Sweet Dreams Story Snippets - Day 2

Day 2 of the story snippets from Sweet Dreams!

Snippet #1 - Leanne Fitzpatrick

Leanne is a twitter buddy of mine, and she volunteered Laid to Rest for the anthology. This is the first time I've seen Leanne's writing, and it blew me away. I can't wait to see more from this series!

Laid to Rest – A Cherry Garcia story

By Leanne Fitzpatrick

Do you know what sort of jobs I get roped into? Shit ones, that what. It's jobs like this that ruin my reputation for a smooth and sophisticated P.I and they are the reason I keep getting landed with the little jobs. The jobs more well established Monster Hunters find too tedious to bother with.

Other Monster Hunters go after demons and reneged wolf-men. Me? I get a haunted nursery teacher.

I don't even know how I ended up with this job.

Oh, wait... yes I do. Sarah. Bloody, bloody Sarah.

She always does this to me. I'll be sitting there, happily waiting for the big client to come through the door and what happens- someone comes in at their wits end because their grandmother refuses to move on and then tells them they're fixing up the grave-site wrong.

I don't know about you, but harpies that stick around once their remains have gone mushy are not my idea of a fun time.

Sarah seems to find it hilarious, which it why I am standing here in the freezing cold, shivering and waiting for the sun to stop sleeping. I do not like night time work. I am an evening person, and by evening I mean that I like to be at a bar having a fun time with my chums and eyeing up possible one night stands. Sarah does not seem to care about this. Have I mentioned recently that I hate Sarah?

   I hate Sarah.

A particularly cold gust of wind threatened to undo all the good work shivering had done me and I moved closer to the church. It stood right in the centre of the village, and would have been picturesque- if there hadn't been a shit-tonne of scaffolding around it.

The graveyard was exposed on the Northern side and there was a thick hedgerow separating it from the rest of the world.

“I thought the unholy burned up when they stepped on Hallowed Ground,” I heard Sarah say behind me. I glanced at her.

“They do,” I grumbled. “I can see the embers in your hair.”

She laughed and shook her head, the thick braid, whipping about behind her.

“Is Priest here yet?”

I shook my head.

“He didn't want to be here for the actual digging part. I believe he'll be here as soon as she is once more exposed to the world. Right before we burn the bones.”

Sarah shrugged. She didn't get on well with Priest for the most part. Something about him put her edge. She wouldn't tell me why.

“You got the salt and shovels?” I asked.

She nodded and unhooked a backpack from her shoulder.

“Bought some lighter fluid too, just in case she was too mushy to light up.”

“Awesome,” I sighed, grabbing the shovels propped against the church wall.  “Let's get this party started, shall we?”

I led the way, trudging down the overgrown pathway to the approximate middle of the graveyard. Ms Emmeline Wickham was located three graves from the end, between an over large tomb and a weeping angel.

When we got to her plot, her stone was a small, weather-worn affair, pitted and rounded by years of rain and wind. Her name was barely legible.

I stood staring at it for a while. We'd cremated my dad- he'd not wanted any chance of coming back to haunt us and sometimes I regretted that decision. There was nowhere for me to go when I needed to talk to him, no place I could focus my grief, just an ambient air of not-rightness.

He'd been so afraid of fire... even with his work, he never lost that fear...

I shook myself, letting the funk slide away. I was here to do a job and the sooner it was done the faster I could crawl into bed and snooze the day away.

I drove the shovel into the ground.

Snippet #2 - Mia Darien

Mia Darien writes both romance and paranormal suspense and her impressive collection of titles can be found on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords and Lulu. She lent Descent, a gorgeous tale based on Greek mythology, to the Sweet Dreams anthology.

DESCENT

By Mia Darien

            Demeter.

            The goddess. Not she who is mother to the earth, but she who is earth mother. Her compassion gave the people the knowledge of growing and cultivating, how to survive off the earth’s bounty. Her anguish rent the world and shaded half the year in cold. She who held no fear to confront the god of death, to show her power to Mount Olympus itself, all to have her daughter Persephone back.

            She whose steps nourish the ground, so that people might live from it. A powerful ally, a powerful enemy.

            A powerful ancestor.

            This is what my mother, Cyrana, told me: that she was the issue of a brief coupling between Demeter and a mortal man. It was where, she said, our power came from. I never found reason to question the story, for power we did have. We had power that others did not, or if they did, they hid it very well and more than we cared to.

