Hello…My name is Annette Drake

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After driving more than 1700 miles, I stood in front of an audience of four and said those words. This was my first presentation about Celebration House and marketing genius that I am, I decided there was no better place to do this than Lexington, Missouri, where the book takes place. Thus the oh-so-long drive.

I hoped to have an audience of 10 people. The Lexington newspaper printed a small article about Celebration House. Sure, it was nearly word-for-word from the press release that the library gave them and it was on page 4. But, hey! I was in the Lexington News.

As the day approached, I tried to decrease my anxiety by telling myself that no one would come, but I was wrong. Tucked downstairs in the basement of the Lexington branch of the Trails Library, I had an audience of four. Two of those were my husband and our son.

Mary, the first audience member to arrive, was a print journalist who just helped publish a pictorial history of Lexington. I bought a copy of this amazing book, and Chris and I poured over its pages the rest of the trip. We history nerds loved it!

The other attendee, Larry, was writing a genealogy of his family. He and I talked about the pros and cons of self-publishing, and he told me that Lexington actually had two Civil War battles, though the second one wasn’t of much consequence.

Larry made me laugh. When he saw my cover and the ghostly soldier outfitted in blue, he said, “You know Lexington was pro-south, don’t you?” I did indeed, but I quickly explained the hero of my book served under Col. James Mulligan from St. Louis. Larry nodded a curt approval.

Both of these attendees were a delight. My 30-minute presentation stretched into an hour and a half. The woman was determined to buy my book, and we spent the last 10 minutes of the session trying to navigate the Tirgearr website so I would receive the most money. I gave up when the Amazon page she’d been directed to asked for payment in English pounds. In all of my interest in these two attendees, I forgot to actually read the first chapter from the book. Oops.

A huge shout-out to my amazing husband, who drove nearly all of those 1,700 miles and stayed up until midnight the night before the presentation to change a flat tire. Thanks to my mother-in-law who bought us an AAA membership for the road. And of course, thanks to the staff – Carol, Donna and Mardeana – at Trails Library for hosting me.    

But even after the library presentation, my book tour wasn’t done. At the Obermeier family reunion the next day, I saw my Aunt Mary Rose. This, truthfully, was one of the purposes of the trip – to see and talk with this amazing woman who played such an important role in my childhood. I was also delighted to see my Uncle Jack, Aunt Joann, cousins Debbie, Bill and David.  

At the reunion, I showed my power point again and a cousin’s wife, Connie, told me she would buy the book. At the end of the reunion, I was approached by an older relative, Bill. He wanted to buy my book because, like me, he suffers from insomnia and reading books on Kindle helps him through some long nights. I was delighted to show him Celebration House.

The next day, I met my father’s new significant other, Margaret. She saw my book and bought a copy, then posted it to Facebook and told me her friends were buying it.

We spent a few days invading, I mean visiting, my sister, Barb. On our last day at her house, Wilda, the clerk at the Prengers grocery store, told me she’d gone looking for me on Facebook and had stumbled onto my book. Why hadn’t I told her I wrote books? I explained that self-promotion sometimes felt awkward to me. She told me she had already bought and downloaded Celebration House.

Perhaps the event at the library in Lexington with my audience of two wasn’t worth driving 1,700 miles. But reconnecting with my family and meeting these new readers was.

Hands and arms inside the cart, please. Next: More treasure from the long road trip.

Ode to a hound

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Hour after hour, I sit at this desk, promoting Celebration House and sometimes, for a few stolen minutes of bliss, working on my next book, A Year with Geno. My family leaves me in peace. They know I get cranky with interruptions. But I’m not alone: my faithful basset hound, Eeyore, is asleep by my chair.

Recently, I reconnected with my uncle, Jack Obermeier. We’re Facebook friends now. I laughed when I saw his portrait photo: a beautiful long-eared hound. At least I know I come by my passion for the breed through genetics. Here, then, is a humble offering to my Uncle Jack and those in my audience who cannot imagine life without a hound:

Ten things a hound may hear from his owner:
10. I’ve already fed you today. Three times.
9. Why is there a string of drool on this picture frame?
8. You look guilty. Why do you look guilty?
7. How did you get two pounds of raw hamburger off the countertop?
6. You. Smell. Bad.
5. Stop baying. Someone rang the doorbell on the television.
4. How did you get the Easter candy? It was in my bedroom closet.
3. You’re living proof that chocolate does not kill dogs. But right now, I wish it did.
2. What’s in your mouth? Ew, it’s a mouse! I can see the tail…
1. Drop it! Drop it! Oh, you swallowed it.

