ARC’s (Advanced Reader Copies) appear to be the poor stepchild of the book promotion family when it comes to self-publishing. I assume traditional publishers have worked out relationships for themselves when it comes to ARCs, but for us self-promoting authors, we have no kith or kin. That is to say, we are on our own.
What would work nicely is if Amazon would have a holding space for pre-launch reviews (of any product) that would appear at the release. They have no such service. A book cannot be reviewed until it is published. Why Amazon is oblivious to such a common practice as ARCs, I cannot guess.
The workaround is to send ACR copies to your “street team,” as your supporters are called. On the day you publish your book, you have your street team review the book on Amazon. In order to review, they must have bought the book (called by Amazon a Verified Purchase) or have spent fifty dollars on Amazon in the past year. The reviews need to be honest and not from family and friends. Therefore, the reviewer should not sound too familiar/friendly with the author. “Over coffee and tea, I argued this point with Charles,” is the death knell for an Amazon review.
Anyone want to be on my street team? Seriously, let me know. (cjkiernan01@gmail.com)
Beyond the street team, there are ARC services. I found a recommended list of sites at MW Editing. They range from free to expensive, and each is set up differently. If you are interested, you will need to explore them for yourself. I will not prejudice you, but I will tell you which ones I intend to use for my purposes.
BookSiren looks good to me. For ten dollars, I can get started, plus there is a ninety-day free trial. Reviews are not guaranteed, but they claim 75% of their readers who download a book post a review. You get charged two dollars for every download, but you can cap your budget. The reviews will be where the reviewers post them. The same Amazon problem still applies, as with all the other sites below.
The Indie View grabs my attention. It’s free and not so much a service as a monitored listing of over ninety independent book review sites. You would need to apply to each one separately. I intend to explore that list.
Similarly, there is a community inside of Goodreads called Making Connections where you can request reviews from other members. It is free; I am already a Goodreads member, so I plan to try this.
Not listed by MW Editing is Reedsy. I will focus on the Discovery program. It costs fifty dollars to submit an ARC. Again, reviews are not guaranteed. My experience with them has been good. I have blogged about that process before in January. Their reviewers are vetted, so the quality of the reviews is high. I used the one I got for A Vacant Throne as an editorial review on Amazon as opposed to the reader reviews. I will try them again.
They also have a list of book review bloggers. This is a list of over two hundred bloggers, which can be filtered by category, like children’s or horror. Another list for me to explore.
These are my suggestions for approaching ARCs. Now I must put my nose to the grindstone and do what I said I’d do above.
For more detailed information about ARCs, here is an article from Ingram/Spark. Also, consider using Calibre to create your own ARC. (Free)
“Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an . . . Englishwoman?”
I lumber forward, confident in my ignorance. I have strength. I need not listen to intellect. I am . . .
“What am I? I’m not me. I’m a giant! What is going on?”
I crest the rise of a hill. Below me is a fair damsel, gowned in purple velvet, seated on a dais. As she rises, raising her arms into the air, I recognize her.
“Giant, I put upon you a geis. I demand you tell me . . . “
“Melissa,” I say, my voice booming, “it’s me.”
“Oh, no.” She collapses back down onto her throne. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to transform you again.”
“Last time it was an owl. This time a giant. What are you doing?” I rumble.
I sit down on the ground, causing a tremor that nearly jolts Melissa from her throne.
“Well, taking my cue from Maria Louise von Franz when she said, ‘Fairy tales are the purest and simplest expression of the collective unconscious . . .’ or, in other words, our dreams, I decided to dream of fairy tales, consciously, to better understand them. The results have been variable.”
Melissa straightens herself on her throne and proceeds.
A queen gives birth to a son while the king is far away. She declares she will not name and christen the boy until his father returns. In the meantime, they will call him Nix Nought Nothing. Unfortunately, the king does not return for a number of years.
During his travels, when the king does return, a giant does him a favor, seemingly for no payment, saying he would take nix, naught, nothing. Upon arriving home, the king finds that is his son’s name.
The king and queen try to substitute the henwife’s son and then the gardener’s son, but in each case the giant discovers the ruse, kills the unfortunate lads in his rage, and returns for Nix Naught Nothing.
The giant raises the boy until he is a man. Then the giant gives Nix Naught Nothing the task of cleaning out the stable that is seven miles long, seven miles wide, and has not been cleaned in seven years. He is allowed only one day to accomplish the feat or become the giant’s supper that night. Our hero is helped by the giant’s daughter, who calls upon all the animals and birds to aid him.
The next task is to drain a lake that is seven miles wide, seven miles across, and seven miles deep. The daughter calls upon all the fish in the sea to drink up the water.
The third trial is to climb a tree seven miles tall with no branches until the top, where there is a nest with seven eggs. The daughter cuts off her fingers and toes to use the bones as pegs for him to climb the tree.
However, one of the eggs breaks, and they must flee with the giant in hot pursuit. They throw down her comb and hair dagger, which turn into briars and hedges to slow down the giant. They then throw down her flask, which turns into a wave that drowns the giant.
They arrive, unbeknownst to them, at Nix Naught Nothing’s father’s kingdom. He leaves his love, who is too tired to go on, to find shelter. He comes across the henwife, whose son was killed for his sake, and she puts him under a sleeping spell. She then contrives with the gardener’s daughter that only this girl can wake the sleeping stranger and will do so if she can marry him.
Through good fortune, the giant’s daughter shows up in time to reveal that the sleeping stranger is Nix Naught Nothing. The gardener’s daughter is forced to break the spell, the henwife is put to death, and the remainder live happily ever after.
“Rarely totally kind, these fairy-tale endings,” I muse, my comment echoing off of the hills.
Fairy Tale of the Month: March 2024 Nix Naught Nothing – Part Two
Jack the Giant Killer – John D. Batten
Big Thoughts
“If I recall,” I say, straining the capacity of giant thinking, “this version was concocted by Joseph Jacobs, borrowed from Andrew Lang, who collected it somewhere in Scotland, but it is pretty clear that much of the story leans on Greek mythology.”
