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A Heads Up

Just wanted to alert my legions of fans that my blog is now located on my very own website.  You can find me now at www.jonmcdonaldauthor.com.  Please check it out, and follow me there from now on.  And while there explore the fun new features with a chance to win a free copy of my book Divas Never Flinch. Thanks for your support.

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Okay here’s another major character from Divas.  Enjoy.

Sonora Livingston-Bundt was born Wanda Bundt in Queens, New York City – her mother a seamstress, her father a fitter in a shipyard.  (She was never quite certain what a fitter was, however.)  She had an attractive, willowy frame and was seen as a ‘natural’ for ballet.  She was encouraged by her music teacher at school to enroll in a local dance academy that had an excellent reputation for turning out highly qualified dancers, who frequently turned professional.

Wanda thrived.  She was bright and enquiring at school, and she absolutely dazzled at the dance academy.  By the time she was in her late teens she had changed her name to Sonora, because “Wanda” just wouldn’t do as a stage name.  She had every intention of making it big in the dance world.  She had her heart set on making her professional debut with the corps de ballet at the New York City Ballet – and she did.

She rose with startling ease within the company, and was dancing minor roles within a year.  However, she had tastes and ambitions that were not being met on her lean, dancer’s salary.  She embarked on a sightseeing tour of the eligible New York City and adjacent area bachelors.  She knew better than to have any casual boy friends who might distract her, and she set her sights on the crème de la crème of society’s brightest.

She had her very own, up-to-date edition, of Who’s Who, and did her research with great earnestness.  She quickly weeded out the sickly, inept, poor and stupid, and had honed in on her ideal choice – Brandon Livingston, of the Westport Livingston’s.  Yale undergraduate, Harvard Law, and a comfortable berth in Daddy’s media empire in the city.  However, Brandon had a good sense of the zeitgeist, and was soon heading up a new branch in Daddy’s company, developing computer software.  Yes, he was just what she was looking for.

They were married, and she became Mrs. Sonora Livingston-Bundt.  And although she no longer danced, she kept the world of dance firmly in her sight.  She was determined to be a patroness of the arts – and of dance in particular.  She arranged lavish gala celebrations and fund raisers, and was soon the Queen of the New York arts society.

The years passed pleasantly enough. Brandon was wildly successful with the software division, but was hardly ever at home or available.  She was forty before she knew it – but still dancer trim.  It had been decidedly inconvenient for her to have children, so that family function had been passed along to Brandon’s siblings.  The in-laws seemed content with that.  She was still glamorous and involved, but was growing increasingly restless.  She wanted to travel.

Brandon could never get away, so off she went on her own – Europe, Asia, the Peruvian jungles; treks across Mongolia; archeology in the Southwest…  And that is how she discovered the glories of Santa Fe – fell in love with its magical charms, and bought a house at Chamisa Springs.

This was easily accomplished because, just the previous month, Brandon had run into a tree and died while skiing in Aspen with his boyfriend.  Of course, she inherited everything.

The grieving widow had managed to re-conceive the circumstances of Brandon’s death for his family and friends; and in her great sorrow, sold the penthouse in New York, and moved out west to her new Santa Fe home to grieve and heal.  At least that was the story.

I thought I would introduce you to some of my characters from Divas Never Flinch.  Today you will get an introductin to Connye, one of the main protaganosts in my Santa Fe saga.  More will follow.

*       *      *

Connye Andreatos was born Connie Thibodaux deep in the swampy bits of Vermillion Parish in southern Louisiana.  She could catch and skin a gater by the time she was eight.

She had an aunt on her mother’s side that had ‘the gift.’  It was whispered that she could talk with the dead, and read people’s minds; and that she would wander the swamps late at night doing who knows what all with charms and trinkets.  It was not talked about openly in the the immediate family, but Connie was fascinated with her, and hung around in the background when she visited, and gleaned a great deal about her from words that were dropped here and there.  When she was old enough to visit her auntie on her own, she would stay weekends, and they would talk long into the night about her gift.  Connie hoped that she, too, might be gifted that way, but she wasn’t.  In any case, she continued to have a deep and abiding interest in all things otherworldly and spiritual.

But she felt, as she grew older, the stultifying confines of the town of Dauvin, and as soon as she could put together a couple of hundred bucks from working at the bowling alley, she headed off to New Orleans, where she stayed with her cousin Beth.

