Monday, June 15, 2015

It’s crazy . . .

crazy hot out today.
It’s even crazy hot up here at the cabin. Which is pretty crazy for the middle of June.
Are you sensing a theme here?

I am up at the cabin because, aside from the fact that it’s supposed to be cooler, (which it’s not) and quieter (which it definitely is) than town, it’s supposed to be relaxing. There aren’t any chores that need to be done up here. Cleaning this cabin takes approximately seven minutes. Don’t ask me how I know this. I have a garden plot the size of a very small flag behind the porch that is weeded and mulched to within an inch of its life.

There’s no TV to watch, no Internet to play around on. Nothing to wash or cook, no way to do any of the 10,000 things with which I normally fill my days.

I could be resting. Resting and reading, spending quality time with the dogs…

Except for that damn brick sitting in the middle of the room. The dogs don’t seem to notice it but I have to step over it every time I get up from my comfortable chair. I’ve tried pointedly ignoring it. The brick doesn’t budge. I sat down across from it and explained to it my resentment at its existence, especially on such a hot weekend. I told it about the pain in my hands. Brick was unmoved. Just sat there, a smug expression on its rough red face. Well, ok. What was actually on its face was a nasty bad word.

That’s right. I’ve got the dreaded SHOULD brick right in the middle of my weekend.

I’d managed to whittle it down a bit by reading half of Empire Falls and watching Birdman. Then I heard a college friend had just won a prestigious children’s book award and the damn brick gained 20 pounds and actually pushed one of the dogs off the rug.

It’s not that I begrudge my friend his award. He’s worked very hard and he’s published a lot more than I have. It just comes at a bad time. Because my latest book recently got turned down by my publisher. Not enough sales by the first one in the series to justify publishing the second one. In their opinion. Even though they told me in the same letter that middle reader sales take time to develop and Coyote Summer is barely a year old.

And while Coyote Summer is a good book, this new one is so much better. And I have already put in so much work on promotion. I’ve got the webpage, I’ve got this blog. I’ve got a writer’s Facebook page. I’ve even tried my hand at twitter. I’ve sent out thousands of requests for reviews, sent copies to other people’s blogs for giveaways.

Don’t worry, I’m not giving up.

After all, I sent Coyote Summer out to exactly one publisher. So I’ve got a lot of places left to send out the next book in the series. I should get to work compiling that list. And then I should start sending out query letters. Which I still have to write. As well as an outline, and a synopsis. I should be doing everything that I tell people to do when I give my writing talks.

But I have to admit I’m annoyed because I feel like I’m not the only one who should have a should brick in the middle of the living room. My publisher should have taken the second book and you, gentle readers should have at least a chip off the should brick hanging around your house. Or maybe it’s a little could rock. You could help me out here. You could make my publisher sorry they didn’t take this new book. How? Funny you should ask –

I’m not asking you to buy a copy of Coyote Summer, although if you have a ‘tween in your life I can highly recommend it. It appears to be very well written.
No, all I’m asking you to do is go to your local library branch and request it. Heck, you don’t even have to go in person. A simple phone call will do. If they tell you they don’t have it, which they probably will, ask them if they will order it for you.

Of course when they call you to tell you the book has arrived it would be a nice gesture if you actually went and picked it up. And since you are already going to that much trouble, you might as well read it. You could even leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads.

But all I’m really asking is that you make the call. I’d love to find a publisher for the second book after sales of the first one have gone up enough to show my old publisher they were wrong. You do your part, and I promise to whittle away at the should brick in the middle of the living room until it’s nothing more than a pile of brick dust.


No matter how hot it gets.