“I agree,” Melissa nods. “What are your insights?”
“The name ‘Nix Naught Nothing’ reminds me of Odysseus and the Cyclops in that the name becomes a trick. Odysseus told Polyphemus his name was ‘Nobody.’ When Odysseus and his men put out Polyphemus’s lone eye, the screams of agony brought the cyclops’s neighbors. From beyond the stone that blocked Polyphemus’s cave entrance, they asked what the matter was. He answered that nobody had harmed him, so they went back to their homes.”
Melissa smiles and I continue. “But I think this tale mostly reflects Jason and the Argonauts. In that legend, Jason had tasks to perform in order to get the Golden Fleece from King Aeȅtes. He had to yoke the fire-breathing oxen and plow a field, sowing it with dragon’s teeth that sprang up as warriors and might have turned against him. With her sorcery, Medea, the king’s daughter, aided Jason just as the giant’s daughter aided Nix Naught Nothing.”
Melissa knits her brow. “But the tasks are different. The thing with the stable that was seven miles long and seven miles wide and had not been cleaned in seven years is similar to one of the Herculean tasks. Although all of them are imbued with the number seven, I am not sure where the other two tasks came from.”
I am thinking I do know. Something is tickling my memory, and I scratch my massive head with a thick finger. Melissa goes on. “And you’re right about the similarity to Jason and Medea, right to the end of the story. In both cases, there was a pursuit of the lovers by the father, at whom they threw obstacles in his path to slow him down. In Medea’s case, pieces of her brother, whom she had killed, which the king stopped to retrieve for proper burial.
“But, ah!” I see realization in her eyes. “The marriages at the conclusions are very different; in fact, opposites.”
My sluggish giant brain is almost remembering something, but not quite as Melissa continues. “In Nix Naught Nothing, he ‘forgets’ his bride for a time, until she is restored to him, and then they live happily ever after. With Jason and Medea, they were married, but after ten years he left her for another woman. Medea had her revenge, ending the legend in tragedy. That may be the difference between legends and fairy tales. Fairy tales end well for the main characters, and legends do not.”
“Talking about endings, in Nix’s story, the giant was drowned. I think I heard that before.” There is that tickling again. “But isn’t the usual death we giants get is having our heads cut off and our tongues taken as a receipt?”
Melissa smiles benignly. “You giants don’t get to be the heroes, do you?”
I am starting to feel sorry for myself.
Fairy Tale of the Month: March 2024 Nix Naught Nothing – Part Three
Battle of the Birds – John D. Batten
Big Deal
“Battle of the Birds!” I hear myself bellow. Melissa startles. “That’s what’s been tickling my brain. It’s the Celtic version of Nix Naught Nothing.
“Oh, the story starts out very differently. The beasts and birds have a battle, over a trivial matter between a wren and a mouse. The prince of Tethertown aids a raven during its fight with a snake. The raven rewards the prince, after a long journey, with a mysterious bundle that the prince is not to open until he is at the place he wishes to dwell.
“Of course, he peeps into the bag far too soon, and a castle, surrounded by gardens and an orchard, pops out. A giant offers to stuff them all back in if the prince gives him his firstborn son. The prince, not having a son, agrees.
“Returning home, the prince unpacks the castle, which comes with a maiden, whom he marries. Seven years later, the giant appears to collect his due. The prince and his wife substitute the cook’s son and then the butler’s son, with the same disastrous results as in Nix. The giant raises the lad until manhood, then offers him his choice of one of his two eldest daughters. The youngest daughter is pledged to the son of the king of the Green City, but the prince and the youngest daughter, Auburn Mary, have already fallen in love.”
“Wait,” says Melissa. “Auburn Mary? She has a name?”
“Yes. Nobody else does. The prince of Tethertown is invariably called ‘king’s son,’ even by Auburn Mary.
“King’s son’s choice of Auburn Mary angers the giant. He puts upon him the tasks of cleaning the stable, thatching its roof with down feathers, and climbing a tree for magpie eggs. Auburn Mary aids him. Extreme is having the king’s son kill her, strip her flesh, and use her bones as pegs to climb the tree for the eggs. He then reassembles her by her instructions but loses her little-finger bone. That becomes useful when the giant again tries to deceive him by having him choose between the three identically clothed sisters. His bride is the one with nine fingers.
“Auburn Mary realizes her father plans to kill them, and they flee, aided by a hoodie. The talismans that become barriers come out of the ear of the blue-grey filly they ride. The last is a water bladder that turns into a lough in which the giant drowns.
“Returning to his father’s kingdom, Auburn Mary sends king’s son on ahead to reunite with his parents and let them know about her. She warns him to let no one kiss him, or he will forget all about her. His old greyhound greets him with a lick on the face, and forgetfulness falls upon him.
“A shoemaker finds her and gives her shelter until the day he is to deliver the shoes for the royal wedding about to take place. Auburn Mary follows him, ending up at the wedding feast, where she is given a glass of wine.
“Flames spring up from the wine, out of which flutter a golden pigeon and a silver pigeon. Three times, three grains of barley fall to the floor. Each time the silver pigeon devours them, the golden pigeon admonishes him for not sharing and reminds him of when she cleaned the stable, thatched the roof, and sacrificed her little finger for him. The king’s son remembers his true bride, and they are married.”
Melissa blinks. “There are certainly a lot of birds in this version: a wren, raven, hoodie, and pigeons, not to mention down feathers and magpie eggs.”
I am about to comment when a mounted, armored knight with drawn sword comes to sally forth.
“Oh dear,” Melissa regrets. “It’s my Prince Charming come to rescue me.”
“Aren’t I supposed to be drowned in this story?”
“He’s following the wrong script. I’d better dismiss you from my dream.” She raises a hand in the air and mutters what must be a spell.
“Well, hurry,” I say.
Prince Charming’s horse has leapt into my lap and starts up my belly as if it were a steep hill. I see the sun glinting off the edge of the blade as it reaches its zenith and descends toward my throat.
