It was my intention to blog about this long before now but things kept getting in the way. And since next weekend, I’ll be off attending a full-day workshop, I thought I should get the one from August written up first.

On August 7, Ottawa Romance Writers Association member, Teresa Wilde, conducted an excellent workshop (If the Self-Pub Shoe Fits…) on her experience publishing for the Kindle on amazon and other devices on Smashwords.

Pros of self-publishing:

You never have to write another synopsis.
You’re in charge of your own destiny.
You write all your own marketing material.

Cons of self-publishing:

You’re in charge of your own destiny.
You write all your own marketing material.
There are no guarantees.

There are probably more pros and cons that I’ve not listed here but I think these are the biggies.

Amazon’s terms and conditions are long and detailed and what you have to remember is that they WILL change and you have no control over it.

DRM (Digital Rights Management) is a one-time option and if you inadvertently turn it on, you can’t change it after. Make sure you don’t do that!

Something that you might take for granted is the headers/footers and page #s in your original documents. Since the Kindle, Nook, Sony and Kobo are electronic devices, they work in screens not pages which can be zoomed in or out depending on the preferences of the person reading on the device. I’m certain, too, it was mentioned to take out page breaks because the device will automatically deal with that, with the exception of breaks for Chapters. This bit is a bit murky now because I didn’t write the post right away and some of my notes aren’t the easiest to read. If anyone can confirm this last bit for me, it would be most appreciated.

Amazon has put together an excellent video which is available on You tube here. At the end of the video, there are some other related ones that are worth checking out, too.

Before you take the plunge and decide to self-publish, make sure your novel/novella/anthology is in the best shape it can be in. After all, you don’t want to shoot yourself in the foot.

Teresa Wilde writes as Teresa Morgan.

Love a Happy ending author Harry Leslie Smith now has a book trailer for his poignant book 1923: A Memoir.

You can view the trailer on You Tube at the link below.

Yesterday was my second time attending the Scene of the Crime Mystery Festival. While I didn’t attend the morning workshop (reasons for which will be revealed further along in the post – a mystery, if you will), I had a wonderful time!

The weather started out perfect, even if a bit windy early in the morning. Free parking at the ferry dock is limited so I didn’t even look there. I went straight to the lot at The Holiday Inn. Even if I had to pay to park for the day, the bays are slightly larger so less chance of getting the car dented by people swinging their car doors open without a care. Besides, we’d be sitting a lot during the day so a bit of a walk wasn’t going to hurt us.

The wind farm on Wolfe Island is impressive. The turbines can be seen from the 401… that is, if you have the luxury of riding shotgun so you can take the time to look. The ferry ride affords the opportunity to take in these powerful yet beautiful structures.

When we docked, an escort was waiting to direct us to the Island Grill where we registered and had coffee and muffins and a chance to meet the authors in an informal setting. Violette Malan, President of Scene of the Crime, told me that my registration caused some confusion. Since my husband was coming with me, I filled out my registration as “Melanie King”. Well no one knew me as that. Violette said she knew a “Melanie Robertson-King” so the initial confusion was cleared up. Next bit of the conundrum was where to file me in the registration kits since they were being filed in alphabetical order by surname…

It was here at the Island Grill that I saw my friend, Beth, who I’d not seen in at least two years. She and her husband had arrived the day before and were leaving early so it was nice to see her and get caught up.

The author readings took place in the United Church directly across the street from the public school. It was timed to coincide with the end of the morning workshop so those folks attending it could enjoy hearing the authors.

Elizabeth read from her book, A Brush with Death and Chris (C.B.) read from his Slow Recoil, both books already published.

R.J. Harlick read from her upcoming book A Green Place for Dying which is scheduled for publication in 2012. Howard Shrier captivated the audience with his presentation of the prologue of his novel, Boston Cream, which will be published in January 2012.

I’ve never had a church catered meal I didn’t like and this one was no exception. We took our lunches outside and ate at one of the picnic tables set up beside the church. We sat at the same table as my friend, Beth, and author Elizabeth J. Duncan. Convivial conversation led to the discovery that she and Beth had worked on a project together for the CNIB. It was further revealed that Beth and I are “family” because of our Home Child connection. Her mother came two years before my father.

Over the lunch break, I bought two of Elizabeth’s books (The Cold Light of Mourning and A Brush with Death)and got them signed. I also bought one of R.J. Harlick’s (Arctic blue Death) that was available. While she signed it for me, we talked about her being at the Thousand Islands Writers Festival last year… a connection… (never hurts).

The afternoon venue was the Anglican Church so we walked over in plenty of time to get a good seat. Last year on the walk, the remains of an old boat sat on a corner lot. This year it was gone, however my cohort, partner-in-crime, writing date, co-conspirator for the storefront writing contest got a photo of it and posted it on her blog (link to follow).

