By John Gilstrap

It’s rare that the Chapter One I start with when writing a new book lives on as Chapter One in the final version. Usually, it’s a structural thing. I’ll realize after I’m a couple of dozen (or a couple of hundred) pages that I set the story up the wrong way. Sometimes, this leads me to move existing chapters around, and sometimes it leads me to write whole new sections. It’s all part of the process.

The lure of the prologue.

We all know that in the suspense genres, readers expect something big, plot-wise, in the opening pages of a book, yet as authors we have twenty pages of setup and backstory in our heads that we want to reveal so that the Big Moment will make more sense when it arrives.

“I know!” the writer says to himself. “I’ll start with a really exciting moment from Act 2 that will pique the readers’ interest, and I’ll call it a prologue. After that, they’ll endure those twenty boring pages because they know something exciting is coming.”

Sounds silly, doesn’t it? It’s the same silliness that explains why prologues are largely reviled and spell real danger coming from a rookie writer.

Action wins the day every time.

Here’s the opening (for now) of my current Jonathan Grave WIP (with apologies up front for the formatting glitch that I don’t know how to fix:

            JoeDog growled.

Jonathan Grave snapped awake and snatched his cocked and locked Colt 1911 .45 from the edge of his nightstand. As his right thumb touched the safety, his left thumb depressed the button for the muzzle light, launching an 800-lumen disk that revealed the entirety of his bedroom. If there’d been an intruder, the bad guy would be dead now.

But the room was empty, save for Jonathan and the ever-flatulent 65-pound Labrador retriever that shared his bed tonight.

I write every series book with the assumption that it is the first time a reader has encountered Jonathan’s world. At this stage, the action of the scene is everything. Readers don’t need any of the backstory. They know that there’s a guy who’s cautious enough to sleep with a loaded pistol on the nightstand, likable enough to share his bed with a big dog, and that the dog senses danger. If the first paragraphs drive readers to read the succeeding paragraphs, they have done their job.

Lessons from Harry Potter.

An exercise I love to lead when I do seminars is to ask students to tell me when Harry Potter’s story begins. (Spoilers ahead for the 5 people on the planet who’ve neither read the books nor watched the movies.) Hands shoot up and invariably, someone says the story begins when Baby Harry is delivered by Hagrid to the doorstep of the Dursley home.

Nope.

Okay, then it begins when Dumbledore sucks the light out the street lamps with his magical Zippo.

Nope.

Those events do, indeed, mark the beginning of the book and movie, but not the beginning of the story. The story begins 10 years before Harry was born, when James and Lilly Potter–Harry’s parents–were mean to a teenage Severus Snape. The backstory that emerges from those bygone years ultimately have a massive impact on the overall plot, but Rowling had the good sense not to start with that backstory.

In Medias Res

A quick peek into Encyclopedia Britannica, in medias res translates from Latin as “in the midst of things.” It’s a phrase used by every writing instructor as the place to begin a story for maximum impact on the reader. It’s worth considering. If you hook the reader at the beginning, and you keep the journey interesting, readers will follow to wherever you want to take them.

What say you, TKZ family? Does the proper beginning elude you at times? How do you find it?

“I love criticism just so long as it’s unqualified praise.” — Noel Coward

By PJ Parrish

So your friend whips out the phone and before you can slither away, out come the pictures of the new baby.

“Look at that face! Have you ever seen a prettier little girl?” new dad beams.

She looks like Karl Malden. What do you say?

1. “What a beautiful child!”
2. “Yup, that’s some baby you’ve got there.”
3. “Are you still within the return period?”

I ask this today because a good friend of mine has an ugly baby problem. The son of her best friend has just published his first book, a sci-fi thriller about the world maybe sorta coming to an end. She read the book while here and says it is terrible. Like terrible in cardboard characters and incomprehensible plot. And now she has to go back and face her friend. Avoiding the writer’s mom is no-go because they play pickleball every week. She asked me what to say because she knows I’ve done a ton of manuscript evaluations and I once made my living as a dance critic.

What did I tell her? I suggested that she say that the genre was not her cup of chai, and thus she isn’t the best person to judge. Which was a true lie. She never reads crime fiction, and the idea of the world ending in ether gives her the creeps. Just to be safe, I read the first couple chapters, and yeah, the book is awful. So I think I told her the right thing. I dunno. I hope so.