            The story that I shall tell took place in the twelve hundreds B.C. - twelve centuries before the birth of Christ.

            I lived near the Black Sea at that time, in a region known as Thrace. I was not born there, as far as I know, but my mother had never told me where I had been born. She was dead, my mother, by the time I lived in that place. I chose it because, at that time, I was devoted to Ares, the god of savage war and blood lust. The mountainous areas of Thrace, with its war-like people, were said to be most like him. It was also said that he had been born of that violent land.

            They did not call me witch then. In those days, I was simply Ioena.

That's all for today, folks. Swing by tomorrow for the final day of snippets before publishing.

Sweet Dreams Story Snippets

We're ramping up to publishing the anthology over the next couple of days. As a bit of a treat, keep reading for the first couple of snippets, and some info on the authors.

Snippet # 1 - Joseph Garraty


I stumbled over Joe Garraty's book Voice back in the very first days of my kindle ownership, and his writing simply blew me away. If you like genuine gritty, swaggering rock 'n roll horror, click that link as fast as you can. Since then I've read everything he's brought out - The Q-Bomb is a fun little sci-fi story, The Price is one of the creepiest, darkest urban fantasies I've ever read, and To Rule this Broken Earth takes that gritty, sensual feel of otherness into an epic post-apocalyptic fantasy that never takes the easy route. In that time, we've become friends via email, and Joe is probably one of the main reasons my own writing has improved. In the short tale Everyone Goes To Hell, he also shows a diabolical sense of humour.

Everyone Goes To Hell

Joseph Garraty

Everyone ends up in Hell, you know. Virtually everyone, anyway. Certainly everyone I ever met. I never heard of anyone who went the other way, but I suppose it’s possible, at least in some hypothetical sense.

I tried explaining this to Bill Sanderson right from the beginning, but it didn’t take.

I appeared in his goofy little summoning circle on a whim. Somebody had to do it. We were all getting annoyed by his constant entreaties, and I guess I didn’t have anything better to do that evening than to go try to shut him up. It was a stupid chore. Like going to the dentist, it wasn’t valuable work that needed doing, it was an irritating waste of time one had to endure in order to stave off a bigger irritation.

When I arrived, Bill was prostrate on the floor, chanting madly, nonsense syllables interspersed with phrases like “O Mighty Seraph” and “Hear your humble supplicant” and all that foolishness.

He was so absorbed in it that he didn’t even see me appear. I watched him for a few moments, but he still didn’t so much as glance up. Maybe he was expecting a bang and a flash, a puff of violet smoke, a thundering voice?

I stepped down off the dais, casually stepping over the circle and the inscriptions, and sat on the floor next to him.

“Bill,” I said, patting him affectionately on the back, “you can knock it off. I’m here.”

He scrambled to his feet, tottering as his creaky old knees tried to give out. I reached up a hand to steady him. He stared at me, eyes so wide that the irises seemed lost in rheumy yellow whites. 

Then he threw himself back to the floor.

“Holy One!” he shouted. “I beg thee, O Mighty Seraph—”

I cut him off. “Enough already! I heard you the first time.”

He sat up, blinking in the smoke from the candles. “You…you did?”

“Yeah, sure.” I could see the naked hope in his eyes.

No fool like an old fool, I guess.

“Come on, Bill, get up. Let’s go sit somewhere comfortable, and I’ll explain a few things.”

He nodded, and I helped him to his feet, more slowly this time. He shuffled to the door, casting nervous glances back at me every few feet. I followed him upstairs to the study without a word.

“Nice place,” I remarked as he showed me a chair. It was, too. Deep carpets, high ceilings, teak and mahogany and weirder, more expensive woods all over the place. Ugly light fixtures that cost a fortune. The proles would probably have called this a library, but to Bill it was just the study.

Bill sat in the chair opposite me, wincing as he lowered himself.

“You were supposed to stay in the circle,” he began, his chin thrust out defiantly.

“Oh, good. You got your composure back.”

Snippet # 2 - Naomi Clark

Naomi Clark is one of the writers I'd like to be when I grow up. Now a twitter buddy, I stumbled over her on Amazon, got hooked, then starting reading everything of hers I could get my grubby little paws onto. From the dark humour of the Ethan Banning series, to her dark urban werewolf tales like the Vargulf Trilogy and Silver Kiss, she proves from the first page that female writers can kick ass and take names with the best of them. Her latest release, Night and Chaos went live this week on Amazon, and it's one of the best urban fantasy books I've read, with an interesting take on the Deva mythology, and one of the strongest opening scenes ever. Just to prove she can pull off a slice of dark Gothic elegance as well, her contribution to Sweet Dreams is Here Be Monsters.

