By Deb Gorman

Today, we are honored to have Deb Gorman, one of our faithful TKZ community, presenting a post on a technique she has discovered for marketing. Pleas join me in welcoming Deb. And thanks, Deb, for agreeing to share your idea.

Steve Hooley

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Steve Hooley, you could’ve knocked me over with the proverbial avian integumentary appendage when I received your invitation to guest blog on TKZ. I was nervous about accepting because most of the time I feel I have a lot to learn from all of you, with nothing to offer in return.

But, of course, I couldn’t turn down the opportunity. I know every author starts out unpublished and that includes those who roam these hallowed halls, so I decided to take the plunge.

I get up every morning thinking, okay, today I’m going to create a page or a chapter or a section that will blow my readers away. And then I remember I have very few readers—and BTW, all are precious to me—so the blowing away won’t be a hurricane. Maybe a soft breeze.

As I write this post, my first two novels are with an agent. Scary. Very scary. She has read one and sent some work for me to do on it. I actually sent it back to her this morning. No contract, though . . . yet. (Note my confidence.) The other novel will be read in the next few weeks and she’ll get back to me. I have to remember that she asked to read them in their entirety . . . so I count that a minor miracle.

Whew! Got that out of the way. Now, to the subject of today’s post—a marketing method I’ve discovered. The newbie talking about the most difficult part of authoring? Hope I get this right.

As you might guess, I’m no marketing expert. (A nod to you TKZers who are, and I study every post you put out about it.) But, having said that, I have discovered a fabulously fun way of marketing a forthcoming novel. I may have mentioned it a time or two in TKZ comments.

It’s called Character Interviews.

Now, there’s nothing new about interviewing your characters. (Nod to JSB) Some of us have discovered secrets hoarded by our characters when we invite them to a private sit-down during the draft process.

But I took it a step further, deciding it might be a fun way to market the story before . . . well . . . the story. Full disclosure: this idea is not my own. I was trolling SM one day and someone (sorry, can’t recall who) mentioned it in passing. I jumped on it.

The idea is to wait until you have a draft of the entire story. Then go through it and search for your characters’ quirks, weird stuff they say and do, fears and failures. Pick your first character to put on the hot seat and sit him/her down and start the grilling. Just for yourself. I am amazed at how much I discover about what makes my rascally friends tick.

Then, I craft it into interview form. At this point, I pick and choose what to reveal to my blog post readers. I don’t want to give away the farm, just a chicken or two, to up their curiosity.

Here’s an excerpt from my latest character interview with the irascible Jake Gruber, from my WIP, No Tomorrows.

Deb: Jake, are you there? Were you able to retrieve your newspaper from the street?

Jake: Yeah, I’m here. Dang newspaper guy . . . hardly ever gets it to my porch these days. Things just ain’t like they used to be.

Deb: That must be aggravating. Have you complained?

Jake: Don’t do no good–but I’m sure your readers don’t want to hear about my newspaper problems. What do they want to hear? Can’t believe there’d be anything interesting enough about me–

Deb: I understand you’ve been neighbors of the Lees for quite a while. You must know them quite well after, what, twenty years or more?

Jake: Don’t hardly know ’em a ‘tall, Deb. We hardly speak. But that’s just fine with me. ‘Bout the only thing they ever say to me is “good morning”. And about the only thing I say to them, well, actually to that strappin’ young man, Roger, is “take care of your danged dandelions over there!”

Deb: Yeah, I think I heard something like that from Annie when I talked to her. But, let’s get to the rest of my questions, okay? Do you have a family? Annie wasn’t so sure you’d–

Jake: No.

Deb: No? There’s no one?

Jake: No.

Deb: But, I kinda heard through the character grapevine that you had–?

Jake: Move on. And what in blue blazes is a character grapevine? You authors are weird, almost certifiable I’ve heard. But that don’t mean I have to spill everything to people I don’t know . . . heck, people I can’t even see . . .

Deb: Okay, okay, Jake. So, I heard you were in Vietnam during the conflict. Would you be willing to tell us just a bit about that?

Jake: Sure I’ll tell you a bit. It wasn’t a conflict. It was war. Conflict’s just a word the government uses to deny responsibility for its boys and girls on the front lines. And you can quote me on that.

As I mentioned, I discover tidbits about my characters during this process. In Jake’s case, I knew he’d been to Vietnam, but I wasn’t aware of how he felt about the word conflict. Tiny detail, yes, but it plays out in the story when he has a conversation with the main character, Annie Lee. And did you notice how I discovered how he feels about authors? Before the interview, I had no idea.

During this interview, Jake goes on to become even more cranky and close-mouthed, especially after I try to get him to talk about . . . well, I won’t give away any more chickens today. The interview ended with him hanging up on me and my readers.

You can read two of my character interviews here and here. The first link is Jake’s interview in full; the second is one from my other forthcoming novel, The Master’s Inn.

Some of my friends and readers have commented, after reading an interview, “I can’t wait for your novel to be released!” Music to my ears, as you can imagine.

I’m discovering there are some quite creative ways out there to market ourselves and our stories. The trick is to find what works for you, and hone it as you would any other craft hack.

Okay, over to you, TKZers.

Do you interview your characters during the drafting process?

Can you think of ways to improve on this idea?

What other places besides my blog could I use this?

Thanks again, Steve, for asking me to guest post, and I hope my tiny offering sparks some creative marketing ideas for y’all.

I will be in and out today due to some unexpected family responsibilities and the funeral of a good friend. I will answer all comments as soon as I can. Thanks for your patience.

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Deb Gorman, owner of Debo Publishing, lives where she was born and raised, in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband, Alan, and their very smart German Shepherd, Hoka. They have seven children, 24 grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren.

