Treasure hunting. Naval gazing.

It’s the school holidays so work on my book has stopped for a week or two while McMini and I do stuff.

Today was particularly good. We went round to some friends; mine and his. The weather was lovely, we sat on the leeward side of the house, in the warm, out of the wind, and while the kids played together we had a gossip. Then, as their house is 14th Century I thought I’d have a go with my metal detector.

Despite owning it a while, I seem to be taking a terribly long time to get the hang of actual metal detecting. All the permissions etc required take time and so far, I haven’t got round to it. This has made it tricky, well, illegal actually, for me to practise outside my own garden. And therein lies the problem. The detector does several different tones of beep for different metals. However, in my garden it usually gets all the beeps in a single sweep. It makes it rather tricky to pinpoint any of the beeps individually or work out where to dig. Added to my severe lack of experience and you have a recipe for if not disaster then, very slim pickings. All that had come to light, before this morning, was one old nail and I was cock-a-hoop to find that.

However, today I finally felt I might be getting the hang of it. Just like my garden, it was a case, not so much of failing to find anything, as finding too many signals. Three or four different tones on one swing and no obvious indication as to where to dig. The truth dawned that it is not my garden that’s full of rubbish – well it is, I’ve never dug up so much aluminium foil but I digress. Where was I? Ah yes. The truth hit me that metal detecting isn’t walk, walk walk beep, ah yes, dig here, indeed it is clear that my garden is the norm rather than the exception.

So, clearly, I realised, it might be smart to filter out some of the beeps. I played with the settings and chose ‘coins’ because that cut out about half the spectrum including iron, which, frankly, seems to be in most things. I get signals for iron off everything, even the sodding grass. Thinking that there was bound to be the odd coin lying about and at least I’d start to get the hang, not only of finding things, but also of actually digging them out.

The machine reported some coppers – it’s American so it suggested they were 1c pieces but let’s not split hairs. They were pure signals, no interference, so I was able to pinpoint them fairly quickly and dig. So have I found a gold sovereign? Have I been like the blokes at my club who turned up last week with Edward II coins, coins from the reign of King John, Saxon beads and other amazingly ancient things? Am I like the guy who arrived the month before with an Iceni gold coin?

Well… er… no.

After digging two enormous holes in her lawn I came up with well… yes, two coins. They weren’t old, they were pennies, not even pennies, one pence pieces from 1971 and 1979, respectively.

For some reason this caused both of us an insane amount of mirth. Even so, both of us admitted to feeling a slight frisson of excitement that the machine had beeped, that we’d dug and that we’d managed to get something out. Even if it was only 1p.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? Success is relative. If I’d been using a metal detector for the last twenty years I’d be expecting to turn up some pretty good stuff. But I haven’t. This is the third time. I went there hoping that I might learn how to find a metal thing and successfully dig it up. So while today’s er… can I call it a haul? was laughable in most respects, I think I might actually have gained that knowledge. Job done then, right?

Food for thought.

Where does writing come in you ask? Well, here’s a short list of THINGS about my books:

  1. I’ve written two books and I’m writing another one. That’s something I never thought I’d achieve.
  2. There’s a chance they might be good books.
  3. People who have read them often like them. Some people like them a lot.
  4. People like the covers… and the merchandise.
  5. Are people buying the books? Are they buffalo?

What worries me? What do I dwell on the whole time? Number five. Because the other four, they make it look as if the K’Barthan Trilogy is a quality product that should walk off the shelves. But it doesn’t, and it isn’t. I don’t know if that’s my fault or if I’m deluded or whether it’s just a reflection of the difficulty of the market and if I think about any of that stuff I will be undone. That way madness lies.

What the metal detecting thing has taught me is that, actually, I’ve done quite well and that maybe I should concentrate on being happier with things 1-4 and on what I want to do next. In other words, I want to find something a bit more interesting than a one pence piece with my metal detector, but until I’ve gained the skill to locate one of those with a reasonable level of consistency, I probably won’t.