Here Be Monsters

Naomi Clark

I hate the sea. I hate the pound and rush of waves on sand, the stench of rotting seaweed and eye-watering brine. I hate the endless shrieks of the gulls. The dark waters chill me, fill my head with nebulous images of great serpents and twisted, alien life forms untouched by sunlight and air. I hate people who romanticise it, talk about pirates and mermaids, adventure and mystery. No. The ocean is not for men. I’ve always believed that. Maybe we came from the sea once, but we left for a reason. And if I had my way, I’d never go back.

            But I rarely get my way. Science and nature reporters for small-time cable TV channels tend not to, so when I was woken up at three am by my producer and told to get my arse down to the Northumberland coast for the ‘story of a life time,’ I didn’t argue. I swallowed my exhaustion and my dread and hatred of the ocean, and did as I was told.

Caraway Beach was cold, wet, and grim. I stood at the water’s edge in green wellies and a battered blue raincoat, watching the camera crew scuttle around trying to set up their cameras and avoid the drizzle and the wind whipping in off the grey-blue ocean. The sky overhead was black with storm clouds. Every now and then, thunder rumbled in the distance, making me shiver and jump. I stared up at those clouds, waiting for lightning. It was much better than staring down at the stone-strewn sand and the thing we were here to film.

“It has to be a whale,” Andrew remarked, joining me. He was the boom operator, new to the team, nice enough guy, but always just...loitering around me. It made me slightly uncomfortable for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “Every time someone gets excited about krakens, Loch Ness Monsters, or dinosaurs, it turns out to be a mangled whale carcass.”

There you have it folks - the first two snippets from two of the most talented authors I know. Pop back tomorrow for some more from Sweet Dreams, and thanks for reading.

Sweet Dreams Cover sneak peek

Sweet Dreams, the official title for the Lyndsey Roughton anthology is almost ready. Superstars Big J (Jeffrey Poole) and Mia Darien are going to step in for the formatting and all the funky techie bits that would probably result in me blowing up my PC/the interwebz.

A massive thanks to everyone who has tweeted, blogged, and face-booked about this - there really aren't enough words to express how I feel about your support.

We have 17 brilliant little - and not so little - stories, and I can't wait to download my version once it hits the Amazon store.

To whet your appetite, here's a sneak peak of the cover, and the final list of authors in the anthology.

Contributing Authors:


Chris Fraser
Edward Larel
Mia Darien
Joseph Garrety
Jason McKinney
Naomi Clark
Jana Hill
Nicholas Ordinans
Leanne Fitzpatrick
B. Throwsnaill
J.H. Sked
Renee Hall 
Sky Corbelli
Jeffrey Poole
Joe Occhipinti
Richard Shury
Leigh Roughton


As a further treat, I'll post a couple of snippets over the next few days - watch this space!

Lyndsey Roughton Anthology - Contributors so far

We're heading into the final stretch for author submissions for the anthology - if you'd like to submit a piece, details are here.

I'd like to thank the Indie writers who've already submitted pieces for their unflinching generosity, and Scott from Indie Book Blogger for his unwavering support in this. Without all of you, doing something like this would not be possible. I think I can safely say you are all my new personal heroes.

We have stories that cover the range from fantasy to sci-fi, urban paranormal to horror, and every piece is first-class writing. Here are our contributors so far:

Chris Fraser
Edward Larel
Mia Darien
Joseph Garrety
Jason McKinney
Naomi Clark
Jana Hill
Nicholas Ordinans
Leanne Fitzpatrick
B. Throwsnaill
J.H.Sked
Renee Hall
Sky Corbelli
Jeffrey Poole
Joe Occhipinti

Thank you all!

Werewolf Con Author Beware - There are Monsters, and They Bite

Authors work hard. They restrict their social time with family and friends, especially if they have a day job and can't pay the bills with their writing. If they're self-publishing, and are struggling financially, they either scrape the cash together to fund an editor and designer for their cover, or they have to try to do their damndest  by themselves. If they are lucky, they have a circle of trusted beta readers who can critique honestly. It can be pretty darn lonely sometimes, especially when they are anxiously  watching the rankings and praying for a stroke of luck or the first person to click the button and buy the book.

