On Marketing

Last night, I had one of those epiphanies that seem to be self-evident, but sometimes are not. I went out for dinner with a group of lively, amazing female friends. 

That was excitement enough, but most of them had recently read my new book, SweetKaroline, and they actually wanted to talk about it! They didn’t have to. We could’ve mentioned the book, perhaps, and moved on. They were genuinely excited about Sweet Karoline. I believe they honestly liked it and think it’s my best work.

Our discussions ranged from “who wrote the diary?” to debates about race and bigotry and child abuse to questions about how a book or its author becomes well known.

As to the latter, I have often slipped into pity mode on this score. I tweet, do paid advertising, plaster myself all over the free sites, and generally try every trick I can think of to promote my books. My novels aren’t easy reads, I have to admit. But I know there are people out there (like me) who love to read challenging books. So I keep slogging and trust me, sometimes I am quite dispirited.

Then along comes that group of intelligent, spirited, interested women (whom I call the Bosco Bunch). They are genuinely excited for me. They get the messages in the book. One of them told me she identified with a huge number of passages. Another said she had garnered a new interest in the life of black and native Canadians. Those moments made every single second of cyber-selling worthwhile. Every doubt that I had about being an author was instantly dispelled. It didn’t matter that most of the world is sailing along without knowing my name or Sweet Karoline or the Emily Taylor mysteries. The readers who have ventured into my novels and are happy that they got their money’s worth are the reasons for publishing. 

Meeting with my readers face-to-face is the best possible scenario. Unfortunately, I can’t always do that. Thus I reach out to them through cyberspace.

As for the marketing grind, which I usually despise,   thanks to http://bookmarketingbuzzblog.blogspot.ca/2013/07/do-you-promote-books-like-dexter.html

I at last have a mantra. Here’s what they say about book marketing:

“…accept your uniqueness. You are a writer and a publicist, with your own voice, style, ideas, and experiences.  Be who you are meant to be.”

So I will pursue more face-to-face marketing opportunities, because, although they may be fewer and won’t bring me fame and fortune, they are the kind I love. They are “me”.

At the same time, I vow to embrace the tweeting and good-reading and shelfari-ing and facebooking and googling and well, you know the drill. As a writer I don’t love them, but as a publicist I shall!

 

Go here for my books: www.catherineastolfo.com

The Sweet Karoline launch dinner was

held at our favourite restaurant, Fanzorelli's.

If you live near Brampton, ON, go get some great food!

www.fanzorellis.ca 

The Music of Words

 In my family, we sing all the time and always did. Once when my nephew Jacob was little, buzzing around at our feet as my sisters and I worked in the kitchen, he lifted his gorgeous blond head and asked, “Does everybody sing like this?” We laughed but we didn’t have an answer. We just knew it was natural to us. 
     Any bit of conversation, any line, can remind us of some lyrics and cause us to burst into song. Usually, laughter follows, particularly when the song is an oldie or particularly funny.

     For me and my two sisters who came right after me, our mother was a stay-at-home mom. She sang in the kitchen and told us stories of her childhood, painting pictures of the farm, the depression, and a little red-haired girl who loved school. She had to quit when she was fourteen to work in a woolen mill miles away. I could always picture her long shapely legs carrying her up the hill at Norval, through the Brampton laneways, into the middle of town where the woolen mill still stands. It’s now an office building and a restaurant – even my dentist has his practice there.

     Mom told me she’d always wanted to be a writer, which was why she was especially proud of the fact that I inherited her gift and obsession. Her support and encouragement allowed me to actually become the author she’d dreamt about.

     It was a little different for our two younger sisters, because Mom went to work when they were quite young. However, the singing never stopped. Even through her dementia, our mother is beloved by her caregivers and her fellow residents for her propensity to burst into song at any moment. It makes them smile.

      I began to write as soon as I acquired the skill to string words together, around seven years old. I hear this often from other authors: that the desire to put sentences and ideas on paper began in early childhood and never abated. 
     I wake up in the morning with song lyrics, tunes, and stories in my head. How lucky is that? The Emily Taylor Mysteries

February 5-10, 2012

     One of the delights of our walks is spying and hearing all the birds as they hop around the branches in the quiet of the morning. The colours that seem to be predominant this year are yellow and orange: at any rate, those are the ones that have caught our eyes. Vince loves it when we discover a new species. He goes directly to his Birds of Mexico book to look them up and list them. We have found the white-ringed flycatcher, for instance. About the size of a robin, it's very distinctive with its yellow neck, which turns white at the head, with a black streak that circles the white along the beak and over the top of its head. Looks like s/he is wearing a mask. We've also seen the black-vented oriole for the first time. Again the size of a robin, this bird is jet black, with a yellow-orange breast. (See the pictures.)