She thrived in New Orleans.  She got a job at the perfume counter at the Bon Ton, and went to night school to better herself.  She was a clever, attractive, and ambitious young woman, and soon found herself engaged to Kostas Andreatos from Miami, who owned a chain of lobster restaurants around the country.  Their engagement was short, and they were married and settled in New Orleans, as it was a half way point in the country, and Kostas could better supervise his restaurants from there.  It was then that Connie changed the spelling of her name to Connye.  But it was just the beginning of her transformation.  Little Connie of Dauvin, Louisiana was now married to Mr. Lobster Pot, with a hundred and eighty restaurants across the United States and Canada.  She cultivated her native smarts, and soon became a doyenne of both the social and arts scenes of New Orleans.  Kostas could care less. He was away most of the time anyway, screwing a Tallahassee waitress or two in one of his Lobster Pots.

However, time and clotted arteries caught up with Kostas, and he left poor Connye a widow with the Lobster Pot business, and a measly one hundred and fifty million (well invested at eight percent) dollars.  There were no children.

Freed from the constraints of marriage, and more than a little done with Louisiana, Connye followed her natural bent towards both culture and the callings of Spirit, and settled herself in Santa Fe.

Connye had a certain Isadora Duncan quality.  Her massive mane of slightly graying brown hair (which she refused to dye, however much her hair dresser pleaded) was slightly Kabukiesque; but it was her badge of womanly independence, and she treasured her somewhat wild and frantic look.  She always dressed in loose fitting, flowing outfits – no fitted Channel for her.   Yes, she embodied the Santa Fe model to a T.  And she needs the looser outfits now, as she is a big girl.  It has been quite some time since she last wrestled a startled alligator.

I don’t like the fact that plants sometimes don’t behave as they should.  Who gave permission for my tomato plant all nice and spiky and full of vim and vigor to just suddenly slump.  It’s not fair.  It’s not comprehensible in the perfect world of gardening.  All my other plants are just fine.  Living in an apartment I cannot have a real garden with rows of corn and stakes of climbing peas.  No, I have to garden in two Earth Boxes and an assortment of various pots.  Nice as they are, they are just itty-bitty micro gardens.  I can fit three tomato plants in each of my two Earth Boxes, and all the plants have been growing and flourishing for weeks now.  They have grown like weeds and are already putting out little yellow flowers with the promise of ripe juicy ham sized tomatoes in the height of summer.

But this one little fellow has suddenly decided to expire.  The other two plants in the box are just fine.  They are heroically holding up their part of the gardening bargain and are vibrant and sassy.  But this one guy – one of my favorites, a yellow pear – has suddenly decided to take a vacation.  Bummer.

Yesterday was my day to take my newly printed novel Divas Never Flinch out to the local bookstores to introduce myself, and show off as the NEW LOCAL AUTHOR, encouraging them to buy the book for their stores.  Sad how there are now only one bookstore chain and three independent book stores left in Santa Fe.  Ebooks rule I guess.

Anyway, when I came home I first saw my sad little tomato drooping like Oliver Twist, asking “More please.”  In my rush to take my hot little novel to show and tell I had forgotten to water that morning.  As I was leaving I realized I’d forgotten, but thought, “Ah it will be okay ’til I get back.”  Now here was the result of my rash forgetfulness – a dying plant.

I rushed to water everything.  I have my little water meter and checked all the pots.  Most were fine, but I extra watered my poor little soldier and waited.  Would it revive?  I kept checking every ten minutes but it just continued hanging its head.

Finally it began to revive and I thought if it gets through the night it might revive completely.

This morning I went out and it was almost okay.  Only one little bit was still droopy, but Yes! it was going to survive.  Then I did my morning watering and gave it an extra topping off, and when I checked back later it was drooping even worse.  Can you over water a tomato?  I didn’t think so – but there it was, and it looks like I will soon have to call the Plantville mortuary to take my poor baby away.

And so now I mourn.  Grief spilling out all over the place.  I will give it another day or so, but if the fellow doesn’t respond to the lovely sunshine out he goes.  Don’t want him infecting the other plants with his poor attitude.  And like I said – there is no room in my garden for plants who don’t behave as they should.

Every morning I read the comics page in my local newspaper.  Occasionally I will see that a couple of the comic strips will have either the same theme or feature identical elements.  For example two of the comics today both were centered around toast or toasters.  I have seen this happen over and over.  Two writers seem to be channeling the same ideas at the same time when they are creating their strips.  I have witnessed this phenomena occur is other art forms as well – movies – plays – books will come out with similar themes or subjects.  I remember some years back several books and plays came out about Mary Lincoln all at about the same time.

What is at work here?  Is it zeitgeist – the spirit of the times?  I don’t want to get all woo woo but something does seem to be working behind the scenes.  Some overreaching thought that is struggling to manifest, and various artists pick that idea up at the same time.

This interests me because of the very nature of the creative process itself.  I have discussed on this blog how I feel that when I am writing, the characters are actually creating themselves through me.  They seem to be in charge and are manifesting themselves without any intellectual imput from me.  This process has always fascinated me, and here seems to be an other example of ideas or individuals coming from some place of collective unconscious which would explain how in something as simple and brief as a comic strip some deeper unconscious force is at work.