A number of them work the convention circuit, especially in the USA, which seems to have a Con in every state sometimes.

Unfortunately, sometimes the Con turns out to be a con.

This has happened to at least one writer this year.Jason McKinney forked over $150 dollars via Paypal months in advance to attend the Werewolf Con at the beginning of May this year and set up a table.

Jason was excited - not so much at the thought of flogging his stuff, although that was part of it (and the pink werewolf/butterfly laptop debacle shall entertain me for years) - but because he is a huge fan of  horror, and werewolves. He blogged about it. He tweeted about it.He chatted about it to me on Skype. You know that excitement little boys get just before they unwrap Christmas? That was Jason.

And then...

They cancelled the Con. Jason was gutted. But the $150 would come in handy; being a guy with a family that money is always handy, and sometimes desperately needed.

The money never came. Despite every promise made by Jordan Polintan and his staff, both via e-mail and on their now defunct website, the money never came.

Paypal won't do anything about refunding the money, since it's out of date for their allowed complaint time. Werewolf Con, also known as Con Extreme, LLC, appears to have shut up shop on everything including their twitter account - after pointing fingers at Refresh The Page. Refresh The Page, by the way, claim that they are still waiting for their take from Werewolf Con.

Round and round the mulberry bush, pop goes the werewolf.

If you are a writer or artist planning on attending a con, my advice is to steer clear of anything organised by these guys in the future. If you're a fan, I hope you do the same.

Jason has no recourse, apart from filing a police report, and I'm honestly not sure how much use that will be. I'm not a lawyer or a cop, but I hope he does, because what has happened here is blatant theft, and I can't begin to say how angry this makes me. I've just seen my friend get kicked in the teeth, and the people who did it have crawled under a rock and gotten away with it. I most sincerely hope that I am around to see that rock lifted, and that the US justice system manages to kick some ass and take some names.

In the meantime, I doubt Jason is the only one who got burned by these guys, and I really hope other people pick up this ball and bounce it. Shine the spotlight on anyone who uses hope and enthusiasm and fandom as a weapon against the people who love what they do - writers, artists, businesses and fans.

And Jason, I'm sorry, buddy. I really, really am.

Lyndsey Roughton - anthology and info update

Hi guys

The response to this has been amazing, from the authors giving their stories so generously to bloggers like Scott at Indie Book Blogger supporting the cause. If you'd like to help raise awareness, feel free to post about this on your blog, Facebook, and twitter stream - every little bit helps, and it's all appreciated. If you're an author and you'd like to donate a piece to the anthology, have a look at this previous post regarding FAQ's and drop me an email at jhsked(at)hotmail.com .

I've had a number of queries regarding donating directly to the fund. Although Lyndsey's website is in the process of being stripped and put back together, there is a donate button there. You can also read a few of Lyndsey's posts during her earlier struggle with the tumor. Her optimism and determination have to be read to be believed. Visit  it here.

In addition all fundraising for the next month via the Cobra Group Foundation site will be going to help pay for  Lyndsey's trip. The donation function is by PayPal and the link is here.

The anthology so far...

So far we have authors from the USA, Australia and UK donating their stories. We've got an exciting mix of horror, black humor, sci-fi and dark fantasy by some of the best Indie Authors writing today. From Jason Mckinney, Naomi Clark, Joe Garraty, and Mia Darien, with more authors to be confirmed, this is shaping up to be one of the most exciting collections I've seen in years.

Keep checking back for more updates in the next couple of days!

Interview at Great Minds Think Aloud

The lovely Kitty Bullard from GMTA put up with me babbling at her for an interview. To find out how the Blue Moon Detective series got started, and other info, go here to check it out! While you're there do yourself a favour and trawl through the site - it totally rocks!
GMTA covers reviews, interviews and promotions, and has everything nicely organised into genre so you can find what you're looking for.

 ****************************
J H Sked is the author of WolfSong, Basement Blues and Die Laughing, all of which are on Amazon and enrolled in the Kindle lending programme.

Authors wanted - FAQ's & rules

Thanks to everyone who has already contacted me regarding the Lyndsey Roughton anthology, it's really appreciated.

I've put together a FAQ/rules list which hopefully covers all the questions - if I've left yours off, please hit me in the comments or email me directly at jhsked (at) hotmail.com.

Do we get paid?
Unfortunately not - this is a donated story anthology for an ebook for a fund-raiser. You will be sent a full PDF of the book as an authors copy.