Luckily, we passed the Wolfe Island branch of the Kingston library before it closed so had the opportunity to go in and see the Grant Allen Triangle on display. Violette had mentioned it before the lunch break and last year we were too late to see it. The triangle is home to some of Grant’s books.

Next to the Triangle is a Scene of the Crime bookcase. Past and present SOTC author’s books are displayed here, along with other Canadian Crime Writers’.

The afternoon panel discussion, led by author Vicki Delany, was on the same subject as her morning workshop – Creating the character of the Antagonist.

After a lively afternoon with the authors, at the break, those who were interested toured the cemetery behind the church.

After enjoying the breeze outdoors, it was once again time to go inside the church where, guest lecturer, Staff Sergeant Kristina Patterson talked about Keeping Police Officers Safe and the training the tactics they use everyday to remain that way.

Kristina’s presentation was followed by the presentation of the Grant Allen award to Maureen Jennings, author of the Murdoch mystery series which has been adapted for the screen and being sold world-wide. She’s following her success with a three part crime thriller set in wartime Britain. The first is Season of Darkness, recently released (also available for purchase).

Maureen was interviewed by a representative from The Kingston Whig-Standard, after which, I was able to get up close and personal with the Grant Allen award which is a kaleioscope, handmade by one of the island’s artisans. Unfortunately, I was a bit too close and personal because the pictures I took were out of focus. DRAT! At least I have the satisfaction of knowing I saw it.

The day on the island was capped off with a wonderful church supper in the hall across the street from the church.

We could have made the 6:30 ferry back to Kingston but tucked in our registration kits were coupons for a free ice-cream cone so we stopped for it (in lieu of dessert at the hall). There’s nothing worse than dripping ice-cream all over the place and having the wind blow your hair in it so we lingered a while on the island which turned out great. We met a couple from Perth who were passing through on their way back home from the US.

By now the wind had died down to the point there was hardly a ripple on the water. The brilliance of the setting sun was blinding but I still managed to get a good photo of it.

Before long the ferry arrived to shuttle us back to the mainland. It was far from full but because of their schedule, we left with still an entire row available for cars.

As on the way to the island, we stood on the upper deck near the bow of the ferry (if you can call it that since both ends are the same) so I could take pictures. I thought the first one I took of the setting sun turned out well, I was more pleased with this one. Far more dramatic than the first with the extreme contrasts.

Shortly before docking, we went down to the lower level. We met up with Elizabeth Duncan again and chatted with her while we waited for the signal to disembark. Her taxi was waiting to whisk her off to the bus station and back to Toronto. We said our final goodbyes to her there before walking back to the Holiday Inn parking lot where we got a pleasant surprise when we left. We were expecting to pay at minimum of $15 to leave the car there but the young attendant I passed the ticket to said we were good to go and lifted the gate for us to leave.

The day on the island was fantastic. I can’t wait to do it again next year!

THE BRIDGE CLUB (.. it was never just about the cards..)

ENTER TO WIN….

There is one copy of Patricia Sand’s wonderful novel, The Bridge Club, waiting to be won. Simply post your details as a comment here by 13 August 2011 to be entered into the random draw.   (Please note: comments can take up to 24 hours to appear.)

Eight women. Four decades of friendship. One unimaginable request. How far would you go to  help a good friend? Is there a point where you might draw the line?

Partying together as hip twenty-somethings in the psychedelic 1960’s, eight young women begin a connection that will last longer than any ever imagined.

What starts as a monthly card game, turns into forty years that span a woman’s journey from youthful optimism to the challenges and opportunities presented in life’s later years. The complexities of women’s friendships are played out through a maze of life’s inevitable scenarios. Laughter and tears lead to a crisis that challenges principles and proves the power of friendship.

The Bridge Club is a story for anyone who cares about friendship. Not simply the “Hi, how are you?” type but the kind that weathers all storms, unselfishly celebrates triumphs, and hums along year after year with never an unkind word. It does exist. If you already share a friendship like this, you will relate to the women of The Bridge Club. If you don’t, perhaps the story will inspire you to find it.

Here are some excerpts from this inspiring novel by Patricia, that give a glimpse of what The Bridge Club is all about:-

The tires crunched up the gravel drive leading to Pam’s rustic log house, where the rest of the Bridge Club was already relaxing. Relieved to be there, Dee laughed in spite of herself as the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” blared from around the back of the house with the familiar sound of the Bridge Club backup singers in full voice. Mick and the boys, Sir Elton, Sir Paul, Stevie Nicks, and the Bridge Club—still rockin’ as they headed for sixty.

One of the pluses of living in the country, she thought. You never have to worry about the volume.

The spacious cedar deck at Pam’s had witnessed many great parties over the years, and Dee knew precisely what the scene would be as she took the stone steps two at a time and rounded the corner of the house.