I sit straight up in bed, clutching my neck.
Nope. Still there. Melissa cut that awfully close.
I have started to delve into my Book Launch Strategy Checklist from Kindlepreneur. It is a one-page summary that I settled on, to keep me on track. IngramSpark has a good article on their site, Book Launch Checklist: A Cheat Sheet for Your New Release, which I found useful. It is thorough, about eight pages long, but not really a checklist with boxes to check off. If you google (yes, google has become a verb) the term “Book Launch Checklist,” you will get pages of offerings from which to choose.
One of the items on my checklist is the front cover reveal. Well, here is my proposed cover for this next book (a sequel to A Vacant Throne). I played around with Binge AI’s image generator and also Canva’s generator. I glanced at Leonardo’s AI, which looks pretty good too. There are dozens of image generating options to play with for free; doesn’t cost you anything to get your paws wet.
How does it work? Type in a description, say, “This is a fantasy book cover about a medieval world of cats. The main character is a female calico cat. She wears a leather vest and holds a sword. The background is a stone arch.”
Most of the generators will give you four images to look at. You can repeat the instructions with a click and get four more images, or refine your instructions and try again. You can do this again and again and again and . . .
Warning: the more you do this, the wackier it gets. It will put a cat’s head on an otherwise human body, or a human’s face on a cat’s body, or it might forget that the cat is supposed to be a calico or that there is supposed to be a sword (as in the case above. I liked it anyway.)
Cheapskate that I am, I used the free versions, but they gave me an introduction to this whole realm. I am sure the paid versions have much more facility.
I will embarrass myself and give you the history of A Vacant Throne’s cover design. First, I will confess that I am an incurable DIYer and make no pretense of recovering. Below is my first cover.
You should note the title. A really terrible title. Why? It says nothing about the book. I thought myself clever. The name is derived from the Greek word for “cat.” But, my story has nothing to do with the Greeks! The word conveys no meaning to the reader. Only the castle starts to give a hint of the story’s setting. The cover also lacks a sub-title.
I still like the look of this cover, but it does not meet genré expectations. Let me underline this. It Does not meet genré expectations. Take a look at a romance cover, and then look at self-help cover. The difference will be clear. If a genré reader does not see what they expect to see, they will look elsewhere.
Next, I stowed my DIY inclinations in a dark corner and searched for a professionally designed cover. This one I found on BookZone. On sites like this (again, there are many) there can be found unused book covers often for under $150. Cover designers typically make multiple versions for a client from which to choose. The rejects end up on sites like BookZone at bargain prices. BookZone includes the software onsite to put your title and other descriptions on the cover and back cover, make small alterations, and create the properly sized spine. Quite a nice service.
I loved the cover at first. “Throne” was in the new title, and a throne was on the cover. That remained the cover for some time. Gradually, I recognized the cover was rather dark and brooding. More dark and brooding than my story. Perhaps more importantly, no “live” character graced the image. The cover was cold.
Entered my son with his access to Midjourney one holiday gathering and produced this image of my main character. My DIY leapt from its corner, taking me over once more. I slapped a title at the top, my name at the bottom, and replaced the cover. Now, a cat holding a sword, dressed for battle, jumped out at the viewer from a book in which cats are the main characters.
Not for long. That it does not meet genré expectations reared its ugly head. The black bar at the top and bottom would not do.
Climbing up the learning curve in Publisher, I produced and settled on this version. Note that the image of the cat is much larger, which, when seen on Amazon as a thumbnail, is more striking. I also have a thin outline around the fonts to make them stand out and not blend into the colors behind them. Your cover must look good as a thumbnail. That is what your prospective reader will be clicking on to get to your product page. Worry about the small stuff.
Next month, I plan to agonize over ARC’s (Advance Reader Copies).
I had decided that I would not sulk around the house this year when my daughter, as is traditional, would whisk my Thalia away from me in February (school be damned) to visit her late husband’s relatives in Glasgow. Well, it has been three years, given the circumstances, since this visit was made. I did have a reprieve.
But now, Thalia is gone, and I rang up Duckworth to see if he was available for lunch. He, too, has been abandoned by his wife and children for a visit to her relatives, whom he cannot stand. He and I are compatriots.
We are sitting in Rock and Sole Plaice waiting for our meal. True, every pub in London has fish and chips on its menu. But here, there are nearly a dozen variations. Duckworth, adventurous soul that he is, ordered the calamari and chips. I stuck to the plaice, although tempted by the Proper King Prawns.
“Tell me,” says Duckworth as we wait. “What bizarre fairy tale have you stumbled across recently?”
“Well you should ask,” I say. “With Thalia gone, I contented myself last night by plunging into Grimm. I chanced upon a tale I had read before but taken little notice of. This time, it caught my curiosity.”
“I’m all ears,” Duckworth grins.
“Perhaps you should be,” I say. “Its about a donkey. In fact, it is called The Donkey.
A king and queen at long last have a child, but it is a donkey. The queen wants to drown it, but the king says if this is God’s will, it will inherit the throne.
The donkey grows up with all the benefits of a prince. Being attracted to music, he learns to play the lute as well as his teacher, despite his hooves.
At length, he ventures into the world after seeing his reflection in still water and truly realizes he is, by all appearances, a donkey.
He travels to a distant kingdom, and there he asks for entrance into the castle as a guest. Being a donkey, his request is denied by the guard. The donkey sits down by the gate and plays his lute. The guard, amazed, reports this to the king. The king, entertained by the idea of a lute-playing donkey, invites the donkey into the castle.
The donkey refuses to eat with the servants or even the knights. Being of royal birth, he insists upon eating at the king’s table. The king, amused, agrees. The donkey’s manners are impeccable, and he is seated by the king’s lovely daughter.
As time goes on, the king becomes exceptionally fond of his “little donkey.” However, the donkey realizes the futility of his presence at this king’s court and asks leave to return to his home.