I have been in her position. Over the decades, many friends and co-workers have asked me to read their mystery manuscripts, and while none were butt-ugly, not a one was publishable. I gently told them their work needed work before it could be seen in the harsh light of day. (This was mainly in pre-self-pubbing era). Most took it well. Some kept trying, a few quit, one guy never spoke to me again. A good friend, who was trying to write a mystery about retired NFL players, switched to non-fiction and got published by a good small press to great blurbs and national reviews .

Ugly Dog winner Phoebe with proud parents

Brief digression. I don’t have any ugly kids. I have an ugly dog. So ugly she won the Ugly Dog Contest in Williamston, Michigan. First prize was three bags of golf-ball sized kibble, which I donated to the police canine unit. I also won a gift certificate to J&B Boots, which got me a nice pair of Italian kicks. They wrote a story about my dog in The Williamston Enterprise, which hangs framed in my office.

Giving criticism is a fine art. Our own John Gilstrap wrote about his adventures in critique groupland recently. Click here. It’s a little easier when the person you’re critiquing is a stranger and there’s no face-to-face time. But the basic rule still applies: You need to fair and you can’t crush someone’s spirit. I think about this every time I do a First Page critique here at The Kill Zone. I have a process I always go through:

1. First, I read the whole 400 or so words quickly, without any eye toward editing. I try very hard to read it as only a reader would who has just bought the book. Does the opening pique my interest?
2. Second, I ask myself: Do I have any prejudices against this TYPE of book that would make me unduly negative or even ignorant? For instance, I’m not a big sci-fi fan, and I’m clueless about what works in YA these days. So I read such submissions with that caveat.
3. Next, I ask myself if the submission has something to teach all our readers. It’s not enough to just red-ink grammar mistakes or such. I look for a larger issue in each submission that can help all our writers learn.
4. Sometimes, you get a submission that just isn’t up to snuff enough to critique. The writer hasn’t yet gotten the basics of the craft down. I decline to do these.
5. Finally, I do a submission only if I can find something good to say about it.

That last one is important. Because I remember how hard it was to get any feedback when I was trying to publish my first mystery back in the late 1990s. Even though I had had four romances published by a big house, I was clueless about mysteries. When I showed my agent my freshman attempt, she told me I didn’t understand the unique structure of a mystery. “Go home and read,” she said. “Start with P.D. James and Michael Connelly.”

Today, when I do a critique, I use the Hamburger Method:

• Start out by staying something nice.
• Insert a big juicy slab of criticism.
• End with saying something encouraging.

A few other things I’ve learned about giving criticism:

Resist the urge to fix the problem. Unless you really have the solution, it’s not a good idea to offer up the answer to another writer’s problem. You don’t know their book; you’re not inside their head. They have to find their way.
Watch your tone. Being snarky is, unfortunately, encouraged in our culture today. Be firm but kind.
Don’t take out your frustrations on someone else. Your own WIP is falling apart. Your plot has more holes than a cheese grater. Your Acer died and your geek can’t do a data retrieval. Don’t take it out on someone else’s baby.
Don’t boost your own ego. Don’t go all alpha dog, using criticism to show how sharp you are. Nobody likes a bully.
Be empathetic. You’ve probably had the same problems the other guy is having. So tell him how you fixed your book’s issues.

Okay, so you’re done reading a friend’s manuscript. Or you’ve been doing your part in the weekly critique group. You’ve been kind, you’ve been constructive, you’re offering up suggestions that you think might cause a light bulb to go off over the other writer’s head. And then…

They turn on you. You don’t understand their genre. You’ve missed their plot points. You’re supposed to hate their protagonist. You’re just biased against second-person omniscient. I call these folks the Yeah Buts. “Yeah, but if you keep reading, things will get clearer.” “Yeah but if you read more dystopian Victorian zombie fiction, you’d understand what I’m going for.”

You can’t help a Yeah But. They don’t want to hear anything except how great their stuff is. Don’t get angry. You did what you could. Smile and walk away. Sometime, an ugly baby is nothing but an ugly baby with an ugly parent.

Based on my experience, when a collection of writers gather around drinks or the figurative campfire talking about books, current projects, and other authors, the conversation eventually gets around to movies.

Last August, I briefly touched on movie deals in my discussion titled, Those Little (and Big) Disappointments. When I was a green as grass author, my first novel attracted enough attention for a producer to reach out and offer a movie deal. The production company wrapped up filming Winter’s Bone liked The Rock Hole, and called me direct to offer a movie deal. However, my starter agent (which I fired not long after that offer) started playing games with the company and they quickly threw up their hands and backed away from the project.

