Tell Two Friends - And So On, And So On ...

I don't really know how to market my book. I mean, I know. It's all laid out there on the world wide web. But other than throwing myself at people in the grocery store and yelling READ MY NOVEL, I'm not sure how to reach the vast jillions of people out there.

I am, however, reading a book called Indiestructible: Inspiring Stories from the Publishing Jungle and it's helping me make sense of the ordeal that marketing an indie novel seems to be. It's not a how-to book, but it does lay out the experiences of authors from around the world. Some of them are published the traditional way; some are published through small presses; and some are entrepreneurs, completely self-published (like me).

I'm really enjoying the read. It gives me energy and, more importantly, hope. If you're a writer, any kind of writer, I recommend you give it a look. It cost me one whole buck on Amazon – and it could be the best buck you ever spend.

Still, I honestly believe the best way to market anything is through word of mouth. A couple years ago I was at my friend Tammy's for a visit and she started talking about some book called 50 Shades of Grey that had her absolutely hooked. "You HAVE to read this," she said. "I just can't put it down!"

Believe it or not I had never heard of 50 Shades until Tammy mentioned it. And because I love Tammy, I bought the book. I wonder how many copies of that infamous book were recommended exactly the same way?

I guess that's why I mentioned Indiestructible to you. Maybe I'm not over at your house, comfortably settled into a lawn chair with a Diet Coke, chatting about a great new book and waiting for the men to grill a few steaks. Maybe this is the best we can do, at least for now.

By the way, I just finished reading Stephen King's new novel, Doctor Sleep. For the first three-quarters, I was like, meh, it's merely OK. But as I reached the finish line King showed that he has still got it, in every conceivable way. When I finished the book I bawled like a baby, such was the emotional wallop that story packed. Like Tammy once said, "You HAVE to read it!" But since Stephen King has a few dollars and readers more than me, I suggest you read Green Eggs & Weezie first. :) And then tell two friends, just like this Heather Locklear Fabergé ad from the '80s:

Too Much Walking Dead?

I had the weirdest dream last night. My father had died and we were all at the funeral home, when Dad sat up in his coffin. He wasn't all zombified or gross or anything. Just confused. We told him to lie down, but he wasn't having it. So we helped him up and he shambled around the funeral home, then down the street, then back home. We didn't have the heart to tell him he was dead – I mean, how do you break that to someone? Awkward, right?

It reminded me of a story Dave likes to tell. His parents used to butcher their own chickens and it's apparently true that when you chop off the head of a chicken it continues to run around the yard for a bit. This one day their friends were over visiting and for some reason they were watching Dave's dad kill chickens. Maybe there was nothing on TV, who knows. It's not my idea of a good time, watching someone kill chickens, but hey, if it floats your boat ...

Well, this one hen lost her head then ran, spurting blood, over to the visitors, where she proceeded to corner the woman against a fence.

"Get it away!" she screeched. The woman, not the hen. "Do something! Kill it!"

"It's already dead!" howled Dave's father. "What more can I do????"

Last I saw my dead dad he was sitting on the couch, watching the news.

Exciting News: I Had A Bath

Feeling good today! Got lots done, including:

1. Cleaning out the kitty truffles. This is more satisfying than it sounds. I do it every day but occasionally I miss and on those days I genuinely miss sitting on the floor next to the putrid pans full of chocolatey pudding pops. I like digging through the dirt, looking for truffles. It's like mining for gold, or playing in a sandbox. (That's one of the truffle-donaters in the pic, my toothless little crooked-face stinky-pot, Ben-Ben.)

2. Having a bath. I needed one. Especially after looking after item #1. It's hard to keep your elbows and droopy parts out of the truffle bowl. (Note to self: wear bra next time.)

3. Outlining my next novel. YES! I did this! After a few weeks of just thinking about book two, I actually sat down with pen and paper in hand. Even better, said paper and pen were gifts from the lovely lassies in my Muskoka writing circle. I have lots more outlining to do before National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo) starts November 1, but at least I'm finally getting my game on. For those who don't know about Nanowrimo, it's an international festivus of writers who vow to write 50,000 words (or the better part of a novel) in the month of November. I took part a couple of years ago and it was the impetus and discipline I needed to write Green Eggs & Weezie. Anyone can take part. Always wanted to write a book? Now's your chance!

4. Opening a Twitter account. I used to be a Twit (some will argue I still am) but I closed my account after it was hacked. (Bah.) I've tried to look up my old writing buddies but if I missed you, let me know and I'll give you a follow!

5. Spamming everyone on Facebook and Twitter about Weezie. Heh-heh. Sorry. But I just HAD to tell everyone about the awesome-sauce article about Green Eggs & Weezie in the Almaguin News today! (Click here to admire its awesome-sauceness!)

6. Thanking Kristy from Ramblings of a Mad Woman and EvalinaMaria of This and That for posting about Weezie. Wow. I'm touched. Sincerely. You guys are so amazing. If I can ever return the favour for you, please let me know. oxox

7. Talking to my dear old friend Vic on the phone. Vic is an amazing pal who lives in my hometown. We talk once a week, usually for at least an hour (!), and she makes me laugh until my sides hurt. Usually I'm not much of a phone-talker. I'd rather get face time, if that's at all possible, but when I see it's Vic's number calling, I go put on the coffee and settle in for a good yak.