In short, when it comes to selling books, no-one really seems to know what works. So all an author can do is show people where to find them, or tell them – where permitted – and hope someone, somewhere will pick up on them. Because the only thing that’s really going to sell your book, ever is readers, who love it, telling their friends. So, let me leave you with the seven golden rules of happy authordom;

  1. Write, as much as you can. Write, to pick yourself up. Even if you can’t think of anything to write, write something. Because every authorholic needs authorhol, and when you’ve written it, get it edited, honed and primped until it’s the best you can possibly achieve. You owe yourself a decent product.
  2. Avoid checking your sales figures more than once a week it’ll only depress you.
  3. Avoid any places where authors who sell hundreds of books a month hang out, because you may find them complaining that their sales are piss poor almost as often as you do, that’ll make you want to weep. Also avoid the it-can-happen-to-you-too stories. It might but it probably won’t. Accept that and don’t beat yourself up.
  4. Try not to be disheartened if you discover that the only place you can persuade anyone to buy any of your books from is Amazon.
  5. Avoid going to forums to sell your book except in specifically designated areas. Go there to chat. If people like you and you’re lucky, they might buy your book eventually but nothing’s less appealing to them than a hard sell.
  6. Always remember that behind every overnight success are usually several decades of hard work.
  7. Remember that the only thing that will sell your books, ever, is readers who have loved them, banging on and on about them to their friends.

There you go.

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Awesome Indies award Seal of Approval to Few Are Chosen

Few Are Chosen is not only Awesome Indie listed now, it’s Awesome Indie Seal of Approved… so to speak. I quote…

“Books awarded the Awesome Indies Seal of Approval have been triple checked for quality. The standard of prose required for the seal is higher than that for inclusion on the site, therefore placement on the Awesome Indies list does not guarantee award of the seal.

The seal appears on book covers as a pure gold version of the above. The actual seal is only available from the site administrator. The black and gold version is used for display on websites.”

So Now I get to display this picture on my blog. aiafinal

That’s very cheering.

Here are the links to the three reviews.

  1. Tahlia Newland (reviewed on Awesome Indies)
  2. David Morrese
  3. Kate Policani

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Results. Box 010: Number 1, Michael Brookes

This week’s special guest was Michael Brookes author of The Cult of Me’ and its brand-new, just-published sequel, ‘Conversations in the Abyss’. You can find his Amazon author page here or visit his blog here.

Well everyone, the votes are finally in and I am delighted to report that two of Michael’s choices have been voted into Box 010. Yes, here they are:

  1. People who drive without lights in fog.
  2. Film remakes.

Michael, thank you for joining us, we will put your choices into Box 010, with great glee, I might add, and seal the lid closed with an industrial sized nail gun, oh, and a great deal of super glue.

Thank you for joining us. Next week Simon Royale will be joining us with some more items to put into Box 010.


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Box 010: Number 1, Michael Brookes

Hello and welcome to Box 010; a bit of light whimsy which is, in no way, inspired by the popular BBC programme Room 101. Here’s now it works. Every two weeks, my special guest will pop in and then present us with five things they would like to see consigned to the dustbin of existence. This week’s special guest is Michael Brookes author of The Cult of Me’ and its brand-new, just-published sequel, ‘Conversations in the Abyss’. You can find his Amazon author page here or visit his blog here.

Hello Michael, first of all, can you tell us a bit about yourself?
Yes I can. I’m an author and Executive Producer with a leading UK games developer. Working in games and writing are two of my life passions and I consider myself fortunate to be able to indulge them both. I live in the east of England, enjoying starry skies in the flattest part of the country. When not working or writing I can sometimes be found sleeping. Which is good as that is where many good ideas come from.

Ah yes, sleep. I remember that. Well, I hope you’re ready, shall we start? What is the first item you’d like to put into Box 010?
Onions.

Sure, I know, I know – what craziness is this?

Well, yes, it’s certainly lateral, would you like to tell us what offence the humble onion has caused that makes you want it expunged from existence?

I just can’t stand onions. It’s not the taste, the flavour is fine. In fact I use onion powder when I’m cooking. It’s the texture that I despise. I soon as I feel it in my mouth it makes me think of dead man’s toenails. It makes me cringe just thinking about it.

As for raw onions, that’s even worse. The sweaty crunch as you bite into it. And to top it all they make you cry. Reduction into powder is too good for them.

Dead man’s toenails. Mmm… nice. Phnark. So there it is everyone, if Michael comes round your house be careful what you feed him. OK Michael, what is the second thing you’d like to put into Box 010?

People who drive in the fog without lights on.

I’m driving along the road; visibility is practically zero with the freezing fog hugging the road. Suddenly a shape looms only metres ahead. It is the special kind of idiot who happily drives along in the fog with no lights. And 9 times out of 10 they’ll be driving a white or silver car. It was that fact that made me realise they do it deliberately. They pick their cars to blend in with the fog and then make sure they turn their lights off so they can ambush you in the dark.