Can I send you poetry/microfiction/short-shorts?
Yes, yes and yes!

What is the word limit?
We're trying to aim for an upper limit of  3000  5000 words. If you are slightly over, send it though - as long as it doesn't hit the realm of novella we'll look at it.

What genre are you looking for? Is there a theme?
We're concentrating on horror and fantasy as a genre. Think the supernatural with any sort of spin on it you'd like, as long as it isn't animal torture or hard-core porn.
It could be anything from a haunted ashtray to a chain-smoking unicorn - if it's a printable story and you are happy to donate it, we'd like it.

Do I need to be published/self-published already?
No, not at all. You also keep the rights to your story, so you can go out and re-publish it where-ever and when-ever you'd like.

Can I send a story that's already been published?
As long as you have the rights to the work, we'd love it. If you've been published through a magazine/publisher and not self-published, please check to make sure you can re-use it.

What is the time-limit to submit?
Please submit by 2 June 2012.


When will the collection be published?
Due to the time-constraints Lyndsey is under - the current diagnosis is anything from 3 to 24 months left - we  aim to have the book up on Amazon by the end of June.

How do I submit?
Please send submissions through as an attachment on a word document to jhsked (at) hotmail.com. Please also include a short bio about yourself, and any other work you have available - this will go into the book as a bit of a showcase for you.

======================

Thanks again for the wonderful support you've already shown - it means a lot!

Lyndsey Roughton anthology - call for authors

In Manchester, England, a young woman is busy dying. This is her story.

"Lyndsey is a 27 year old professional young woman working for an established PR Marketing Company as a HR Manager in Manchester.

When you meet Lyndsey, you would get the feeling that she was confident but down to earth, strong but fiercely ambitious.  You would not think for a minute that on the 12^th April 2012, she had been told that the brain tumour she has battled with for 3 years has now become inoperable and they cannot find a cure.

She is positive, she is funny, she has an amazing smile, and even the side-effects of the chemotherapy are not getting her down.  Her positivity and her determination to beat this disease are evident: she is a fighter.  

In November 2009, Lindsey had a routine eye check with the opticians.  She was having trouble with headaches, with blurred vision during the day and dizzy spells. She thought this was just a symptom of her hectic social life, but the optician saw something different - they suspected ‘Papilledema’ – ‘pressure, in or around the brain caused by bleed or tumour’.

After an examination CT and MRI scan it was confirmed that there was a tumour on the right frontal lobe of her brain. An operation to remove the tumour was done on Christmas Eve 2009.  After a biopsy of the tumour she was told the tumour was benign, and although scans were scheduled for every 6 months all was fine.

On 24^th December 2010, (Christmas Eve again) she was told the tumour was back, in the same place but more aggressive - it was now a Grade III Oglioastrocytoma. This time, the tumour was malignant.  Another operation was scheduled for the first week in January 2011. Lyndsey took it in stride, positive and determined to get on with whatever treatment was given to beat this disease.  Radiotherapy was the option.

In April 2011, Lyndsey had to endure 10 weeks of intensive Radiotherapy. Despite her positive attitude, she worried about losing her hair, although when the inevitable happened and she did lose it, she decided to focus on the positives again.

Treatment was working.

This time, scans were scheduled for every 3 months; and everything was going great. On the 7^th December 2011 Lyndsey and her family celebrated when they got the wonderful news that the tumour was gone. 

A scan wasn’t scheduled till 17th April 2012, but she didn’t get that far. On Easter weekend - 5^th April 2012 - Lyndsey didn’t feel well at all and had to be rushed to hospital. She knew, deep down inside, from her symptoms, that the tumour was back.

 On Monday 9^th April, 2012 it was confirmed that the tumour was back a Grade IV ‘Glioblastoma’, although not in the same place. It had now moved to the “left frontal lobe”.

The surgeon explained that the tumour was far more aggressive than before, and they would not be able to operate because of the damage that it would do to her life, her memory, her ability to walk, talk and think, so an operation is not an option.

As it is so soon after her previous radiotherapy treatment this too is no longer an option, leaving her with chemotherapy is the only choice she has.  Chemotherapy has started, but has been described as ‘palliative care’ - is given to prolong life, and improve quality of life.   

The diagnosis is not good, but to Lyndsey the future is still bright, just wanting to live everyday as it comes.

In all the time that Lyndsey has been living and dealing with this awful disease, she has never once pitied herself or her situation, she considers that this experience has helped her to grow as an individual. Her ability to remain positive and not be scared has meant that everyone whose life she touches is therefore not scared and always positive about the future.