The king offers him gold and half his kingdom if he will stay, but this is not what the donkey wants. The king then offers his daughter in marriage. At that, the donkey agrees to stay.
That night, the wedding is held, but the king immediately has second thoughts and arranges that a servant hide himself in the bedchamber to assure that the donkey conducts himself properly.
When the donkey believes all is secure, he throws off his donkey skin and reveals his true, handsome self to his bride, who is delighted. In the morning, he returns to his donkey skin.
The servant reports to the king, who is amazed and wishes to see all this for himself. The servant advises that the king take the donkey skin and burn it, which the king does.
In the morning, the handsome prince cannot find his skin and tries to flee. The king waylays him and offers, again, half his kingdom if the prince stays. The prince relents.
Eventually, he inherits all of the kingdom, plus his own father’s kingdom, and lives out his life in splendor.
“Oh, really?” says Duckworth, shaking his head. “Way too easy.”
Fairy Tale of the Month: February 2024 The Donkey – Part Two
Author + AI
Donkey’s Skin
The meals arrive, and conversation halts as we sample our choices.
“‘Way too easy’ you say?” I comment after I decide I made the right menu choice.
“Well.” Duckworth sets down his fork. “As I understand story structure, be it literary or oral, there must be a crisis, a high point of tension, at the climax of the story.
“In our case, the prince cannot find his familiar donkey skin, tries to flee, and is stopped by the king, who offers him half the kingdom if he stays. The prince says, ‘What the hell. Why not?’
“This is not a crisis. There is nothing to lose but the curse of a donkey skin in return for half a kingdom! The stakes are not high.”
“I do agree,” I confess. “The end of the story falls flat. I feel the same way as you, but the earlier part of the story holds promise.”
“Such as?” Duckworth picks up his fork again to attack his meal.
“Well,” I contemplate, setting my fork down, “I am encouraged by the donkey’s father refusing to drown the poor thing, but rather giving him all the benefits of royal birth. The donkey takes to music and learns to play the lute, which should be impossible. This shows the reader or listener that there is more to this creature than being just a donkey.
“Perhaps my favorite part is when he sees his reflection in still water and sees himself as the rest of the world sees him. This is the point—in Hero’s Journey terms—when he crosses the threshold and ventures into the greater world to try, I suppose, to find himself. What he knows is inside him, and what he sees in the still water are two different things he needs to reconcile.”
“I’ll buy that,” says Duckworth, dipping a chip into the sauce. “Go on.”
“He passes two tests: getting into the castle by a show of his musical talent, and then getting to the king’s table by insisting on his rank. The king appears more amused by the donkey’s claim than convinced, but nonetheless, seats the donkey beside his daughter.
“However, in time, the donkey, despite his achievements, could see no way forward, especially concerning the princess. When he asks leave to return home, the king, to the donkey’s delight, offers him his daughter in marriage to tempt the donkey to stay.”
Duckworth raises his fork. “Isn’t that, ah . . .”
“Sexist?” I supply. “Well yes, but women were property back then, and back then was not so long ago, and don’t get me started on that or I will lose my point.”
Duckworth lowers his fork and applies it to his calamari.
“Where was I?” I continue. “Oh yes. In the bridal chamber he finally reveals his true identity to the princess and, I will suggest, to himself. But then, in the morning, he retreats back into his lesser, familiar form. It is only when the king destroys the donkey skin is he forced to accept himself in his true nature.”
“That does put the story in a new light for me.” Duckworth salutes me with his last chip before popping it into his mouth.
“What fascinates me,” I continue, “is the fairy-tale trope of the hero feeling he has to disguise himself for no apparent purpose. That bit I have never figured out.”
“Wait.” Duckworth’s eyes narrow. “This is not your typical line of argument. Who have you been talking to?”
He’s caught me.
“I had this same conversation last night with Melissa.”
“I thought so. She has much influence over you, you know.”
Picking up my fork, I say, “For the better, I hope.”
Fairy Tale of the Month: February 2024 – Part Three
Author + AI
A Stroll
Leaving the Rock & Sole Plaice by hopping into Duckworth’s Morris Minor, we make our way down to Victoria Embankment Gardens to walk off some of the calories we absorbed and to visit Cleopatra’s Needle, simply to have a destination.
As we walk down a gravel path, Duckworth asks, “So, why do you think the Grimms wrote this story?”
“That’s a hard question to answer, given that they did not write them and yet they did.”
“Sounds like an answer off to a wrong start,” Duckworth quips.
“Well, it’s simply that the Grimm brothers collected the stories from various sources, including variants, then wrote them up in a coherent fashion, trying not to stray too far from the originals, at least in the first edition, which they considered to be a scholarly work.
“Their purpose was to establish a ‘German Folk Voice’ in the context of the rising German nationalism. Remember, this was in 1812, when the Holy Roman Empire still held sway. There were only empires, no nations.”
We pass the erotic statue that graces the Arthur Sullivan Memorial. Arthur being of the famous operatic duo Gilbert and Sullivan.
Is that the definition of bad taste?
Duckworth glances sidelong at me. “I hear you leading to something amiss when you say, ‘at least in the first edition.’”
“Quite so. The Grimms quickly realized their larger audience was the children of bourgeois families. After the first edition, Wilhelm took over Kinder- und Hausmärchen, leaving Jacob to lead in their more scholarly works (a dictionary and a collection of Germanic mythology). There were six more editions of Kinder- und Hausmärchen; Wilhelm could not leave it alone.
“Wilhelm, in consideration of his Christian audience, eliminated most of the pagan references in the original stories and supplanted them with more Christian elements. Angels appeared in some of the rewritten versions, who had not haunted the tales before then.”
We now stroll beside the Thames. Duckworth returns to my earlier point. “They were seeking the ‘German Folk Voice’ you say?”
“Yes, which involved a bit of irony. A number of the better-known tales, like Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty, the Grimms collected from a friend and neighbor, Marie Hassenpflug of a French Huguenot family. The daughters of another neighbor, the Wild family, also of Huguenot origin, supplied quite a few other tales. One of these girls, Wilhelm ended up marrying.”