And of course if you hit them in the ass it’s your fault.

Excellent point, I certainly hope that one gets voted in. Right, so what is the third thing you want to put into Box 010?

Waking up.

I love sleeping. It’s warm, it’s comforting and I have interesting dreams. Then the shrill shriek of the alarm slices through that joy. The transition between sleep and wakefulness is harsh. It is never welcome. I’m fine once I’m up and about. But opening my eyes and climbing out of bed is the hardest thing I have to do every day.

I don’t deny it’s not irrational, but I hate it. I hate it even more that I have to keep doing it over and over again.

There we are ladies and gentlemen, second important point, if Michael stays over round your house, don’t wake him up! So Michael, what’s the fourth thing you want to put into Box 010

Or rather, I hate being made to dance. I’m happy enough to watch people dance, especially if they know what they’re doing. But it’s always ruined by someone who thinks I have to be part of the fun. Invariably they won’t take no for an answer.

I don’t dance. I can’t dance. I don’t want to dance. But that apparently it’s me in the wrong for not wanting to look like an idiot having a fit. If you want to dance that’s all good, just leave me out of it.

I have a very worrying mental picture now Michael! Come on then, what’s the last thing you’d like to put into Box 010

Film remakes.

Why? There’s a perfectly good original, why make another? OK, occasionally something new is added, but usually it’s just a straight remake, so what is the  point? It’s not as if there is a shortage of stories for new films. It’s just laziness, or even worse hubris. I can make a better version of the film that is already a classic. Nonsense. Do something new, something different. Make your name with a film that is your own. Don’t make me watch an inferior version of a film I watched years ago.

Oh yes! Vote for this everyone, please.

Michael, thank you so much for kicking off Box 010, it’s been great having you.

Thank you for inviting me.

A pleasure,  you’ve given three answers that I am really hoping my lovely readers will vote into Box 010.

So folks if you’d like to vote there’s a poll box at the bottom of the page. To find more about Michael’s books, click here and there’s a bit more about his latest book, ‘Conversations in the Abyss’ below that.

Join us next week for the results, and in two weeks’ time, when we will be finding out what really ticks off Simon Royale when he puts his five most loathed items into Box 010.

And now the voting… you, yes, you ladies and gentlemen can decide which of Michael’s items go into Box 010. You have until next Wednesday 3rd April, to cast your vote using the poll below. Yep, it’s that easy.

Michael’s new book, ‘Conversations in the Abyss’ is the sequel to the 5 star rated supernatural thriller ‘The Cult of Me’

Stealing Lazarus’s miracle gifted him immortality. Combined with his natural ability of invading and controlling people’s minds this made him one of the most dangerous people on Earth.

But the miracle came with a price. His punishment was to be imprisoned within the walls of an ancient monastery and tormented by an invisible fire that burned his body perpetually. To escape the pain he retreated deep into his own mind.

There he discovers the truth of the universe and that only he can stop the coming Apocalypse.

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Hello. My name is M T McGuire and I’m an Authorholic

Jeez it’s a pain in the arse this writing thing. Let me explain. Chatting to a mate the other day I ended up having a debate about whether or not you have to be a little bit barking to be a writer… or creative generally.

I said, ‘no.’

Now, I’m not so sure.

There’s no doubt, in my mind that it makes a person a bit different. It’s not an accident that I’ve ended up married to somebody who’s had his ideas patented (yes we can all sleep safer in our beds knowing  that vending machines spit out a few less coins thanks to McOther, and less of certain brand of chocolate come off the production line stuck together, and robot hands can grip without crushing).

Sorry, going back to writing… I suspect a lot depends on why you do it. If you’re doing it to make money you’re on a hiding to nothing, that’s for sure. To be honest, I don’t know why I write, I only know that I can’t not. It’s a compulsion. My Mum was telling me about someone she knew the other day, who married, and then divorced, a compulsive gambler. Some of the things she described rang worryingly true.

Most of the time, I love writing. A big part of me lives in a fantasy world. It always has. I retreat there whenever I need to escape and recharge. I never spoke about it, I just went off on my own somewhere, sat down and daydreamed. It was years before it occurred to me to write any of it down. I am not really one for secrets, even good ones – long term, most secrets are battery acid to the soul – so writing my books has felt extraordinarily liberating in some ways. Suddenly, actual people know about something that has been as real and as necessary to me as air and food. But secret from everyone else. Completely. Utterly. Secret. For my entire life.