     Of course there are the magnificent frigates, who soar on the breezes far overhead, and the graceful terns who call to one another as they skim the waves. Pelicans are numerous, diving into the sea where they gulp down a fish, sometimes so big they have to wiggle it through their gullets. The pigeons here are gorgeous, so many colours and patterns. They tiptoe up to the pool to have a drink, coo at us all day. Vultures hover when a dead fish washes up on the sand.
     One day we spied something that looked like a huge eel on the shore. Someone told us it was a barracuda. The vultures were extremely interested, but the body was too close to the umbrellas. A kind soul took it away before the smell became overwhelming.
     I know I've mentioned my grackles before. My guy who talks to me hasn't shown up very often. And I'm thrilled that my willet and curlew are back! I've written a children's storybook about them (kind of fudging the facts) and Vince is going to put pictures with it. First, Maire has to edit and approve.
     Last night, we spent hours on our balcony with Maire and John, just watching the sun set. Look at the sample of pictures that Vince got! The sky was so magnificent, it was like being at a play or fireworks: we oohed and ah-ed all night.

     We're also entertained by the ships - a big cruise ship, one cargo ship that carries a helicopter on its back.
      Some time while I merrily slept, the promised rain came barrelling in. Vince got up and brought the furniture in from the balcony and I heard nothing. Today is a grey one, with a light rain falling. Perfect for shopping (hop on a bus, take a cab back) and writing.
     The readers who answered my question about endings don't prefer happy ones, thank goodness. I'm not contemplating one for this book. But in the last few days, I've made a breakthrough I think. I believe I know where it's going, although that's not always the case when I get there.
     I'm always so lucky with being able to correspond with different writers and readers. Melodie and Cheryl Freedman are great friends as well as fellow writers, at various stages in our careers, and we share our processes and thoughts freely with one another. The Imajin Nation group, formed by our publisher, is an endless source of inspiration and encouragement, as well as information. Judy, whom I have known for many years but only just realized is an excellent writer, is just beginning to think about putting her memoirs into a book. She's had such a difficult journey so far in her life, fraught with tragedy and grief: I think her story would be encouraging to others who have suffered. Bev continues to be a source of inspiration, too. She is obsessed with her writing and willing to do anything to get just the right tone and technique. That's the sign of a real writer. I received an excerpt of a book about the south of France from a friend of a friend, and I am blown away by the potential. Although I haven't been able to meet with them yet, I've just been asked to join a group of CWC women writers, and I can't wait for the sharing to begin. I still have my MCM group too: we've been friends and fellow writers for 36 years. Having these connections is absolutely invigorating and necessary!
     I've finished the last proof of Legacy and now I have the cover. When I get back, the marketing work will restart. In the meantime, off to see where Sweet Karoline will really go...

To All The Girls I've Loved Before

     Maybe it’s because I grew up in a family of girls, but I have always had lots of girlfriends. I know Julio and Willie weren’t really singing about the friend kind of love, but I think the line is still appropriate.

    All my friends are no longer girls. They’re women. Not ladies, either, because none of us would conjure up high heels, crossed ankles, delicate laughs, or formal clothes. We can do that, but we’d rather not. We run around in sneakers, sit crossed-legged, laugh so loudly we get kicked out of restaurants, and are more comfy in track pants or jeans.

     My women pals are large (not necessarily in size, but in life), smart, loving, and unique. We talk about everything, from food to sex to other pleasures and pains. We discuss our husbands, or man friends, or other women, or television and movies. We recommend the latest books we’re reading. We love to all finish the same novel and then see the film version.

     Some of my friends are blood related. They’re my sisters. I love being with them. They’re funny and often wild and always interesting. Conversation never lulls. In fact, it’s surprising we can hear each other because we all talk at once. Our family get-togethers are absolutely nuts. We do recognize that it’s difficult for some of the significant others to take, but if they hang around long enough, they are loved so fiercely that, even if the relationship doesn’t last, the family connection often does. We have the hugest laughs you’ve ever heard and we indulge in laughing every few minutes.

     One of my sisters died nine years ago, and her laughter still rings in our ears, and we still see her mooning us from the car as we caravan down the highway. We still watch her dance on the deck or sit on the balcony watching a seagull float by.

     One of my closest friends is my cousin. We’ve known each other since birth, just like a sister, and have that flow of shared genes between us on top of our enduring friendship.

     I remember writing a poem a long time ago stating that the highest compliment I can give to one of my friends is that they are like a sister to me. Because for me, sister means joy, love, and hope.

     Some sisters are related by marriage (and continue even if the marriage didn't). Some have grown up with me. We met in high school or in our first year of teaching. We have literally gone through every twist and turn in the road that can be imagined. We’ve watched each other change and grow and learn. Others were met later along the path, but have no less a place in my heart and in my life.

     They’ve helped me through divorce (now that’s another story), child rearing, loss of loved ones, difficult times. They’ve been there at the celebrations and crossroads. Happily, I’ve been there for them, too, or at least I’ve tried.

     We support one another, praise or critique when deserved or needed, raise a glass or two or more in tears or laughter. We can bitch and complain without feeling censored or misunderstood. We can disagree without losing each other’s respect. In fact, sometimes it only heightens our esteem. We can be annoyed with another, because we can be real. It doesn’t shake that deep abiding love.

     I realize and never take for granted that I am especially lucky. I have lots of women friends. I adore them. They help me laugh, cry, think, learn, and grow. They demand that I be honest and true, not just to them, but to myself as well. As the saying goes, they insist that I be the best I can be.

     To all the girls I’ve loved before, I still love you now.