I am constantly amazed and amused at how the creative process works.  And I love that it remaines anchored in mystery.

Okay, I’m finally getting it.  You want to be an author?  So you sit down and compose a masterpiece.  You find an enthusiastic publisher to get you out there, and then you sit back and collect the royalties.  Nope.  You’ve only done half your work.  Now the real work begins.  Whatever your publisher might do marketing your book – that is just not enough these days.  All the old models of selling books no longer apply.  What you really need to do is market yourself.  It is up to you, the author, to get out there and create a following.  Marketing can no longer be left to just the publisher.

I know I’ve mentioned this before, but it is finally coming home to me after I had a long two-hour conversation with my publisher this weekend about what I am expected to do as my part of the marketing program.  Wow.  Pant pant.  I won’t go into all the details but there are basically three parts to the operation.  1.  Internet and social media  2.  Personal contacts  And 3.  Author book sales

I may decide to describe these various programs as I explore each one, but let me just comment on one of the first projects I am going to do.  A YouTube video.  I have a friend who has a video legacy business.  She makes videos of family history.  Her website is www.heartfeltvideolegacies.com.  She is going to help me construct a nice professional looking video about 5 minutes long.  Since I have no money to do this, I am counting on help from friends.  I will have a short filming session, then serve lunch to all the helpers, and give them copies of my book, Divas Never Flinch.  While this may be small compensation, at least it will be something, and I hope will make for an enjoyable experience for everyone.

And I have sooooo much to learn about the other aspects of social media.  I am the original Luddite, but I will get my head around all this new stuff, and work my butt off to get the word out and make the kind of connections necessary to do my part of the marketing scheme.

One thing my publisher impressed upon me was how important it is to see myself as an already successful writer.  Just to be published is a major accomplishment.  She stressed that people are attracted to success, and it is very important not to be seen as marketing my book, but to be seen as a successful writer wanting to give back to the community by offering to teach writing courses, to give interviews, offering books to charity auctions etc.  There are many ways to participate in the community that will get you noticed.

I know I’ve only touched on the many, many avenues that I need to explore, but rather than lay them all out now I think it would be best to report on them as I move forward, trying each one and seeing how well they work.

And lastly I want to report that the print version of Divas will be available either later this week or next.  The book has been submitted to the distributer, but they need to work their magic, and then it will be officially available.  Will keep you all posted.

Stumped

I’ve come to a curious place.  I’m not sure where to go with this blog.  I’ve covered a lot of the topics I wanted to cover in my experience with writing, and there is not a lot to report just now on the launch of the print version of my novel Divas Never Flinch.  I have completed the review of the print version and it is now back in the hands of my publisher.  They have their own mysteries about the procession of the next steps.  All I know for certain is that they will be ordering a printed copy to review with a fine tooth comb, and make sure all is well before they launch the print version to their distributors – where they will have their own esoteric duties and responsibilities.

This leads me to the other subject of this week’s blog – Marketing – which determines the ultimate success or failure of a book.  There are 500,000 published books a year – 200,000 printed books – the rest ebooks.  And only a small percent of those books succeed in a meaningful way.

I have touched on this subject before, but it is becoming more urgent and up front for me now.  I have been so very pleased with my publisher up to this point, but this is where the excrement hits the fan right about now for Divas.  How successful will my publisher be at marketing?  Will they be able to launch the print version in a meaningful way?  I’m afraid this is here I am beginning to have some trepidation.

I’ve been reading a lot about the state of publishing today and it seems that most publishers – and that includes the big ones too – are at a loss as to how to market books these days.  All the old paradigms are no longer working.  Print ads, readings, book signings, emails, PR, book tours – all cost much more than they bring in.  And where are the bookstores any way?  It’s all sales on line these days.

It seems that the new paradigm is something called – at least by one source – the Tribal Author.  The idea behind this is that there is such a massive explosion of information these days through all media that it is now the responsibility of each author to build his or her own fan base.  This means massive work to establish and build followers through social media.  Oh boy.  That is exactly where this 71-year-old recluse just totally misses the mark.  All this social media stuff makes my eyes glaze over and I become inert and incompetent.  I have to be really, really honest here and admit that I don’t think I have the stomach, nor the ability launch the type of campaign necessary to create a tribe of followers large enough to insure the success of my writing.  I guess this leaves me with the prospect of dancing for rain – if you get my meaning.  I will just have to see what my publisher comes up with, and as for creating a tribe – well I hope it’s a tribe that also dances for rain.

I have tried to enter a blog post a week up to now.  Not sure if I can keep that up.  So from now on I will post when I have something I think is significant to say.  Don’t want to waste anyone’s time with filler.  So till next time…..