“Oh my,” says Duckworth, “collecting tales was quite a different business in those days, was it not?”
Cleopatra’s Needle comes into view.
“The Grimms were not the ‘field’ folklore collectors that were to follow,” I continue, “but depended upon friends and acquaintances to gather their material. For example, Philipp Otto Runge. He was a German Romantic painter and color theorist—and an exquisite mind that passed away too young. He sent the Grimms two stories, The Fisherman and his Wife, and The Juniper Tree. When Wilhelm read these tales, he was much impressed by Runge’s ‘voice.’ Wilhelm patterned the collection’s style on Runge’s.”
“Well, now that we are here,” says Duckworth, “we can turn around and go back. I think we can spend a little time at Sullivan’s memorial.”
So, my New Year’s resolution was to properly launch the squeal to A Vacant Throne. Here we are in the middle of February, and I haven’t forgotten about my resolution. Not a bad start.
Crucial to this process, of course, is proofreading. Don’t try this at home.
Seriously, don’t try to proofread your own work. You wrote those errors, and you will read right through them. Then there is comma usage and other such punctuation pitfalls. There are a number of online editors, such as Grammarly and Hemingway. Almost all of them have a free version worth checking out. For my (lack of) money, QuillBot has the best free version. It will integrate into Word (if you have a new enough version), and you can call it up in Word. The free version will process up to 20,000 words at a time. You may need to chunk your novel into digestible parts to use the free version.
A quick tip. If you use QuillBot in Word, bring it up, select Grammar Checker, then move your cursor over to the text and hit Ctrl A. The QuillBot’s AI magic is off and running.
“AI!” you may say. Don’t think you haven’t used it already. It is behind most search engines and many apps. AI is a tool. It is a hammer. We can use it to build a house or bash in our neighbor’s head. The choice is ours. And, like the hammer, it is here to stay.
I am not going to suggest you use an online editor in lieu of a living proofreader or editor. However, the cleaner a manuscript you submit to a professional, the more likely they will work with you in the future and the more professional you will look. Don’t underestimate that.
Years ago, when we mailed (not emailed) entire manuscripts to agents, the first time I did that, I was not careful to follow the precise instructions and sent it in the wrong font. It was returned to me in my SASE without a mark or comment upon it. I am sure he opened it, saw the wrong font, and sent it back to me unread. Research how to be professional.
One more item before I go crawling off to bed. I shelled out five bucks to get a book launch checklist from Paper Raven. For the five dollars, they offer up some other freebies, but which I have not explored as yet. I intend to use the checklist. One of my faults is being unstructured. I’ll let you know how this works for me. And, yes, I am a panster.
All I have to do now is run the above through QuillBot, and I can go to bed.
I find the winter doldrums a good time to straighten things up around the house, especially my study. My table, piled high with stacks of books, became my first target to establish orderliness.
I have them mostly back in their proper places on the bookshelves, but here in front of me, previously hidden by dusty tomes, are three clear, acrylic paperweights with a blooming flower captured at each of their centers. The three sat in the box they came in. A gift from—I don’t recall.
How long have they been here?
I pick the box up and head for the third floor, to what I think of as the nick-nack room. It brims with items I own but have no use for.
The bare, wooden stairwell up to the third floor echoes with the hollow sound of my footsteps. I should probably carpet this someday. I open the door to the nick-nack room and am greeted by darkness and a cold draft. A window must have been left cracked open.
I reach for the light switch and find my hand touching the bark of a tree trunk. Around me are other trees barely visible in the moonlight. Not far ahead is a campfire, its light showing the arc of a wagon wheel and the broad side of a caravan, as well as the figures of three, black shawled, seated women. I venture forward.
“Ladies,” I say in greeting.
“Ah! Here he is at last,” says one of the three ancient crones I see before me. “Sit, sir. You have taken your time. Look at us! What makes you think we would last much longer?”
“Oh, sister,” says another of them. “Don’t be hard on him. He is here in time for us.”
“And so he is,” says the third. “I will start the stories.”
In a fair forest lived a girl along with her four brothers, father, and mother. She had fallen in love with a handsome, rich huntsman, but he would take no notice of her, never answering her calls to him.
She entreated the devil to aid her. He gave her a mirror and told her to show it to the huntsman. She did, but the huntsman knew this to be the work of the devil and ran away. Too late, the girl found out that whoever looked into the mirror thereafter belonged to the devil and that both she and the huntsman were now his.
Still, the devil promised she would get her huntsman if she would give him her four brothers, father, and mother. The girl, for her love of the huntsman, did so.
The four brothers, the devil turned into four strings, each of a different thickness. The father, the devil made into a strangely shaped wooden box with one long arm. The mother became a stick with her hair becoming horsehair.
Stringing the father with the four brothers and drawing the mother across the strings, the devil invented the violin. The music he played caused the girl to laugh and cry. The devil told the girl to play the violin to attract her huntsman. This she did, and the huntsman was drawn to her.
They only had nine days together before the devil returned and demanded they worship him. They refused, and the devil took them away, leaving the violin on the forest floor. One of the Roma found it and played it for all who would listen, causing them to laugh or cry at his will, depending on how he played.
“Do my eyes play tricks on me?” I say. “Now that this story has ended, the three of you look a good bit younger than when I sat down with you.”
They laugh, smile, and nod to each other.
Fairy Tale of the Month: January 2024 Romany Tales – Part Two
Caravan
Next Tale
The second of the Roma women feeds the campfire. Sparks fly up like little stars ascending to heaven. She adjusts her shawl around her shoulders and begins her tale.
The emperor of Bukovina gave a ball, during which a mist descended and carried away the empress. The emperor’s three sons set off to search for their mother.
They came to a place in the road that went off in three directions. Each brother took one of the paths. The youngest, a seer as well as a prince, suggested they each take a bugle to blow upon and call the others should they find their mother.
