Tag Archives: lindy moone

News updates: health, book covers, paperbacks

I’d originally started this blog as a blog, but really it’s more of a news site these days for whatever’s going on in my publishing adventures (thus the lack of regular posts). But there has been a little news in the last month, and here it is:

News 1: Weight loss/Health

Despite not being a blogger, I did start a bloggy sort of thing the other day — a weight loss challenge. If you’re curious, you can read my first post on my wife’s blog: John’s Little Problem.  I’ll be posting something there every Monday.

News 2: New Covers

The old covers were cool, but book 1’s looked a little like a karate book, in my opinion. Couple that with the name “Kick,” and I think I was turning a lot of folks away who might have enjoyed reading a story about a body-hopping dead guy with a fast food habit (who also fights evil). So I went out and re-branded the series. Here, have a look: new covers.

News 3: Paperbacks

Being an indie author, it’s super easy to forget about paperbacks because so much of our sales come from ebooks. For a reader to buy a paperback, one or more of the following has to happen:

  1. the reader has to love reading paperbacks.
  2. the reader has to know the author exists.
  3. the reader has to discover the book in a book store.
  4. the reader loved the ebook so much she just had to buy the paperback.

I’m sure there are other reasons (gifts, pet termites, book burnings, etc.). The point is, I’ve neglected all these folks for far too long. Also, it just looks cool having my books in multiple formats. As of now, all the Jenkins Cycle books are available in both ebook and paperback. For “Kick,” the audiobook will be out hopefully before summer, that’s all I can promise right now. I’ll get around to publishing “Thief’s Odyssey” in paperback when my designer, Lindy Moone, frees up a little time.

Cheers

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Literary Subversions — coolest author blog I’ve seen yet

One of my Awesome Indies, Lindy Moone, has one of the coolest author blogs around.  Here’s a bet: if you go over there and click around the menu system at the top and don’t think it’s cool, I actually might donate my next million dollars to a good cause of my choosing, but won’t tell anyone what I may or may not choose.  Deal?

Seriously though, check it out:

http://www.lindymoone.com/

Screenshot 2014-06-24 06.45.40

 

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Fogland Episode #2 — The Harbinger of Gloom Street

Fogland is a fascinating literary project by Mark Capell, author of Cafe Insomniac.  Lindy Moone was the one who tipped me off about Mark’s book, last Fall, and today she has a Fogland story over on his site:

The Harbinger of Gloom Street

So what, exactly, is Fogland?  In Mark’s words:

FOGLAND is going to be a series of weekly podcasts. Each episode features a short story from a different writer.

But there’s a link.

Every story is set in the world of FOGLAND. This is a mythical town where, owing to its geographical location, fog descends on over two hundred days of the year.

Writers can either expand on characters and story lines in previous episodes of Fogland or create new ones in their stories. And it can be written in any style. The title must include a Fogland street name (which the writer devises).

When each episode has been written, I record it and distribute it on the weekly Fogland podcast.

At the end of the podcast, listeners are encouraged to explore other works by the featured author.

At the same time, the author can publish the text version of their story in online stores.

The author can charge for that book or go the perma-free route. It’s up to them. They can also embed the podcast on their own website and use it for promotion, or elsewhere.

Mark Capell is calling on all authors who are interested to write stories for upcoming Fogland episodes, and I must admit it has piqued my interest. Between writing a sequel to “Kick” and cage fighting for guns, gold and diamonds, I may not have time.

We’ll see 🙂

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Reblogged: Who Gives a Crap?

It turns out I’m not the only potential psychic in the indie publishing world! (hehe)

Reblogged from Lindy Moone:

Some of you know that I jokingly fancy myself a media psychic. That is, some strange, very specific things have happened on TV, online or on the radio not long after I thought or dreamed of them. Truth is, I’m almost 100% sure that they are coincidences — but they are freaky, nonetheless. I’m not claiming causation in either direction — just correlation.

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The truth about the John L. Monk steroid scandal

Against the wishes of my family and my attorney, my priest and my neighbor Tony and his kids, Wanda and Monique, and some of their friends at school, I’ve decided it was time to come clean about the so-called “steroid” scandal that has been circulating in the media about me this week.

