do with me? Who gives a hairy rat's ass whether I make any sort of statement about what I intend to do all year with my life? Okay, true. No one cares in particular, unless you're famous and have fans/followers looking for the next big whatever-it-that-you-do to be released.


Here's another interesting concept: Happiness is not something ready-made. It comes from your own actions. - Dalai Lama

So, if happiness is directly rooted in your actions, what's the harm in making a few promises--to yourself? What better time to try something different or better, than right when a good chunk of the planet is doing the same thing? (Unless it's gym. The wait-times for the treadmills are absolute murder)

For those of you who don't give a fuck, groovy on you. Quite possibly you don't give a fuck about yourself, is it? Or are you ashamed to take a stand for something you want, rather disguising it under the shroud of aloofness? It's okay to want something better, to be something more.

Maybe you have created a little goal plan for yourself, ignoring the allure of the who-gives-a-flip crowd to persevere and say, "2014 will certainly be the year! Damn it all!" You've raised your fist to the sky and stated, nay, vowed to Do Something Else. Where do you go from the initial battle cry?
First of all, don't let panic set in yet. Everything is simpler if broken down into individual steps. I can use my situation as an example: I write, so of course my goals are primarily writing-related. I want to do this, finish that, and so on. If I look at the goals dead-on, it looks like one hell of a lot. But if I break it down by each thing I want to do, and even then dissect that goal even further, it comes out a little like this:

Want To Do Novella (I'm being realistic this year) so let's say 30,000 words, roughly.

I'm only going to break down one of my goals, just for example's sake. I can only write on weekends primarily so there are what, 52 weekends in the year 2014? That's 52 opportunities that I can advance on my goal. Divide that by how many words I think I can type per hour and well, that's not too bad. So, say I devote four hours a weekend (this is crazy-talk, by the way) every single weekend there is. I type about 1500 words per hour, so that's 1500 x 4 = 6000 words a weekend and then multiply that by 52 weekends = 312,000 (WHAT? Even I didn't know this until just now) friggin' words I could POSSIBLY do in one year.

But, life happens. Kids like to do stuff on the weekends, I like to catch up on sleep and well...I'll just stick with SHIT HAPPENS as an excuse suitable explanation. But you can easily see how my little goal is most certainly possible and perhaps that is why we make these goals. To see if we can. To challenge ourselves, not look cool in front of all the other kids. The greatest challenges lie within ourselves, no? So challenge yourself. Even if it's just taking up a different hobby, reading more books, vacuuming the cat every so often. Because every progress changes things and change is what life is all about, people.

I'll leave you with Victor Hugo's words: Many great actions are committed in small struggles.


And for us, every day is some form of small struggle. Give yourself the permission to dream, and dream big.

01 January 2014

and Auld Lang Syne: Looking back, looking forward

2013 was an eventful year. In January, I lost my ninety-seven year-old grandmother, which prompted a return to the state of Indiana, which is where I'm originally from. We gave Kathleen the funeral she'd described to me in specific detail (see where I get my morbid interests?) and sent her off to Glory with Amazing Grace played beautifully on bagpipes.

Almost immediately following my arrival back in Texas, my sister discovered she has cancer. On the heels of that, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, a nasty bit of business that attacks nearly every cell in my body in some way or another.

That, my friends, is what finally slowed me down. Made me start asking for help. Encouraged me to have a love affair with my bed. Honestly.

There be gaters in 'ere.
Highlight of my year was finally visiting New Orleans for the World Horror Convention. I signed books and walked the streets of the French Quarter and Garden District with Amy Burgess, who knows N'Awlins better than most tour guides.


Sure, it's been a tough year, with losses and gains and...hey, isn't that what life is about?

The instructions are in English.
I've got this daughter here, who tells me the most adorable things like, "I like to love you, a lot." I'm sure she'd write it as "I lik to luv you alot," but that's besides the point. Or maybe it's not. This whole language thing. Spelling. What is it, anyway? Have you seen the old manuscripts from the Dark Ages thereabouts? English is evolving, so should we?

I digress. As long as the majority of the national populace prefers to read their books spelled in the current accepted correct form, I'll comply. (Too bad, though, the kid comes up with way more reasonable English word renditions)

So. This year, I've done a couple of things, some writing, some behind-the-scenes. I was given an opportunity to write with Paul D. Brazill and his Drunk on the Moon project, which then broke into individual stories, all related to his werewolf PI, Roman Dalton. My story was called Chances Are, and as luck would have it, is available with a handful of others for free today through Jan 3.

I also finished a Crooked Fang sequel, simply titled Traitors. Traitors may be a novella, but I packed that little book to the gills with action. I took the advice "leave out the boring parts" seriously.

Around the same time, Nerine Dorman and I got to talking as girls often do, and we decided it was time to pick on Ash and Xan again. Blood and Bone is nearly done, thanks to months of chipping away at word count on Saturday nights. It'll be a direct sequel to Blood and Fire, Crooked Fang, and Inkarna. How's that for a tie-in?

Now during my copious spare time, I decided to get myself into more projects. I read a portion of a submissions-call slush pile and decided hey, that was fun. I want to do more of that. Back to Nerine again. Idea. What if...
Well, we came up with Guns and Romances, a high-action, music-soaked, gun-smoked anthology that will cross genres, cultures, and very unfortunate characters in some circumstances. Guns and Romances remains open to submissions from just about anyone until Feb 28. Submissions info is here

Okay, 2013. You've been fun. Anyone tired yet? Oh look, it's 2014. It looks funny, with the pointy 4 in it. I was getting used to round numbers, but my handwritten four is just elegant as can be. Perhaps the most legible of my penmanship as well. It's probably very good I don't sell handwritten books. They might be confused for alien cryptograms.

On the books (ha!) for 2014:

Finish out Blood and Bone
Co-edit Guns and Romances
Write and finish Jungle Rot, the next solo Crooked Fang adventure
Draw. I miss drawing. Or painting. I like doing that too. It's nice to do in Procreate
Road trip! I have some locations I need to visit for writing reference. Trust me, it's a good idea
Establish two other publishing credits (usually anthologies. I have an addiction)
Learn a new skill. This may include partial lobotomy, I think
Maybe I'll try to keep a plant alive this year. Until then, hide the geraniums. I'm a serial killer.

One more thing. I'll try to restart the flash fiction offerings. The reason I stopped is because I had to. Between publishing books and running after an insane monkey that curiously looks like my daughter and of course, working that full-time day/night job, I had no time, no brain, and no way.
And here I am, stuck in novelville. I miss the extremely short fictive (yes I just made that up) side of my work.

That's it, I'm done for now. Hey, no pressure, but have a great year.

xx

Carrie Clevenger