Entering a forest, the youngest eats an apple from a tree, and two horns grow on his head. While crossing a stream, the flesh fell from his body. At another apple tree, he declared he would follow God’s will and eat another apple. The horns fell from his head, and when he forded another stream, his flesh was restored.
On a mountain, he found a spot bare of trees with a boulder setting at its center. He found he had the power to move the rock easily, which covered a huge, deep hole. With his bugle, he called his brothers. They made a rope from the bark of trees, and it was the youngest who was lowered in a basket into the hole; the elder brothers not willing to try.
In the world below, he came to a house in which dwelt a princess, carried off and kept there by a dragon. The prince inquired of his mother, and the princess sent him to her sister’s house, and she on to the youngest sister’s house. It was she who knew where to find the empress.
He rescued his mother as well as the three princesses and had his brothers pull them up one by one in the basket. Before he sent the youngest princess up, they pledged marriage.
Not trusting his brothers, he put a stone in the basket, and, as he suspected, halfway up, the brothers let go of the rope. Wandering into the dragon’s palace, he found a rusted ring. When he polished it, a little man appeared to grant his wishes. The youth wished to be in the upper world.
After returning, he washed his face with certain water, which altered his appearance. He went to his father’s tailor to become his apprentice, knowing the wedding clothes would soon be ordered.
The youngest princess refused to marry either of the two brothers, so they arranged to marry the other two sisters. The youngest prince/apprentice, with the help of the magic ring, made marvelous wedding clothes and was invited to the palace. The brothers decided to marry off the youngest princess, who had refused them, to this apprentice. She, at first, again refused to marry, but the apprentice revealed his identity to her, and she accepted.
The apprentice/prince had his little man build a three-story castle that turned on a screw to follow the sun. The roof of the castle was made of glass in which swam fish so that guests would look up and see fish sporting about.
During the wedding feast, the younger brother washed his face with other certain water, and all now recognized him. He challenged his brothers to come out with him, so that all three could cast their swords high into the air. If they were innocent, their swords would fall in front of them. If not, the swords would strike them on their heads. In this manner, the two elder brothers killed themselves.
“I am sure of it now,” I say. “You all are indeed younger. Your skin, no longer wrinkled.”
Even their shawls have changed. Instead of somber black, they are laced with red and blue threads.
“Of course,” says the second of them, “that is why you are here.”
Fairy Tale of the Month: January 2024 Romany Tales – Part Three
Gustave Doré
Last Story
The third woman puts a log on the fire, sending up another wave of sparks. I am sure her story is next in the round-robin of Romany tales.
She sits quietly, looking into the flame before speaking.
The Red King declared he would reward anyone who could tell him who it was that every evening stole the food he had locked away for himself. His three sons tried in turn, but only the youngest managed to stay awake. He witnessed his baby sister turn into a hideous witch, steal the food, and, with a somersault, turn back into a baby.
Instead of telling his father about what he saw, he asked for money and a horse so that he may go out into the world and find a wife. He buried the money in a stone chest and marked the spot with a stone cross.
He traveled for eight years until he came to the Queen of the Birds. He told her he looked for the place where there was no death or old age before he would marry. She told him that with her, there would be no death or old age until she had whittled away her forest. That did not satisfy the prince.
He traveled on for another eight years until he came to the Maiden of the Copper Castle. She told him there would be no death or old age with her until the mountain and forest were leveled.
Again, the prince traveled on until his horse warned him they had come to the Plain of Regret, and they must flee.
They came next to the home of the wind, who appeared to be a lad. Here there was no death or old age, and the prince declared he would never leave.
After a hundred years, he was warned by the wind to never go near the Mountain of Regret or the Valley of Grief. The prince did not listen, went there, was overcome with both, and desired to go home.
The wind told him that nothing remained of the Red King’s realm and that, in fact, a million years had passed. Again, the prince did not listen. While returning, he came across the Maiden of the Copper Castle. Nothing was left but the dying maiden. He buried her and went on. The very same thing happened with the Queen of the Birds.
When he arrived at the place of his father’s kingdom, all he could find was his father’s well. There was his witch/sister, who attacked him, but she, too, perished when he made the sign of the cross.
He met an old man who would not believe his story. To convince the old man, the prince found the spot where he buried the stone chest. Only the very tip of the stone cross remained above ground.
The prince dug up the stone chest and opened it. Inside, sitting on the coins, were death and old age, who leapt out and seized the prince. The old man gave him a decent burial, placed the stone cross at his head, and left with the money and the prince’s horse.
“Well, well,” I mutter.
The three young girls, brightly dressed in scarves, bangles hanging from their wrists—the shawls gone—smile back at me. The sun is rising, and I see my box of paperweights lies in my lap. I hand each of the girls a present, over which they ooh and aah.
“Ah, but kind sir,” one says, “we must now take from you your memory of this evening that we can remember ourselves as you see us now; then we will not forget and become old again.”
Lightly, they touch their fingertips to my head. I thrill at this odd sensation, then find myself at the nick-nack door.
Why am I standing here? What did I come for? Ah! This short-term memory stuff! It is so annoying getting old.
My writer’s journey today is about Reedsy. This is a service of great use to readers and writers. There is a ton of advice and instruction for writers, plus a few fun things like the Pen Name Generator.
I am focusing on the Reedsy Discovery app. Here is a list of books, submitted by authors, that have been reviewed by Reedsy-approved reviewers as well as readers. Readers can find recently published books filtered by their desired genré.
For us writers, here is part of our book launch. For a fifty-dollar fee, we can submit a book, pick a launch date, and select a reviewer, who may or may not decide to look at our book, although the book is still out there for other reviewers to pick up. In my case, my selected reviewer agreed to review the book but then did not. I emailed Reedsy and did get a response. Eventually, a reviewer did pick up my book and gave a good, thoughtful review. Having our book reviewed is not guaranteed, and our book will not appear on Discovery until it is reviewed. Basically, this is how Reedsy vets what is on the list.