At that time, I didn’t realize how lucky I was for movie people to consider my work, and for that, I’m honored. Other writer friends have movie deals, have seen their works turned into movies, and even have television series. Like books, film is another form of entertainment and all of us who write would like to see our projects on the big, or little, screen. Some are lucky and occasionally, lightning strikes twice and they get both.

Good for them!

Other friends receive option money each year, and it’s significant in most cases. These books are in the chrylaslis process of evolving into screenplays, or are under discussion. As I watch these colleagues twist on the hook I’ve come to understand this part is tedious and frustrating to most of those involved.

As my old man said a thousand times, “Almost, but not quite.” He also said, “Well, dog my cats,” when he was perplexed or frustration, which I’ve used on occasion to my daughters’ consternation.

A few years ago I wrote the screenplay for The Rock Hole, and that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Distilling 90,000 to 100,000 words down into 120 formatted pages that are mostly dialogue almost made my head explode as I worked to preserve the tension, character arcs, sense of place, and relevant dialogue that made the book successful.

I read William Goldman’s Adventures in the Screen Trade and it was fascinating. Full of advice and anecdotes, it helped me get over the hump of finishing my own project because it has the complete screenplay of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. In addition, a friend gave me a copy of the Lonesome Dove script back in 1990, and I spent a considerable amount of time comparing what was included, and excluded, from the novel.

With those guides in place, I hammered out the screenplay, and finished with the understanding that if it ever reaches filming, it’ll likely have someone else’s name on it, but at least I can see the characters I created moving and talking (hopefully) as I see in my mind.

At this writing, The Rock Hole is under consideration of an indie producer and we’ve spent quite a bit of time talking about the mechanics and funding for this future project. Am I excited. Nope. I don’t waste time on what if, but I continue to hope something will happen. Will it ever happen? I’m not holding my breath.

I ‘magine all authors would love to see their books on the screen. It would expand their exposure a thousand-fold and sell more books. But we can’t spend too much time on that possibility. We need to write instead and dream at night. It’s today’s project that requires the majority of our attention, not those finished titles on the shelf.

But good lord, be proud of them!

But back to writers’ conversations, we always express frustration that so many good books out there that could make excellent movies, yet Hollywood (an all inclusive term for movies filmed everywhere) continues to concentrate for the most part on superheroes.

Maybe it’s my bias against movies in which these characters just fight all the time, destroying cities and buildings, but not harming each other in any appreciable way. I’d like to see a bloody nose from time to time, at least, but I am of a certain age and grew up loving movies full of well-developed characters and believable plots. I doubt in my lifetime I’ll ever meet someone impervious to bullets, or can fly, or swing from spider webs, or ride on surfboards…

I don’t get it, but don’t get me wrong. I cut my teeth on comics and superheroes, and a few movies in that vein, but I’d dearly love to see original ideas.

I want great characters, interesting plots, and sweeping camerawork with inspiring music written specifically for the movie. Maybe like Last of the Mohicans, A River Runs Through It, Legends of the Fall, all based on books or novellas. Good lord, even thrillers like the original Indiana Jones movie, Alien (Aliens), Star Wars, or any others too numerous to list make me want to watch them over and over again.

But others pull me in again and again. Grosse Point Blank, because I just love that one. Tombstone, which might be an all-time favorite because it was one of the first movies the Bride and I ever saw on a postage-stamp-size screen in Arkansas, or Junior Bonner, which changed my life. They have something that hooks me every time, and this is the crux of our discussion over drinks. What is it that strikes a chord with us.

On the opposite side of the coin, Hollywood Reporter has an article I’ve pasted below that outlines the dangers of original content. Am I missing something here? When you’re hitching onto the train, maybe trying to recreate a series like Lord of the Rings (which of course was a novel) with another title including Rings, then you’re simply not getting it. Maybe if we had executives and producers who aren’t twelve-years-old, we might find adventurous souls who would like to branch out and produce movies with finite beginnings and endings, we might find something new.

Like 30 Days of Night. A vampire movie with an excellent twist.

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/business/business-news/inside-amazon-studios-jen-salke-vision-shows-1235364913/amp/

What about you?

Why do you think authors are so interested in discussions as these when we get together?

Is it for the love of entertainment, or something else?

Or maybe we simply like quality movies and that’s all. Let’s talk about it at Bouchercon in San Diego. You’ll find me in the bar…

By John Gilstrap

During a book signing event a couple of weeks ago, a gentleman named Don handed me his card and introduced himself as an official with the West Virginia Writers Association, representing the Eastern Panhandle–the slice of heaven where I now live. I have since joined that group, and plan to attend their annual meeting in June.