Throughout this journey, Lyndsey has always planned that once she had recovered she would go travelling, specifically to Asia, Thailand and Vietnam, a spiritual journey, to be able to sit with the Buddhists, and find herself. 

But with the devastating news that she recently received, time is not on her side. There is little time to plan, little time to accept the news - all that is left is time to do!   

So our plan is to raise as much money as we can to give Lyndsey the holiday of her dreams, to travel through Vietnam, and do every thing she has always wanted, packing every day with fun filled days and laughter.  Due to the severity of her illness the cost of insurance and travel is very expensive, so our target is £15,000.

Events are being held all over the place to help raise funds, by the Lyndsey Roughton Purple Heart Brain Tumour Fund, we would really appreciate your support; please find details of some of our up and coming events below:

26^th May, 2012                 Pavo – Sings                                    Location:           Bees Knees, Cirencester

1^st June, 2012                   Golf Fund Raiser                           Location:           TBC

4^th June, 2012                  Duck Race                                         Location:           South Cerney, Cirencester

9^th June, 2012                  Casino Royale Night                   Location:           3D Organisation, Manchester

TBC                                       Electro Night – Music                                Location:           TBC, Manchester

TBC                                       Walk, Aberdeen – Forfar         Location:           55 miles, Scotland

Total raised so far, (within 4 weeks) is  £5664.79"

 =====================================================

Full disclosure - I know Lyndsey's mom and her partner through work connections. The family have a site link which is currently being re-built, and I'll post an update when that happens.

We can't fix this. No matter how much money we raise, the situation is that there is no cure - although I'm not counting Lyndsey out just yet; pure determination and positive thinking do amazing things. What this will do is hopefully help someone achieve their dream before they leave the skin of this world and the light goes out.

That's where the writing thing comes in useful. The plan is to put together a short story anthology to be published as an ebook, all proceeds to go to the family.

If you're a writer, or know anyone who writes, and you'd like to donate a story, please let me know - you can contact me at jhsked(at)hotmail.com. Authors will keep all rights to their stories, but there is no payment or fee for this one.

Thanks for reading.

 

Putting a perspective on reviews

Every so often the internet explodes when an author - self-published or trad - throws their toys out of the cot at a reviewer. Usually the backlash is like watch a train-wreck; hypnotically awful. I'm not going to link to it because once it turns into a blood-sport it makes me queasy, but googling "authors behaving badly" will throw up enough results to get you through a large bucket of popcorn.

Here's the thing though: authors invest time, effort and love in our work. No matter what anyone else thinks of it  when it's done, the creating part (let's not even get started on editing, which just plain hurts) comes from a pretty visceral, emotive place.
Once we put it out there though, it becomes a product, and too many authors forget that. The average reader doesn't care that you wrote your first draft by candlelight at 3a.m in the middle of winter. The average reader sees a product, and either likes, loves it, or loathes it. (Every now and then you get "meh" instead, which is worse.)

This is a product. This is something that you hope people will buy (maybe even enough to get your coffee fix for the month) and if they like it enough they'll buy more of your stuff. If they like it, hopefully they leave good reviews. Even better, hopefully they recommend it.

If they don't like your stuff, a buyer of your product is entitled to leave a bad review. 

By bad review, I'm not talking about the incoherent ramblings that scatter some websites and pages: anyone with an ounce of common sense will look at them and wonder if they could get hold of whatever narcotic was in the water supply that day. I've had one of those - sadly, it disappeared before I could decipher it, although I do remember a lot of references to "dude" in the middle of  things.
I'm not talking about three star reviews either, which to me come down pretty evenly as didn't love/didn't hate it, and often give more balanced feedback.

Reviews that give a one or two star rating because of the price, or because they didn't check to see the length of the book, or because they tried something totally outside their normal genre and hated it can be pretty safely discounted as well (and don't scream about them pulling the star rankings down - I know. Report it if it's unfair, and move swiftly on. Most folks aren't that stupid and those reviews will be treated with a grain of salt at the very least.)

But if you get a bad review that states clearly why the reader doesn't like your book, what the issues were, and most importantly, that the reader obviously actually read the thing - they've done you a favour. Take a step away from the emotional "OMG my BAAAABY just got trampled!!" response. This is no longer your baby. This is a product, getting feedback from a customer, and if their issues and points are valid, listen to what they say.