8. Watching the dog's bum hole. You knew I was gonna say that, right? Didn't want to disappoint...

Weezie And World Domination

I've been busier than a two-peckered rooster in a henhouse these last few days, what with celebrating yet another fecking birthday (yup, another year closer to wearing a tombstone on my head – and I thought I was having a bad hair day already), putting on an ab-fab Thanksgiving spread and obsessively checking my book stats.

It's the first thing I do in the morning and the last thing I do at night, and yes, it's the thing I do all day long, you know, when I'm not watching my dog's bum hole. Stats, bum hole. Bum hole, stats.

In the first few days after I released Green Eggs & Weezie, my book sold like silicone in Beverley Hills. In fact, it sold so well that it made #25 on the the Amazon.ca bestseller in fiction and literature list. I kid you not! But let's be real – that was only, like, 10 books. Apparently in Canada it only takes 10 books to be a bestselling author, but of course only 12 people live here. In igloos.

Alas, when all my friends and family finished buying their books, Weezie slid off the bestseller list and into the absolute obscurity of #1,950 in Canada and #130,975 in America. I haven't sold any books anywhere else. I can't imagine why non-English-speaking people in Japan and France haven't picked up my book. And I was sure there would be a rush on it in Denmark.

As of this morning, I've sold 51 books. Fifty-one! I'm RICH! heheheh... Seriously, that makes me happy. It does. And I am grateful to each and every one of you who bought one. THANK YOU dear hearts! It's a blessed wonder to have such friends!

Now the problem is, I'm outta friends. How is Weezie supposed to secure World Domination now???? I frankly have no idea. Do you? Seriously, any ideas for spreading the word on ol' Weezie-pants? I could use some advice. Oh, and if you feel the need to buy a book, here's some links:

Amazon.ca

Amazon.com

Kobo

Chapters/Indigo

Amazon.uk

For now, Green Eggs & Weezie is only available as an e-book. I'm thinking about making it available as an actual hardcover book but that's on the back-burner for now as I approach National Novel Writing Month and start to embrace the idea of writing novel #2. But for those without a Kindle or an e-reader, you can still buy the book and read it on your computer or your tablet or even your phone. When you buy the book from Kobo, you're given the choice on how you want to read it. With Amazon, you can download free apps to read it how you choose.

And to anyone who has read Weezie, and liked it, I would sincerely appreciate a review on any of the bookseller's websites, or on Goodreads, or on your own Facebook page or blog.

Oh, and please tell me if I'm being a pain. I don't want to be obnoxious about this – it's the LAST thing I want.

Hugs to you all! And again. Thanks.

Alice Munro And My Dog's Ass

I'm so happy about Alice Munro winning the Nobel Prize for Literature. Happy, thrilled, proud, pumped – all that great stuff. I always feel a special affinity – a bond, if you will – with this great Canadian author, not just because she is Canadian, as am I, and she is a woman (me too) and she's old as dirt (I am as old as fresh dirt, whereas she's more like the stuff in the bottom of that philodendron that's been sitting on top of your fridge since the Boer War), but because we write EXACTLY THE SAME.

Take what I am about to write, for example. It is so remarkably like Alice Munro's work that you will think I stole it directly from her.

Do you have to tell your dog to poo?

I do and it just drives me fecking crazy. I mean, I know she has to poo. Her little bum hole, which has been exposed since her last trip to the sawmill, pooches out when poo is imminent. The more she has to poo, the bigger her little bum hole is. Sometimes it's so big I fear her tail might get caught in it.

I keep a close eye on her bum hole. Every chance I get, I'm looking at it. I'm beginning to think I'm a gay dog, such is my fascination. But I have to, because she's not paying it any attention at all. I say, "Misty, wanna go outside?" And she gets excited and I let her out and she runs down the stairs and squats and pees. I'm watching her, and I see her bum hole is about the size of a personal-pan pizza, and I know she has to poo, but nope. She finishes piddling, looks at me with the happy grin of somebody who just won the lottery, and runs up the stairs. "Lookitme! Ipeed! Ipeed! Lemmeinsowecanwatchthefoodnetworktogether!" That's what her face says. Her bum hole, however, is now the size of a soccer ball.

"Get down there and go poo," I order. I have to tell her thrice and finally she slinks down the stairs like she's just been beaten. She stands at the bottom and gives me her best sad puppy face. "Go on," I say. "Get pooing." She prances slowly around the yard like she's the most hard done by dog on the planet, which she may be, because surely she's the only one whose bum hole is so intricately described on the internet. She waddles around for a while, throwing me the occasional piteous glance, then tries to convince me she's done. Her bum hole is now the size of our cat, and we have a cat with the girth of a mini-van. "Go poo," I growl. Finally, blessedly, she squats, lays a substantial and no doubt satisfying turd where Dave always walks across the lawn, and her bum hole magically shrinks back to a happy little pinhole.

I've written about telling my dog to go poop before, probably more than once, but I don't think I've ever mentioned her bum hole and how much time I spend watching it. For easy figuring, I bet I look at her bum hole a full hour every day. That's 365 hours a year, or nine full work weeks, staring at my dog's ass.

I know, right? Alice Munro. It's fecking incredible.

I didn't take a picture of my dog's bum hole because it might be the object
of affection for some porn-addled web weirdos. Besides, is nothing sacred? Geez....