As a recent emigree to the Mountain State, I’m working hard to establish as many connections as I can as quickly as I can. Don told me that there’s a writing group in Charles Town (nearby city) that meets regularly and he suggested that I give it a try. I reached out to the nice lady who runs the group, and I was invited into the fold.

Not sure what to expect or what I was getting into, I went to the designated spot at the designated time and we were off and running. It’s a small group, and it’s dedicated to workshopping WIPs. (WsIP?) Among the members, the levels of enthusiasm are high but the command of the craft varies widely. About ten minutes in, I realized that I’d entered a potential minefield.

It’s not my group.

The lady who runs the meetings–we’ll call her Dorothy–has worked hard to wrangle participants from disparate backgrounds and abilities into what seems to be a cohesive group–of which I want merely to be a part. The last thing I want to do is steal anyone’s thunder. That said, I have the answers to many of the questions bandied about the members, especially with regard to the book business–stuff like copyright law. As the new guy to any group, my inclination is to sit quietly and get a feel for the room, but when people are guessing at answers, I feel an obligation to set things straight. I realize now that that’s a lot like stealing thunder.

Critique group etiquette is alien to me.

For a quarter of a century now, I have taught writing sessions and seminars in which I am the presumed authority. When those seminars have included workshop sessions, I save my input until everyone else has had their say, and then I express my agreement or disagreement with those opinions and then offer my own. I’m something of a blunt object when it comes to offering critique–never cruel but always direct. I point out what I like and dislike, and I give my reasons why.

The new group brings a different structure. First point out the good, and then lay out the critique smoothly and with light brush strokes. Listen as the writer explains what they meant to say, often couched in the tone of, “It’s all there, how could you not see it?” Apologize if the honest assessment has offended.

The phrase, “In my opinion”, must be stated aloud before a critique can be given.

“It’s only a first draft.”

When the criticism comes, an oft sought safe harbor lies in the act of pointing out that the sample people have dedicated time and effort to read and critique is only a first draft–the implication being that the writer could have done better if they’d cared to make the effort. I want to point out (but haven’t yet) that no, your submission is not a first draft. It is the final draft of the version that you chose to submit for input.

“I don’t care about ever getting published.”

Those were the words of one of the members of the group. She went on to explain that she expresses herself exactly as she likes, and is not all that concerned if it makes sense to others or if they like it. It hurts her feelings when she hears negative feedback, but has no intention of internalizing that feedback or making any changes. Being a writer is who she is, she says. It’s her entire purpose in life. I’m not getting in the middle of that one.

Soon it will be my turn.

If I have seemed a bit snarky in the above paragraphs, please find none in this one. I really do want to sink roots into the local writing community, and while I feel a bit like a fish on the shore with this new group, I enjoy the interaction. I will do my best to live by the rules. And among the rules: you’ve got to pay to play. If I’m going to critique others, then I must submit to critique myself. That’s one hundred percent fair. And it will feel really, really weird.

I will submit my best work on my work-in-progress, and I will receive blunt input from real readers–a live audience to what is usually a recorded performance. I will sit quietly and I will absorb what they have to say. I will learn some things, and maybe they will, too. Or maybe not.

What do you all think about critique groups? What works? What doesn’t? Is it helpful or harmful in a group to have a wide range of writing experience?

By PJ Parrish

Maybe it’s my art background — or more likely because I write books that I hope get noticed — but I really pay attention to book covers. I’ve been known to pass by a good book with a what-the-hell? cover (Chuck Palahniuk’s Haunted) or get seduced by a meh book with a sexy cover (Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight)

Cover design is also on my mind because I’m working on my Edgar banquet stuff this week. This is my 15th year as banquet chair, and one of my duties is to put together the PowerPoint presentation of all the nominees’ book covers. I’ve seen a lot of trends come and go over that time. Some have become classic. Others, well, they belong down there with Juicy tracksuits and Nik Nik shirts. (Score yourself 5 pts if you wore a Nik Nik, 10 if you went out in public.)

Most authors are at the not-so-tender mercies of their publishers when it comes to cover design. But a lot of us also do our own covers or hire someone. A bad cover can really torpedo a book. I’ve seen some butt-ugly covers among the Edgar nominees. This year there doesn’t seem to be a dog in the bunch. So, I figure this is a good time for a quick survey course of what’s hot. (I’m covering only fiction here).