When I started writing Kick, the competition was quite fierce in the rankings on Amazon. Every day, someone on top came hurtling down, only to be clawed to pieces by up-and-coming indie authors like Carol Ervin and Lindy Moone.  Fortunes were eradicated over night, families broken up, economies toppled, and empires reduced to rubble.  These young authors were like the Huns against the helpless farmers in Medieval Europe.  Who wants to read tame stuff like “Kick” ($2.99 on Amazon while supplies last) when they can fry their brains on Hyperlink from Hell or lose their hearts to The Girl On The Mountain?  I’m only human, ok?  I’m just as vulnerable to temptation as anyone.  But I’ll be damned if my reputation is raked through the coals any more than I deserve.

Here’s what really happened:

So I was walking along one day, minding my own business, when I turned a corner and bumped into someone standing there.

“Excuse me,” I said, and started to pass.

“Where you going, bub?” the figure said.

“To the soup kitchen,” I said, “where I volunteer every day for the homeless.”

“And where you coming from, bub?” he said.

“I just finished a 12 hour stretch at the orphanage,” I said.

After first determining that the man wasn’t someone in need, I blessed him and wished him a jolly day, then continued on my way to the soup kitchen.

“Hold up, bub, com’eer,” he said.

I held up.

“Yes?”

“I heards you’s a writer,” he said.  “I heards you’s got a lot of competition.”

“Wheres did you heards that?” I saids.

“Never mind that. There’s uh, things…you know, that can help you with your, uh…shall we say….performance problem.

My back straightened fractionally and I felt my face begin to redden.

“I perform perfectly well, thank you,” I said, and started to turn away.

“Not that kinda problem, wiseguy,” he said, laughing quietly.  “How’s your hands today Mr. Monk?”

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King Kong ain’t got nothing on “Hyperlink from Hell”

I’m so lucky.  I get this in the mail either tomorrow or the next day, in paperback.  I read it as an ebook and I think my IQ jumped 25 points that week.  Because it’s a thinking sort of novel.  A literary mystery with a Tootsie center, which begs the question: how many licks does it take to solve this murder mystery? (Answer: 378 pages, the print length of the book).

I’ve gotten permission to post an excerpt from the book. A little background though:  the base story is about an insane asylum assistant who reads the biography of an ex-patient, looking for clues as to why her boss, the asylum director, is in a near catatonic state.  The excerpt below is from the biography. The murder part of the murder mystery is best explained by reading the book.

Excerpt Begins:

“Oh, enough about you! Let’s talk about me,” Monique said. Above her head, a string of outdoor lights — the ones shaped like chili peppers — shivered in the sudden breeze and went out.

“All right,” I said, tapping my last-ever cigarette on the rim of her piña colada. “What would you like to know about yourself?”

Hoping my breath was awful, I leaned toward her and leered. At least, I think it was a leer. I probably should have practiced that, because she didn’t even flinch. Instead, her mind wandered over to the poolside bar with her drop-dead body in tow.

“A Quaalude for me, and a Quickie for the gentleman.”

Monique was sipping her way through the cocktail alphabet, and I’d promised to join her at “Q.” Oh, I knew she was cheating. She had to be. No one could survive all that booze, so her drinks were probably virgins. So what? If we made it to “S,” she’d promised me a double round of Sex on the Beach under the Tequila Sunrise.

Don’t blame me. It was Monique’s idea of a birthday present.

Ah, Monique, I bet your real name is Monica, I thought, taking another drag. I’d told her to call me Dave, my best friend’s name. She just kept calling me “Sugar.”

I turned to watch her chat with the bartender, who might — in even dimmer light — have been as handsome as a bullfrog. Now, he could give lessons in leering. Whatever alternate universe Pedro came from, he had guts, balls, chutzpah. Whatever ugly guys have when they hit on gorgeous women.

Maybe he has a big attribute, hidden by the bar.

My Rolex buzzed the hour: three AM. I took one last puff and stubbed out my butt in the World’s Most All-inclusive Ashtray — where transfer-printed, grass-skirted pygmies danced the hula in the shadow of Angkor Wat.

Where was I, and what was I doing there?

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