In other words, listen to your customers.

Some things you can fix. Things like formatting issues, which are still a major bug-bear for me in my own books (I've lost track of how many times I've re-formatted WolfSong - this weekend marks yet another slog at it). Spelling errors or incorrect words might be common through every form of book, whether traditional or self-published, but if your readers notice and mention it, try to fix it. Continuity issues like sudden name changes or spelling changes, missing pages - these can all be fixed, and if your customers don't complain about it, you will carry on happily doing the same thing over and over again, and wondering where the hell your sales went.
They went to the authors who listen to their customers.

The best feedback I've had have come from the folks who point out the rough patches and the issues. I had an awesome discussion on Good-Reads with someone who was not a fan of WolfSong a while ago.There were parts of the books he just didn't like, he wasn't crazy about the P.O.V., and he entertained the hell out of me trying to guess the resolution that's coming up in the second book. He gave me three stars (which I thought was pretty cool since like I said, he wasn't really into the book), great detailed feedback, and I loved our discussion. (He's also a pretty sharp writer himself, with a wicked sense of humour and the absurd that comes across pretty clearly in his work.)

If the review is on an independent review site, you're even more likely to get well-reasoned and fair reviews; so if the issues raised are technical or parts of your writing you can fix, say thanks for the review and fix what needs to be done. Review bloggers aren't paid to write reviews. They do it because they love books, and they don't deserve anyone being precious over their opinions. Because that's what a review is - an opinion. They're as entitled to it as anyone else, and these folks - repeat after me - are reviewing your product.

Some things you can't fix. If the issue is with the plot, the characters, the story as a whole or simply your writing style - short of re-writing the entire thing that's not going to change. This is a good thing. If everyone wrote the same story, with the same characters, in the same style, the world would be sad and grey little place. So you can't fix that, nor should you want to. Here's the kicker: the reviewer's opinion is still valid. If they don't like your stuff, a buyer of your product is entitled to leave a bad review.

Good reviews are great. They soothe the ego, brighten up the day, make you bounce a little. They don't necessarily sell books. I'm not sure of the negative impact of bad reviews, to be honest; there's a whole bunch of folks who claim not to read reviews at all before they read a book. But bad reviews or low stars are just the flip side of the ego coin; unless you pay attention to your customers.

I've watched a few authors melt down on forum boards, or get a bunch of folks in on the "Stone the Reviewer" game. A nasty review is going to hurt. But do you seriously think that other business owners - let's use Richard Branson as an example here - do you seriously think Richard cries into his coffee when a customer complains? Does Richard call upon the power of all loyal Virgin customers to bombard the complainant with ridicule and down-votes? Does Richard point a quavering finger via the internet and whimper that he's a victim and nobody understands what he's trying to achieve? I'm fairly sure he doesn't. (If he does, feel free to send me proof).
Richard Branson is a business-man, with a brand. Richard sells products. Richard does not cry over them, bully reviewers or drum-up witch hunts when a passenger on the Virgin service from London to Glasgow has a problem with the service.


In other words, authors need to put on their big-girl (or boy, if we need to be PC) panties, listen to customers, and stop harassing reviewers if their ego doesn't get stoked enough. Come up with the best product you can, put it out there, and stop assuming that reviews are personal attacks, because otherwise you're going to devolve into someone rocking gently under their keyboard with a fairly large dose of medication.

Your books are a business once you publish them. Your writing is a product. Treat it like one.

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J H Sked is the author of WolfSong, Basement Blues and Die Laughing, all of which are on Amazon and enrolled in the Kindle lending programme.

The Leicester Pigeon Wars, Part 1

Anyone following my twitter & blog has noticed the occasional pigeon rant. There seems to be an ongoing conspiracy amongst UK pigeons to make my life hell. Some of it's old news; I had a few bad moments in the flat I lived in a number of years ago when something with feathers (I refuse to dignify it with the word bird) kept dive-bombing the toilet window. While I was *ahem* using the facilities. Repeatedly. It got to the stage that I'd dive into the room, latch the window closed, and leave again for a few minutes so the homicidal little buggers could headbutt the glass. None of them were ever killed or hurt by doing this, and they never did it when my flat-mate was in that room. They saved it all for me.

Things escalated into outright war - unprovoked, with me as the injured party - when I started travelling to Leicester on business.

A couple of years ago I made my first trip to Leicester, which involved leaving London at some horribly early hour. I lurched off the train needing the bathroom, a coffee, and a cigarette, so probably wasn't at my sharpest mental state for what followed.