I’m thinking that fiction cover trends have stabilized in the last couple years, maybe because the industry seems to have figured out what a marketable cover should look like. Why reinvent the wheel? But then again, that kind of thinking gave us years of black covers. (Après Amy Dunne, le déluge). Those of you who publish your own stuff know the drill: Make sure your cover looks professional, reflects your book’s tone and meets genre standards. Those of you traditionally published — pray.

For a couple years now, we’ve been seeing minimalism in crime fiction covers — nothing fussy, maybe a plot-symbolic graphic, and strong typefaces with author name and title. This is baked in now, but there are some interesting break-aways as well. Here’s my rundown featuring this year’s nominees from the Edgars and the specials (Mary Higgins Clark, Lilian Jackson Braun and Sue Grafton awards):

San Serif Type. This has become the default design. Note that this approach translates well when reduced to a thumbnail on Amazon. Although I’m not sure about the white type against that pale background.

Written Type Faces. This trend emerged a couple years ago, and is still with us.

Note: All three are from the young adult category. Looking pretty scary, there.

One Strong Graphic. Another evergreen trend that has become a hallmark of crime fiction. It is seen as being symbolic of the plot usually. Many strong examples in this year’s mix. (Click any image to see larger)

Sense of Place. Conveying the story’s geographic place also continues to be popular. Some authors revel in setting (William Kent Krueger brands all of his book covers in this way). We used to do this with our Louis Kincaid series, but it started to feel dated, so we repackaged around the symbolism idea. But setting remains a favorite this year.

A Building Block. A similar device — tried and true for decades now — is to use a house or cabin as the central graphic. I’m not really crazy about this, as it always feels sort of vague to me, like the designer couldn’t quite grasp what the writer was doing. Our worst cover had a house graphic so maybe I’m just prejudiced.

But what if your setting isn’t all dark and creepy? Well, beneath that Don Johnson pink Armani lies a black heart, wouldn’t you know. I love both these covers. I’d rent a VRBO in these towns, even if there was a serial killer a-lurk.

There are also some eye-popping pure graphic design going on this year:

And some successful attempts to capture a book’s tone. Notice the nice marriages of color, typeface and graphics that convey a mood. You know immediately what kind of books these are.

One of my favorite categories, as far as cover art goes, is juvenile. One trend that remains classic in this genre is use of protagonists’ images. Maybe because kids like to identify with them so closely? Hey, I was dark, chubby and had to babysit the Heller brats, but in my dreams I was that blonde in the blue roadster.

Which leaves us with some splendid covers that defy categorization. There’s a retro vibe this year, redolent of Gorky Park, shivering spies, dicks with gats and those fun-loving Corleone boys.

To see all the nominees on Mystery Writers of America’s website, click here. And that, crime dogs, is a wrap.

Nobody ever told me when I got into this writing business that I’d have to peel off time for social media. Honestly, back in 2011, I barely knew what that was.

Buy my book.

I recall one conversation with the guys I work with not long before my first novel came out. I made one of those declarations that came back to bite me. “I’ll never have one of those MyFace pages. I don’t intend to waste my time on it. And I don’t understand this tweeting thing. It makes no sense.”

Lesson learned. Never say never.

Social media still doesn’t make sense in many ways. It’s a time-suck that takes that wastes hours, and pulls us away from real life and what we should be doing. Like writing.

Buy my book.

But when I got my first contract, there was a paragraph insisting on a social media presence. So I got myself a Facebook personal page (I soon learned that My Space and Face  book were two different things) and an author page, and a Twitter profile.

I knew nothing about those platforms, and didn’t want to do it in the first place. (Buy my book) I’m still not sure what to do with social media, but I’m working on it. Years ago John Gilstrap and I attended a panel on using Twitter at some conference and picked up a few things. We downloaded an app and soon had about 20,000 “followers” each.

I’ve since learned about half were bots (which I still don’t understand), and suddenly found myself following people I didn’t know or care about.

The problem is that I’m an old guy playing with new technology. Young people are natives in this world of electronic relationships and I’m an immigrant lost in a mysterious world I don’t understand. It’s a wonder I haven’t triggered some nuclear device and melted down the entire internet, if not the world.

I wrote a book. Buy it.

Then one day I noticed that when I posted on Facebook with an accompanying photo, more people were interested. Hummm…so I made it a point to include some kind of image or art. That gained a few more followers, but nothing to write home about.