Now I am able to talk about Swamp Things, Grongles, Snurds and the like, to people who enjoy them as much as I do, without having to explain what they are. OK, so it’s a very select band of you who know – literally tens of people. But that’s not the point. The point is that, these days, someone, anyone, does.

That’s how it feels when it’s going well. Great. When it’s not… it sucks.

Everyone has a certain amount of ambient angst in their lives. I deal with mine by writing. Usually it works. I can control what I write – up to a point – and if it turns out well, I get a nice warm feeling of achievement. The thing is the basic business of being human involves the lives of others, live as an island and you might write a lot but you’ll experience little. However, if you want to live and love to the full you have to give up writing time to interact and you have to surrender control. You have to moderate your actions because they can affect those around you, people whom you love and don’t want to hurt, so you can’t write until four in the morning. Likewise, things that happen to your loved ones can affect you, whether you want them to or not, because you care for them.The more you love, the more you give; the more fulfilled you are but… the less control you have.

If things are dicey, there comes a point where the ambient angst gets too noisy and my heart too full to write. The quality and quantity of my output drops. More angst. There are times if things are a bit busy or just not going very well when every writer – unless they’re really lucky – has to stop spanking the monkey. If you’re writing a book with a really convoluted plot and things are going less than well, then, if you want things to ‘go’ at all, you may need to switch to a less complicated project, a short maybe, or possibly even stop until you are ready to resume. If your mind can’t even be bothered to wonder, the time has definitely come to call it a day for a while, and do things. Put stuff in.

If you are self-publishing, that should be easy, right? No publisher deadlines, no book-every-six-months anxiety for me. But it isn’t. People are expecting another book, some of them even want it and that makes for pressure.

The truth  is, I’m having a little trouble with the Real World at the moment. It’s encroaching severely on my writing activities. For the most part, it’s a pleasure. But when you’ve got two thirds through a very complicated trilogy it’s not helpful.

It’s a times like these that I don’t really like being a writer. When life gets a bit tricky, it can feel as if you are weathering a great storm in a small boat, rowing like buggery, and singing ‘For Those in Peril on the Sea’ for your life; and still you’re pathologically unable to remember what verse you’re on, or keep your eye on the ball – either ball – because I can’t even bloody write, either.

You see, I really, really do need my writing fix. If I don’t get it I am cranky, defensive and I lose focus on everything except my desire to set my thoughts in order and write them down. I start resenting every day administrative tasks of life. I ignore them and they build up. At the same time, I see them building up and start to worry or feel guilty, which impairs my ability to write. Sometimes I neglect my personal hygiene, choosing, instead, to spend that precious half hour when I should be having a shower, writing. Yes, if I’m smelly this week, it means I’m inspired and knocking out 2,000 words a day.

That sort of behaviour seems worryingly similar to the addicts of other drugs, who can concentrate on nothing but the next fix. Am I a compulsive writer? Is my addiction hurting people? I fear it might be. Should I try and give it up? Maybe.

For what it’s worth, I do know what’s at the bottom of the compulsion. It’s the feeling of wanting to know what happens to the characters in my head. I want to know so badly that I will stop at little to find out. Writing books is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Trying to strike a balance between writing enough to keep me sane, and yet giving up enough writing time to live convincingly among the normals, without harming them, can really do my head in.

Writing a book like watching a good film, you want to find out what happens, even if you’ve plotted it and planned it. You  want to savour every moment with your characters and yet you also live for the moment when it’s done and you can read it through and follow the plot from beginning to end.

Spare a thought, when you read an un-put-downable book, for the author who had to put it down at the end of every single sodding day, probably a lot sooner than he wanted to, for about six months (15 years and counting in my case) before that golden moment when he could finally know, for sure, how it all turned out. Yes, speaking as an author, I fear I may have been ill advised to start with a trilogy, or at least, to publish any of it before I had finished

While I’m having a good old moan, there’s another thing about being a writer that really gets on my tits. It’s the dichotomy between why I write and the circumstances in which I can. Obviously, I write because I enjoy it, and I’m reasonably proficient at it. As I mentioned earlier, it’s also a release, an escape and a generally wonderful thing. However, the more ambient angst, and therefore, the more I need to write, – the harder it is to do so. My writing Mojo is perverse, I think. No, it’s not perverse. My writing mojo is one of the most finely – or is that badly – tuned, temperamental things on earth. It’s prone to throw tantrums, down tools and get distracted by shiny things. As general bad behaviour goes you’d be hard put to beat my mojo. It’s about as co-operative and open to compromise as a 1970s union leader.