However, because of this, my “launch date” was moved forward twice. That could be a logistical problem if we have another launch date on KDP. We would prefer that all of our launch activities happen at one time so that the Amazon algorithms take notice.
Another nice thing about getting a review, besides being part of Discovery’s listing, we can use part of that review in Amazon as an editorial review by submitting it through our Author Central page.
I got nine upvotes (thanks guys), which is not too bad. I take it that an upvote is a sort of “like.” I have not as yet made the grade to be listed in their weekly newsletter or at the top of their site. However, I have noticed some of the titles with that privilege don’t have all that many upvotes. Knocking around on the site, the highest upvotes I saw was 62. Most of the featured authors’ upvote count are in the teens.
Despite the ups and downs, I plan to use Reedsy as part of my book launch this year, my book launch being my new year’s resolution. The working title is Sword of Ailuros, but as in all things about genré publishing, I will have to consider if that is the best title.
More next month, until then check out Reedsy and its many resources.
Melissa has instituted the first, annual Christmas Day tea at the bookstore for her loyal customers, which involves Christmas cake and mince pie, as well as tea.
At 5:00 pm we all gathered. I was a little surprised—although I shouldn’t have been—to find both Augustus and Duckworth were among the loyal customers.
It is now 5:30 pm, and Melissa has asked Thalia to read a story to the gathering after allowing them thirty minutes to devour cake and pie and sip some tea. Jini is here too, for moral support.
Thalia takes the stage—actually a chair in front of everyone—and we take our seats. “I have chosen a story that may not sound like a Christmas tale. It does start with snow and ends happily. However, in between, there is death, giants, and violence. Well, it is a fairy tale.” Thalia glances at Melissa, who nods her head and quietly applauds. Thalia proceeds. “The story is called, The Snow, the Crow, and the Blood” by Seumas McManus from Donegal Fairy Stories.”
One day, in the dead of winter, Prince Jack went hunting and shot a crow. When he saw this dark bird, lying in the white snow with the bird’s red blood staining it, he thought to himself that he would marry the woman whose skin was as white as snow, hair as black as the crow’s feathers, and lips as red as blood. Jack soon set off to explore the world and find this woman.
On his travels, he soon came upon the scene of a dead man being refused burial until his debts were paid. Taking pity on the corpse, Jack gave all his money to settle the accounts. Traveling on, penniless, a little red man caught up to Jack to become his “boy.”
That first night, they came to the castle of the Giant of the Cloak of Darkness. The little red man defeated the giant, they feasted and slept in the castle, and left in the morning with the Cloak of Darkness.
The second night was spent at the castle of the Giant of the Purse of Plenty. This giant had two heads, but everything else fell out as the day before.
The third night was spent at the three-headed giant’s castle, and they left in the morning with the Sword of Light, the little red man having used the Cloak of Darkness to defeat him.
With the Purse of Plenty, they purchased two fine horses, had them shod with gold, and made for the castle of the Princess of the East, who, the little red man said, was the very woman Jack wanted to marry.
They made a fine showing. Their gold-shod horses jumped the castle wall. They showered the people with gold coins. The Princess of the East called Jack to her and gave him the challenge of three tasks if he wished to marry her. As proof that failure insured the aspirant’s death, she showed him the Rose Garden of the Heads. There were three hundred and sixty-five rosebushes, three hundred and sixty-four of which had a prince’s head as its blossom. She desired Jack’s to be the three hundred and sixty-fifth.
The first task was to take the gold comb from her hair between midnight and morning, but she warned him that she would not be on earth. The little red man, wearing the Cloak of Darkness, followed her down to hell, where the devil greeted her warmly. Since the little red man could not be seen, he was able to steal the comb. The next evening—the second task—in a like manner he steals her diamond ring.
The third task was a little different. Jack had to give her the lips of the one who kissed her that night. For this, the little red man had to take with him the Sword of Light as well as the Cloak of Darkness when he followed the Princess of the East to hell, where the devil greeted her with a kiss.
After the tasks were achieved, the furious princess was obliged to marry Jack. The little red man gave Jack a wedding present of ten blackthorn rods. Each day, Jack broke one of them over the princess. At the end, she was dispossessed of the devil.
After that, the little red man revealed that he was the dead man for whom Jack paid the debts. He then, with fond words, disappeared, leaving Jack and the princess to live happily ever after.
The end of Thalia’s story is greeted by more than one “Ah ha!” and a round of applause.
Fairy Tale of the Month: December 2023 The Snow the Crow and the Blood – Part Two
Frank Verbeck
Tea Conversation
The murmur of multiple conversations fills the bookstore. Augustus, Duckworth, and I pull our chairs to where Thalia, Jini, and Melissa are seated on a couch enjoying their mince pie.
“I am going to guess,” Duckworth begins, “this snow, blood, and bird is some sort of motif.”
“Oh, yes,” Thalia and Augustus chorus, then look at each other and laugh. Augustus gestures for Thalia to go on.
“Best known is Snow White. At least in some versions, before she is born, her mother, the queen, is stitching by an ebony wood-framed window on a wintery day, watching the snow fall. She pricks her finger, drawing a little blood. She wishes for a child as red as blood, white as snow, and black as ebony.
“When the child is born, it has those colors, blood-red lips, skin white as snow, and ebony-black hair. Unfortunately, the queen dies in childbirth, and the evil queen enters the picture.”
“Then,” Augustus puts in, “there is Deirdre of Irish mythology.”
“I don’t know the Irish tales,” Jini comments.
Melissa explains. “The story of Deirdre is considered the great Irish tragedy. She was born with the destiny to cause great conflict among men because of her beauty. The king tried to prevent this conflict by hiding the child away until of an age that he could marry her himself.
“Before the marriage could take place, Deirdre saw a raven in the snow, drinking the blood of a slaughtered calf. She declared she would marry only the man with cheeks as red as blood, hair as black as the raven, and his body as white as snow.