I still needed interaction. I talked to a few successful authors with substantial herds of “fans” hanging on their every posted idea and asked what they did to interest people.

Most shrugged. “I don’t know. I was interviewed on this blog and people started finding my page.”

“I post pictures of my dog (puppies, kittens, cat, fish, squirrel, monkey) and people got interested.”

“I tell people I wrote a book and to buy it, but I’m not getting far with it.”

“A writer friend suggested on their page that people should take a look at my page.”

“Beats me. Stephen King mentioned one of my books and now I have about a bazillion followers. You think that’s a coincidence?”

All this is as mind numbing as the first suggestion I ever heard from an editor on a panel at my first writers conference in 2011. “We’re through with vampires and the living dead. Those books as passe. Don’t send us anything else like that.”

I’m not sure any of us know what works in this writing world, only what works for us. It’s the same in utilizing social media.

In my case, it was my youngest daughter who helped me gain Facebook followers. I told her one day in the truck that the Bride nearly had a rigor when she saw a snake in the back yard, and young Meg frowned. “What does that mean?”

I had to explain that old-timey saying. “It’s a running fit.”

“What’s that?”

We disappeared down a rabbit hole, and I had to explain how the “old folks” talked when I was growing up. The old folks who were then younger than my current age.

I talked while my then-thirteen year old daughter pretended not to listen. “For example, when we say someone let the gate down, it means that traffic is heavy and it’s hard to get on the road. That comes from the old days when let the gate down on a pasture or a corral, and the cows ran out. It referred to those old floppy wire gates we had to drag out of the way and lay on the ground.”

She looked out the truck’s window as if I was driving Miss Daisy. Used to such adolescent behavior from my years as a teacher and dad, I continued to inform and annoy. “Or if someone had a “falling out,” it was a disagreement that usually resulted in the silent treatment at the worst, or little or no communication for a long period of time.

“Then there are words few people use these days. Like ‘hob’ which is a flat metal circle on top of an old wood burning stove. It’s where people would put the pans to cook and eventually became burners on gas and electric stoves. Then there’s the word ‘tote’ to carry something, or ‘dykes’ for wire cutters…”

She finally looked at me from the corners of her eyes to see if I was telling the truth, then went back to her examination of the passing landscape, or maybe silently asking the Lord why she was saddled with a daddy who droned on and on about nothing.

“Or ‘sashay’ or ‘mosey’ or phrases, like ‘well, dog my cats’ or ‘tuckered out.’”

“You’re still talking, aren’t you. And you’re breathing my air to do it.”

“Just explaining what I grew up with.”

“Why don’t you put those on your Facebook pages? I bet older people might be interested. It’s better than talking about your books all the time and asking people to buy them.”

With that backhanded slap and suggestion, I started posting Old Timey Words and Old Timey Phrases, which are likely the most popular posts I make.

As I said, I am no expert at this, but I can tell you one thing, if authors using any social platform post nothing but reviews and information about their books…

…Buy my books! Buy my book! I have a new book coming out. It’s a doozy. Buy my book! Here’s a link where you can buy my book…

…they’ll drive followers away in droves. Folks today want to be entertained (hence the photos that accompany my posts), and require fairly short posts so they can read them quickly and move on to the next and the next and the next.

Followers love to hear about your writing life, what you’re doing, or how you’re doing it. They seek advice on how to get published, but don’t want pages of info. Think sound bites. But they don’t want you to post every day about buying your books.

I also get a lot of comments on photos and discussions about my grand-critters. Followers love it when I share my oldest daughters’ life with her seven and nine-year-olds in Conversations on the Couch.

Daugther, addressing seven-year-old Parker: Did I hear you say you want to go to Ohio? Why?

Parker: Reasons

Or Conversations in the Car.

Daughter: What was Captain Hook’s name before Hook?

Nine-year-old Riley: Captain Hand.

Readers want to know about how you write, what makes you tick, your favorite movie/book/television program/author/actor or Life its ownself. You can mention your writing space, what you’re working on, what you’re reading, and on occasion, announce the release of your upcoming book, or reviews, or blurbs for said novel. Fans like to see covers, and read flap copy.

I heard a speaker estimate posts about life vs. books at 20 to 1. Personally, I think over 90% of my posts are things other than selling books.

Being on social platforms is like making soup. Throw in all the ingredients that personalize your own delicious creation, but don’t add too much of any one spice or ingredient. And don’t tell folks about it every time you boil up a pot (buy my book), because they’ll soon tire of it and drift on to other pages and platforms.

Post away!