I stopped outside the station to try and figure out where I was supposed to be going. Having the sense of direction of a traumatized gold-fish at the best of times is not really good thing when you travel a lot for work, by the way. There was a young guy standing a few feet away from my, yakking away on his mobile phone.

As I blearily tried to work out where the hell I was, a pigeon staggered up to me. (Yes, I mean staggered.The only thing I've seen with more stagger is a Camden drunk on a Friday night.) Then it made the strangest noise I've heard from any animal - feathered or otherwise - and then it projectile vomited onto my trouser leg.
Then it staggered away from me, flapped it's wings a few time, and shuddered into the air.
The guy of the mobile was laughing so hard I thought he was going to choke.

So let's recap:
First visit to Leicester? Check.
In desperate need of bathroom, caffeine & nicotine? Check.
Absolutely lost? Check.
The above is all pretty much par for the course when I travel. Puking pigeons? Not so much. Puking pigeons that projectile vomit bright orange alien-looking goo onto your fairly expensive and new business suit? Nope, that's a pretty special it-can-only-happen-to-me moment.

I had no idea this was only the opening round.

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J H Sked is the author of WolfSong, Basement Blues and Die Laughing, all of which are on Amazon and enrolled in the Kindle lending programme.

Hospitals and Dentists, oh my!

It's been a strange, entertaining, and frankly painful week by turns since my last post.

The job hunt continues and is looking pretty optimistic right now - I'm hoping to hear about something in the next week, so crossing fingers & toes. If it works out, it's actually a salary boost for me, which will definitely help. Update - I've been re-deployed internally, which does make it sound a bit like someone plans on shooting at me. Military speak in HR, gotta love it. It's a huge relief though - I had visions of joining the hollow-eyed line of despair at the dole office to make rent, and that doesn't appeal one little bit.

I downloaded a fitness app, which is a lot more useful than I thought it would be, although it does tend to scold when you under-eat.
On Saturday, I took my cousin off for an MRI scan, at St Ann's in Tottenham. Poor girl has a lot of grief with her knees at the moment, and since I know all about severe pain when trying to walk, she has my sympathy.
The hospital itself is pretty strange. The MRI unit is right at the rear, and since it doesn't have an emergency unit and we went on a Saturday, it was very, very quiet.
There's something utterly creepy about a deserted hospital; the only thing that comes close is an abandoned school. The buildings sprawl over a huge chunk of land, and all of the units are separate buildings. Once you step into the grounds, all sound from outside disappears, like some sort of aural black hole. The main feeling as you walk along the utterly silent main road that leads to the pre-fab MRI is desolation, and age.
A bit of googling when I got home told me that the site started off as a fever hospital in 1892. I have no idea whether the buildings on site are that old; the actual set-up reminded me of a very large old farm with a lot of outbuildings. I do know that if anyone ever wants to shoot a very atmospheric horror there, they'd have a very good location.

Monday was my turn for a medical issue. I had to go to the dentist for extractions. Anyone who knows me also knows that dentists fit in the same category as spiders, sharks, and my mother in a bad mood. They scare the hell out of me, although to give my current dentist credit she is very good. I'm just very phobic. (I also have objections to paying a great deal of money to be tortured for 30 minutes at a time. It makes me bitter.)

With my usual luck, it turned out they couldn't do all the extractions at the same time (something to do with only being allowed to use a certain number of local anesthetic injections - & it still bloody hurt!), so I'm back in a couple of weeks. The one side got to the stage where I was visualizing the dentist bracing herself with a foot on my shoulder.
I finally lurched out of surgery with an Elvis sneer, looking like I'd been bitch-slapped by Thor. Today I'm making friends with large quantities of painkiller and salt-water, hoping to be able to speak when I go back to my desk tomorrow. Sadly, I've lost the Elvis lip, which I was starting to appreciate.

To add insult to injury, my fitness app gave me lecture on not eating enough calories.It's a bit hard to argue with an app when you have mouthful of cotton wool & nowhere to write about having to gum your food to death, so I've had to satisfy myself by glaring at it and sulking.

Hopefully by the weekend I'll no longer look like a shaved down hamster, and be able to write coherently. For some reason fiction and painkillers don't get on very well, which makes me doubt a lot of the legends about drug-addicted writers producing great work. It's a bit hard to write a masterpiece when you're arguing with your spell-checker about how to spell "cat."