“I can’t get no, I can’t get no. Hey, hey, hey-y.”

The singing stopped mid-chorus as they welcomed the latecomer.

“Yay! Look who’s finally arrived!”

“Our first lady of the links!”

“How did the match go?”

Scarcely noticing a glass of white wine slipped into her hand, she made the rounds to get everyone’s latest news. Although she appeared subdued to several of the women, nothing was said. It was simply assumed she was tired from her day of golf. Of all the group, Dee was the most low key and conservative. She saved her moments of exuberance for very select occasions.

Cocktails at seven, dinner at eight was the tradition, and sometimes they actually made it happen. Tonight was one of those nights, so Dee had only about twenty minutes of chitchat outside before they sat down at the 150-year-old pine dining table for a late summer feast of BBQ ribs, free-range chicken from the farm down the road, accompanied by fresh corn, new potatoes, and field tomatoes all picked that afternoon. It was a traditional meal at this time of year, but Dee, known for the huge portions she could consume without gaining an ounce, wasn’t eating much on this particular evening.

“I’ve got a lump in my breast,” she blurted partway through dinner.

 *****

Bo signaled a time-out with her hands, obviously wanting to get back to Marti‘s earlier comment.

“Okay, enough of the sad story. It‘s done and we‘ve moved on, right? Not to be insensitive, but we did deal with this when it happened.”

“Absolutely right, enough is enough,” Marti agreed, happy to change the subject.

“So what‘s the powwow about?” Bonnie pressed on.

Leaping to her feet, Marti turned her back to them briefly and then twirled around with her hands pressed to the side of her face.

“Get it?” she asked.

Everyone looked at her quizzically.

Some laughed.

Others just shook their heads.

“Mar, to be honest you never have been very good at charades! What the hell are you getting at?” Dee asked, looking completely confused.

Plopping herself back down in her chair and making a face, Marti groaned, ”God I wish I still smoked! I would love to light up right now! Oh, but then I might not be able to do what I‘m thinking of doing. So…”

“So … what?” Jane asked.

Cass crumpled up a paper cocktail napkin and threw it at Marti, ”Will you tell us what this is all about?”

“You‘re making us crazy!” shrieked Danielle.

“I‘m making me crazy too! I cannot believe I feel so self-conscious telling you about this! Honestly, I feel like I‘m being so self-absorbed. So narcissistic. So … so … anti-feminist! All right, here it is. I‘m seriously thinking about having a facelift.”

With an air of exaggerated disappointment, Cass asked, “That‘s what all the drama was about?”

“No biggie there, Marti,” said Pam, palms outstretched and relieved this was all that had been on Marti‘s mind.

“Go for it—after careful consideration as to who does the work, of course,” was Dee‘s typically cautious response.

Marti sat up straighter, nodding as she did.

“So you don‘t think I‘m a nut bar or completely into myself? I‘ve really been reluctant to say the words out loud.”

“Oh God, Mar, just promise me you won‘t end up looking like Goldie Hawn in that movie. Remember those lips?” Cass reminded her.

Laughing and nodding, Marti gestured with her hands as she shook her head.

“No overblown lips. I promise.”

“Vanity, thy name is woman,”intoned Bonnie. “Even though it was probably some beauty editor and definitely not Shakespeare who said this, it seems to fit.”

“Guilty as charged,” laughed Marti, “just slap a big V on my forehead!”

*****

Back in Toronto after the vacation, Danielle rolled up her sleeves one morning after first cranking up Beatles music on her iPod. For over thirty years that was her music of choice to clean by. Today she was going to give the place a good once over. She moved all the furniture, cleaned every nook and cranny, and decided to tackle the storage closet. Bryce was off on his annual four-day fishing weekend at an isolated island lodge in Georgian Bay with the guys, so it was the perfect opportunity to turn things upside down.

Standing tiptoe on the top rung of the small stepladder, she momentarily lost her balance and knocked one of Bryce’s old briefcases to the floor. Working from home now and with files all stored on a laptop, he really didn’t use them anymore. This particular case had always been her favorite, with a soft, rich leather the color of roasted chestnuts and classic brass fittings. It had such a fine quality look to it that suited Bryce. As silly as it sounded, she had loved to see him carrying it.

The briefcase hit the floor with a sharp thud, and the locks popped open. Her heart stopped as her brain tried to make sense of what her eyes were seeing.

To find out more about Patricia and where to buy The Bridge Club, here are some links:-

Author Page: http://loveahappyending.com/patricia-sands/

Author Website:  http://www.patriciasandsauthor.com
Author Blog:  http://www.patriciasands.wordpress.com
Twitter A/c @Patricia_Sands:  http://bit.ly/rbk8i1
Facebook page Patricia Sands:  http://on.fb.me/lvigrm and
Facebook page The Bridge Club: http://on.fb.me/m3NfQY