Deb enjoys writing stories of reconciliation and redemption in families who are hurting, interwoven with threads of suspense. And that describes most, if not all, human families.

You can connect with Deb here.

BOOKS BY DEB GORMAN

AVAILABLE AT https://www.debggorman.com, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble

By John Gilstrap

When I was younger, I thrived on horror stories. I read every word Stephen King wrote, and I’d be first in line for the slasher movies of the ’70s and ’80s. I lost my taste for them during my fire service years, and abandoned them entirely once I started a family. I don’t know if there’s a nexus in there, but that was the timing of it.

That’s also about the time when I realized that energy lives on past the lives of some, and that those energies are drawn to me. Or, maybe it’s the other way around.

Two stories (of many I could share):

CHRIS DORST | Gazette-Mail

Ten, maybe fifteen years ago, I signed on for a midnight tour of Moundsville State Penitentiary in West Virginia. It’s supposed to be one of the most haunted spots in America (aren’t they all?), and I thought it would be a hoot. I talked Jeffery Deaver into coming along. We climbed onto a bus around 6 pm and drove off into the night.

The tour was led by a self-proclaimed ghost hunter who channeled Van Helsing, complete with the floppy fedora and flowing great coat. When we arrived at the prison grounds, Van saw ghosts everywhere, just hangin’ around the yard. “There’s one! There’s one!” Jeff and I thought it was a hoot.

Then we entered the hospital wing of the abandoned fortress. If you’ve seen One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, you know what the place looks like. There’s a common room that was overseen by a nurse’s station, beyond which there are a couple of operatories and then another common room. This repeated five or six times.

Remember, the only lighting we had were the flashlights that we brought with us, so eerie doesn’t quite touch the atmosphere at zero-dark-early. We walked into the first one or two of the operatories, looked around, checked our watches and began talking about how we might work our way back to the bus.

The mood of the evening changed when we crossed the threshold of what I believe was the third operatory. I stopped about three steps in and could not go any farther. A dark energy surrounded me–that’s the best way I can put it, a nearly electrical feeling on my skin, but more than that, I felt so terribly sad. It was the kind of sadness that comes after the loss of a loved one. It was unbearable.

I turned and walked back out into the hallway, and the feeling vanished, as surely as if a switch had been flipped. Deaver reported feeling “something” but he night have been humoring me. Everyone else seemed to be fine. I went to Van Helsing and asked if that room was particularly energized? His response: “You notice I stay in the hallway, right?”

As the tour moved on, I told Jeff that I needed to go back. I needed to know if it was some kind of trick that Van was pulling. We parted from the group and walked back. This time, when I crossed the threshold, my knees nearly buckled. The feeling was beyond awful. It felt soul stealing.

That was the only notable incident on that tour, but later research showed that that room was used to perform lobotomies back in the ’50s or ’60s.

Now, fast-forward a few years. I was in Boston, staying at one of the fancy chain hotels to attend a board of directors for the trade association I worked for. (I’m not sandbagging on the name. I really don’t remember which one, and given the story to come, it’s best not to guess and be wrong.)

About 2:30 in the morning, I was sound asleep, alone in my room, sleeping on my left side, as I am wont to do, when someone grabbed my shoulder with both hands and placed his face about an inch from mine.

I shot out of bed, ready for war. I don’t think I’ve ever been so startled, before or since. Nobody was there, but I could still feel the imprint of his hand on my shoulder. I turned on the light, and the first thing I did was check my door. Not only was it closed, it was locked on the inside.

This was not a dream. It could not have been a dream. I saw him, for God’s sake. But several thorough searches revealed that I was still alone. The most vivid goddamn dream in the history of nightmares.

It takes a while for the body to process that much adrenaline, but ultimately, I fell back to sleep. Shortly after the sun came up, I rose, showered, tied myself into a business suit and headed down to the staff breakfast room. I was the last to arrive, but that wasn’t uncommon, given my relationship with mornings. As I sat down with my banquet eggs, I relayed the story of my nightmare, and conversation stopped.

My boss paled and asked, “What room are you in?”

“Twenty-one forty-four,” I answered. (I don’t remember the real room number.)

A gasp went around the table. By boss was staying in 2244, and one of our VPs was staying in 2344. All of us had the exact same “nightmare” within minutes of each other.

Creepy, eh? Okay, there’s a coda to the story. I was on the hook for a very important, very serious presentation to a filled ballroom at 8 am the next morning. After an endless string of meetings, I returned to my room at around 11 pm. Out loud, I said, “Okay, look. I know you have a job to do, and I respect that. I respect that I am in your space, but I really need to sleep tonight, so I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone.”

In general, I’m not a deep sleeper in a hotel, but that night, I slept like, well, the dead.

I haven’t studied this stuff, and I don’t pretend to understand it, but I’ve come to believe that something about what makes us human projects energy, and I think that some people are better tuned to it than others. I think I’ve posted here before that I have a very strong Spidey sense about others. My first impressions of people rarely prove themselves wrong. (Truthfully, I can’t remember a single time.)

When my son was 14 or so, he got separated from the group on a camping trip and became the focus of a National Park Service search party. (In case you’re wondering, parents are not informed of ongoing searches when they are in their early stages.) He and a buddy were lost in Washington National Forest all night. Everybody turned out fine, but he tells a great story of what it’s like being in the middle of nowhere on a moonless night as the batteries in your flashlight begin to die.

We learned about the search after he returned home a week or so later. Here’s the thing, though: On the night he was lost–at the hours he was lost–I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I got up and wrote about a young teenager lost in the woods.

Okay, now that I’ve revealed my crazy card, what say you, TKZ family? In this season of spooks and witchcraft, do you have any stories to share?