So here I am, a person who takes around two years, maybe a little bit more, to write each book (although it took eight years to write the first one because I had to learn how) and I decide to write a story that it takes three books to complete, which I can only produce any effective work on ‘when I’m in the mood’. Or to put it another way, not very often.

There’s me thinking I could control my desperate need for answers… I thought it would be OK… It’s not. I have never done anything this hard. I would love to go cold turkey, just give up on the bloody thing and walk away, kick the habit. But I am too stubborn, and people are waiting, and I want to know what bloody well happens and all. But if I write another trilogy, I’ll make sure it’s stand-alone books and I won’t publish it until it’s all done.

And don’t get me started on trying to produce any meaningful output with PMT (that’s PMS, my American friends). Gah! Next week I will mostly be writing… a short story. Although it’ll probably be lines and lines of ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ The Shining-style, because frankly, I’m not sure if this is a gift I have here, or whether I’m merely a little bit tapped.

Honey! I’m home.

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Barren Island Books

Hello everyone, the peerless A.F.E. Smith has interviewed me, M. T. McGuire on her blog. It’s a bit like that radio show with the records only with books, phnark. So, if you want to have a look see it’s here.

I hope you enjoy it.

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Hello Stranger

Yeh, I know, I’ve been conspicuously absent. There are two reasons; it’s half term which means my time is not my own and I have been setting up another blog/website for a group n of writers I’m part of. I say group, it’s more of an affiliation really but if you want to know more you can find out here.

Let me know what you think.

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Basking…

OK… a good week, a very good week.

Second, I went to two book club meetings for feedback recently. I was worried they wouldn’t like it especially as one group had been fairly forthright with a previous visiting author. I got some fantastic feedback. There was a consensus that older adults find my covers a bit YA but on the other hand, one of them, a Librarian, has said she will recommend it to all the teenage boys who come in.

What interested me, particularly, was getting a different view of the book from people who might not normally read it. Lots of food for thought. One highlight was a lady who openly admitted that she loathed this kind of thing and wouldn’t want to read the sequel but still gave it 7/10 because ‘it was very well written’. Another said that it was hard work reading Few Are Chosen because the chases were so exciting that she was literally out of breath.

And yeh, some of them even bought the book.

So am I chipper? Yes. I am.

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Reasons to be Cheerful

  1. The Sun came out today.
  2. There is no snow.
  3. I’m wearing the boots I love rather than the sensible shoes that don’t slip on ice.
  4. I am only wearing two jumpers.
  5. I am not wearing long johns.
  6. I am warm.
  7. I know what’s wrong with my book.
  8. I can fix it.

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I knew I shouldn’t have shown him that book on Florence Nightingale

McOther came home from work feeling terrible. He went upstairs for a rest. McMini and I arrived from school and went up to see if he’d like a cup of tea. He said yes please.
“When I’m ill I like to go to bed and have a little sleep and read my books, then I feel better,” McMini volunteered.
“Thank you,” said McOther.
“Come on, let’s go make Daddy’s tea,” I said and we went down to boil the kettle. While I was fishing a tea bag out of the tin and generally phaffing, McMini disappeared. When I went upstairs with McOther’s tea, there was our son sitting beside his Dad with a book on aeroplanes and a StarWars annual.
“I am just reading to Daddy, so he will feel better.”
“Good boy, do you feel better Daddy?”
“Yes I do,” said McOther’s mouth but his eyes said, “Help me…!”
“I think we should leave Daddy to sleep now though, eh?” I said.
“But I haven’t finished reading him StarWars.”
“I’m sure he would love to have a sleep first, it’ll be much more exciting if he has to wait for the next installment. Right Daddy?”
“Yes, that’s a great idea,” said McOther, with a certain amount of feeling.
“What d’you reckon?” I asked McMini.
“Hmm… Yes Mummy I think you’re right. OK Daddy. It is time for you to have a little sleep. I will come back to see you later and find out if you are better,” said McMini. “Let me turn the light off.”
He turned our three position bedside light onto medium, then bright then straight through off and back onto low several times, so I decided to save McOther’s retinas from a third searing by doing it myself.
“See you later Daddy,” he said.
I’ve managed to distract him with supper, TV and a game of football but he is very keen to take a star wars annual up to Daddy and read to him, even though it’s actually his Dad who’s doing the reading…

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