“She soon met that warrior and ran off with him, triggering the conflict the king had wished to prevent, the king himself seeking revenge and to win back his bride.”
“Let me add to the list,” I say. “I am thinking of The Juniper Tree. It is not exactly the same but certainly of the same ilk. The wife of a merchant is standing under a juniper tree in the garden, in winter, peeling an apple. She and her husband hoped for a child, but none had been granted to them. While peeling the apple, she cuts her finger, and a drop of blood falls onto the snow. She wishes for a child as white as snow and as red as blood.”
“No black?” observes Duckworth.
“Not in this tale,” I shrug. “But it is the same motif.”
“Well,” Duckworth frowns, “isn’t having Prince Jack—and I do love having such a humble name for a prince—seeing the blood, snow, and bird a bit of a turnaround; that is a guy instead of a gal?”
“It is,” says Augustus. “However, the fairy tales will do that on occasion, putting one gender into a situation usually reserved for the other. There are Cinderella stories with male protagonists.”
At this point, I realize I haven’t tried the Christmas cake and wander off to get myself a piece and refill my teacup.
Fairy Tale of the Month: December 2023 The Snow the Crow and the Blood – Part Three
Frank Verbeck
More Conversation
“Who was the little red man?” Jini asks as I am returning with my treats. I discovered someone added a plate of cookies to the fare.
“One of the fear dearg,” says Augustus. “A fairy, not unlike a leprechaun, but dressed in red, not green. They can be troublesome, sometimes dangerous as all fairies can be, but a good friend to those whom they like.
“I scratch my head a little over a human corpse turning a fear dearg, being that fairies are fallen angels, but I won’t let that stop me from enjoying a good story.”
“Yeah,” says Thalia, “the little man actually being the corpse got me.”
“The grateful dead,” says Melissa.
“Isn’t that a rock group?” Thalia cocks her head.
“Yes,” Melissa nods and smiles, “but they got their name from the motif.”
“And the motif is pretty universal,” Augustus fills in. “I first heard of it as a Romany tale. The motif usually involves the grateful dead solving the mystery of the bride, whose husbands do not survive the wedding night. Inside the woman is a dragon, snake, or demon that destroys the groom.”
“I have run across this before,” comments Melissa as she finishes her mince. “It comes straight out of the apocryphal Book of Tobit with the angel Raphael standing in for the grateful dead.”
“Wow,” says Duckworth, “that makes the motif pretty old.”
“Let me suggest,” I say nibbling my cookie, “all of the motifs were invented by the Bronze Age, and the storytellers carried them forward in one storyline or another.”
“Shouldn’t that all have gotten old by now?” Duckworth quips.
“Ah, but,” I say, “each generation is a new audience.”
Duckworth nods his consent.
“But this time,” Thalia says, “it got mashed up with the Celtic giants.” Jini giggles.
“‘Mashed up’ might be the right phrase,” Melissa reflects. “The term ‘giant’ seems to be a northern thing, I have noticed. The Norse have Jotunheim, the Land of Giants. Toward the Mediterranean, they get called ogres. I am not sure they are the same thing.”
“And the increasing number of giant heads? Is that another motif?” Duckworth asks.
“I don’t think it rises to that level.” I finish my Christmas cake. “The first giant having one head, the second having two, and the third having three doesn’t add to the storyline as a motif does. It is there for light entertainment.
“Then comes the Princess of the East,” Melissa contributes. “The usual heads of failed princes on spikes are replaced by their heads as ‘blooms’ on rosebushes. I thought that a particularly striking image, not to mention that there are three hundred and sixty-five bushes, the same number as days in a year. That might suggest another dimension to the story.”
“One more question.” Duckworth finishes his tea. “I get the three tasks; that is pretty traditional—although that third task, poor devil—what about the ten blackthorn rods to exorcise the princess?”
“Oh,” says Augustus, “very Celtic. They have a special relationship with the blackthorn. It is associated with fairies, witches, and magic. Don’t let the moon fairies catch you cutting down a blackthorn at the wrong time of the month! There are many shillelaghs made of blackthorn.
“Why ten, I don’t know. That is not usually a magical number. That I cannot answer.”
Please check this out on or after the 20th. This event will be the subject of January’s Mid-month, and I’ll try to explain the thing about “upvoting” and more on how Reedsy works.
I wasted a few frustrating hours today reviewing how Mailerlite works, over something I thought was set and done. I need to back up a bit by way of explanation.
A prerequisite for a successful self-publisher is a large and engaged email list. In my struggle to build my list, I have adopted what is becoming a common practice, under the philosophy that in order to get something, you must give something away. Sounds fair and is.
In the case of self-publishers, if you give me your email address, I will give you something for free. However, once you, the author, have the email, you still need to keep the email holder engaged.
In the back of my A Vacant Throne, in one format or another, be it the paperback or the e-book, is the opportunity to get my “every growing book,” Stories and Poems of Trueterra, which relates to my novel, in exchange for your email. Periodically, I add another story or poem to the collection, email my list so they can download and replace the old version with the new version, and get another story or poem, keeping them engaged. At this point, all nineteen of them.
Back to Mailerlite. They offer a wonderful, free version of their software, which allows me to do all I described above. However, they are upgrading and informed their users they need to “migrate” to the new system, which I did, tested, and found it no longer worked.
Mailerlite is sophisticated, powerful, complicated, and not easy to navigate. They have made it as easy as possible, and I appreciate that. Nonetheless, there is a learning curve, which I passed through over a year ago when I set this up, and I had totally forgotten all of it. I spent hours reviewing their useful tutorials until I once again had a grasp of what I needed to do.
I reviewed my setup, and everything was in place. It should have worked. I tried it again. It worked. (Sigh.)
Why it didn’t work the first time, I don’t know. Something had not finished migrating or updating. Maybe the AI behind it was not woke. I don’t know, but all appears well.
Hey, if you would test this out for me, join my email list, and get a free e-book, here is the link. (As a self-publisher, never miss an opportunity.)
Fairy Tale of the Month 