The Night before Publication

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‘Twas the night before publication,

When all through the house.

Not a creature was stirring,

Except my computer mouse.

 

My spouse was nestled all snug in his bed,

While visions of royalties danced in his head.

And me nodding off at my computer so late,

Desperate to give my blog an update.

 

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.

Away to the window, I flew like a flash,

Tore open the curtains and threw up the sash.

 

The moon on the breast of the garden below,

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects, ya’ know.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But the ghost of Ray Bradbury, purposeful and clear.

 

He strode boldly toward me as though on a mission.

His purpose was clear; rein in my ambition.

Seconds later, in my humble office, he stood.

His bushy brows furrowed, his expression not good.

 

I had written a book, a modest tale,

Which I promoted fanatically, desperate for sales.

Ray came to tell me this promotion must cease.

Focus on the craft, not on the release.

 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

He finished this blog entry, then turned with a jerk,

And giving a nod, out the front door he strode.

No fear of policemen upon this dark road.

 

He walked away, whistling, a spectre of the night,

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere leaving my sight,

“Your intuition knows what to write, so get out of the way.”

And these words began my publishing day.

The Carwash Dragon

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Yesterday, I abandoned the promotion of Celebration House to join my husband’s family at their annual retreat at Priest Lake, Idaho. The sun was shining; the water was warm. The food at the family potluck was amazing. Alas, with less than a week to go, I needed to be here, in front of my computer, coordinating publicity for my book.

But, I was fortunate enough to spend time with one of my husband’s cousins, Sarah, who a few weeks back opened her home to three young children in need of sanctuary. With her own two daughters, and a friend of one of these girls, Sarah took six children to the lake this weekend. I would need medication to do this, perhaps a Prozac patch. Just slap that sucker on and all is good.

While strolling to the restroom with Sarah’s daughter, Emma, I was asked, “Do you really write books?” And with a ridiculous amount of pride, I said, “Yes. Yes, I do.” I then launched into the telling of this short tale, which I share here for all to see, but especially Miss Emma. Please to enjoy The Carwash Dragon.

 

 THE CARWASH DRAGON

 

 Jack was afraid of nothing. Except dragons. And carwashes.

While riding his bicycle to the schoolyard to play, he heard someone crying.  He stopped pedaling and there, underneath a tall pecan tree, sat a little green dragon, a pink barrette in her hair.

Her wings were folded around her body like ear muffs.  Her tail draped around her neck like a lost scarf.  But despite tail and wings, Jack heard the little dragon crying.

Jack was afraid of dragons.  But who can pedal past someone who is so sad?  Jack had to stop.  He got off his bicycle and walked over to the little dragon, who sat sniffling and snuffling.  After a minute, she blew her nose on her tail.

“Are you okay, little dragon?” Jack asked.

Without even looking up, the dragon said, “I’m lost,” and cried even louder.  A puddle of tears pooled around her feet.

Jack didn’t know what to do.  His mom and dad would know what to do, but they were a block behind him.  They couldn’t keep up with Jack when he rode his bicycle.  They walked but he pedaled.

“Fly up high, little dragon.  You can find your house if you fly above the trees.”

“I’m afraid of heights,” the dragon said, pointing to the sky with her front foot.  Unfolding her wings, she looked at Jack for the first time.

When she saw Jack, she closed her wings back against her body.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, looking around to see what had spooked the dragon.

“I’m afraid of little boys,” she said, her sobs shaking her whole body.

“Everybody is afraid of something,” Jack told her. “I’m afraid of the carwash.”

The dragon stopped sniffling.  She unfolded her wings and laid down her tail.

“I’m not afraid of the carwash,” she said.

“You’re not?” Jack asked. He was surprised.

“No.  I like the cool water on my skin, and those big blue brushes scratch my back in just the right spot.  It’s a lot faster than a bath too.”

“What about the hot air that blows at the end?” Jack asked.  “Doesn’t that scare you?”

“No.  It blows my scales dry so I don’t catch a cold when I go outside.”

“But carwashes are so loud,” Jack said.

She shrugged.  “I guess I’m used to it.  Our lair is right by the carwash.”

“It is?” Jack asked.  “I know how to get to the carwash.  Climb on my bike, and I’ll take you there.”

“Well, are you sure it’s safe?”

“C’mon,” Jack told her.  “You can trust me.  Here, I’ll help you up.  My name is Jack.”

“I’m Olive.  It’s nice to meet you.”

Jack got off the bike and held the handlebars steady.  The dragon stepped up into the basket on the bicycle, right behind his seat.  Jack swung his legs back over the bicycle frame.  Her feet tucked into the basket, the little dragon rested her front claws on Jack’s shoulders.  Her breath felt warm on his neck.

“Okay.  I’m ready,” she told Jack.  “But go slow.  I’ll get scared if you go too fast.”

Jack started pedaling, the dragon perched behind him.  He pedaled this way and that, turning left and then right, until he got to the carwash.  Soaring high above the building were two huge dragons, their shadows crisscrossing the ground.

“That’s my mom and dad,” the dragon said. “Hey! I’m down here,” she shouted to them and waved.

Suddenly, the earth shook.  Sitting right in front of Jack were the two biggest dragons he’d ever imagined, their wings green and golden in the sunlight.  Olive jumped down from the bicycle and ran to her parents, who both looked at Jack curiously.

“Where have you been, Olive?” the first dragon asked.  Her voice reminded Jack of his mother’s voice when he was in trouble.

“I got lost, Mom,” she said, looking down at the ground.

“And who is your friend?” the other, even-bigger dragon asked, his deep voice booming in Jack’s ears.

“His name is Jack, and he’s very brave,” Olive said to her father. “He’s not afraid of anything.”

“He’s not?” her father asked. “How unusual.”

“Do your parents know where you are, Jack?” her mother asked.

“No, ma’am. I better be going.”

Olive stepped up to Jack and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you for bringing me home,” she said to Jack. “You are fearless.”

Jack turned his bike around and pedaled back towards home.  He heard both of his parents calling his name as he reached the schoolyard.

“Where have you been, Jack? We looked for you everywhere,” his mother said.

“I went to the carwash.”

“That’s a long way to pedal by yourself,” his dad said.

“I wasn’t alone. I took a friend home.”

“You rode all the way to the carwash, Jack? Weren’t you afraid?” his mother asked.

“Yes, I was. But it seemed more important to take her home than to feel afraid. And when I got there, I felt…”

What word had Olive used? Jack remembered.

“I felt fearless.”

 

 

Hugh Howey! My hero…

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Recently, I stumbled onto the May/June 2013 issue of Writer’s Digest. A young, good-looking man stared back at me and I saw his name: Hugh Howey. That name was familiar.

I turned to page 34 and read. What I learned may change my life.

In July of 2011, Hugh posted an e-book novella of “Wool” online. In October, he realized the book was selling about 1,000 copies per month. He compiled all five sections of the book, and three months later, he was selling 20,000-30,000 copies of the book. “Wool” went on to become the Kindle Book Review’s 2012 Best Indie Book Award in the Sci-Fi/fantasy category. By the time the book had been out for about a year, Howey was selling 20,000-30,000 copies of “Wool” a month. His monthly salary: $150,000 from e-book sales alone. He quit his day job. The offers of representation poured in, as did the offers from publishers. But Howey did an amazing thing: he only sold the hardback and paperback rights to “Wool.” He kept the e-book rights for himself. This is revolutionary for authors.

I know it’s ridiculous to compare “Bone Girl” to “Wool.” They’re different genres. “Wool” is science fiction, and as near as I can figure, “Bone Girl” is a middle-grade novel.

But one Sunday night a few weeks ago, the financial pressure cooker that is my life darn near exploded. In desperation, I thought, hell, let me see if I can put “Bone Girl” on Kindle. And guess what? I did. I put together some cover art and lo and behold, I downloaded the first three chapters. Why not? That was the same amount of material I sent to all of the agents and publishers who rejected the book. How many rejections exactly? About 22 now.

Howey self-published his books because he was impatient. I am the queen of impatience. My former journalism professor, Les Dunseith, told me I was the most impatient person he had ever known. Flatterer.

But there was more to it than that. Howey wanted someone to read his work rather than let it languish on the hard drive of his computer. Me again. That was the reason I put Bone Girl on the Authonomy website. I never intended to fight my way to the top so an editor at HarperCollins would read it. I wanted anyone to read it, regardless of whether it propelled my writing career.

Here’s the scary thing about Bone Girl: it’s the best book I’ve written. I don’t know if I will ever write another book with such an amazing main character, and I can’t sell the darn thing. My rejection count stands at 22.

Self-publish it? I don’t know. Maybe. I’m sure thinking about it.