Hallelujah I Broke My Head - Part 2

Off the cuff, can I say how much I love google analytics?  I'm bad (real bad) at geography, but the way I see it, if it's not in Scotland, why should I care?  

So, anyway, google analytics just told me where Malaysia is.  And it told me where Petaling Jaya is.  I did a google image search and the city is lovely.  I don't know who visited my blog from there, but thank you.  Now I know something new.

I love knowing new things. 

My broken head, part 2 carries on from My Broken Head Part 1 (the post immediately beneath this one.)

I was all for adding my Tome of Infinite Greatness to the assembled crap of the slush pile, seen on the left here.  With a title like The Guns of Pleasure and Death and a kick-ass septigenarian and a rampaging evil God it was so incredibly awesome it would stand ten miles out from the crowd.  It would blow them all away.

I am nothing if not confident.  (It would only count as arrogance if I thought I was better than I am.  But despite the fact that I am number one on this list, ((I am, go, check, look right back to number one... okay you got me, I'm not, but I should be)) I'm actually modest).

But then I started to think things through.  And I realised I didn't want to do that.  And I blogged all about my recalcitrance elsewhere.  Because I know how much you love reading about me, it's here.

And then I decided to go indie.

And that's when things got interesting.  Or difficult.  Depends on your point of view, really.






I mean, the cat probably finds this interesting.  The mouse, I'd say he's more angled towards difficult.



Interesting or Difficult: problems with POV

Weirdly I discovered my head had been subliminally altered by years of consumerism.  I thought the way I had been taught to think.  I bought the things I had been told to buy.  I was a good little Mass Media consumer junkie.  I was a 21st Century Zombie (that would make an awesome title).

I thought the way I was taught to think.  I thought e-books were wrong, evil, dirty, not real books at all.  I thought books should have a minimum of 80,000 words.  I thought novellas were wrong, evil, dirty, not real books at all.  I thought success could be measured in sales and money.  I thought Neil Armstrong had landed on the moon (the flag moves in the wind, for goodness sake).


I, who consciously rebel against conformity for no reason other than the fact that I like rebellions; I, who am in mind if not in body of a punkest mindset (I be a punk, right-o, yo ma bitch); I, who - yeah, you get the point.  I'm always that guy, the one not doing what he's supposed to be doing.  The one, you know him.  


I have problems with authority.  If I was a girl, I'd get pregnant just so I could piss in a policeman's hat.  What?  Are you saying you wouldn't?


And now my head has betrayed me.  It's a conformist.  Damn it, my head is a sheep, and it isn't a cool ass sheep like this one. 

 I love that sheep.


No, it's a lame duck type of sheep.  I'm not posting a picture because my blog is already nearly overrun with wool and animals.  Y'all might start thinking I'm Jodi Meadows' secret identity or something.  Incidentally, if you have never read her blog, you should.  It's good.  Nearly as good as mine.  It is here.

My head betrayed me, and so I broke it.  And now I'm free.  Now I see what I couldn't see before.   

 Oh, this one has gotten long, too.


Well, I shall post the third and final part of My Broken Head soon. 
 

Hallelujah I Broke My Head - Part 1

I finally done it.  I broke my head.  This is good.  No, this is awesome.

I have broken my head right open (makes it easier to fill with ideas).

I am so happy.

You see, like so many writers, I was chained to the idea of a BOOK - the idea set out by NY Publishing firms, by the Big Six.  

(Okay, so I couldn't find a picture of all six of the big NY publishers together.  But thematically this picture sends out the right message, I think).

But now my head is broken open.

I thought (as so many others do) that a book must be between 80,000 and 120,000 words.  I thought that I had to think up the best title I could, the title that would ultimately SELL my novel to an agent, from an agent to an editor, from an editor to his boss, and CARRY my book all the way to the SALES department where someone would arbritarily (is that a word?) decide that my title would never sell my book to anyone.  Ever.

Incidentally, a small aside to point out that this is one of the major reasons I'm going indie.  Publishers have a whole "the rest of the world are idiots" attitude.  I mean, come on, my title got the back this far, so obviously an agent, editor, publisher, blah blah can get excited about my title.  Why not Mr Joe Public?  Because he's an idiot.  Except I don't think he is.  I am the book buying public (well, not all of it, obviously) and I certainly don't see myself as being an idiot.  Interlude over.  Back to our scheduled programme.  

Hi, I'm back, and I broke my head.


I thought that my cover could best be thought up by a graphic designer who had never read my book but had a two sentence summary.  "The seventy two year old female MC has to save the world from a crystal skull wielding sorcerer on board the Titanic.  Oh, and simultaneously her 16 year old self has to save the world from a crystal skull wielding Amazonian high priest, told in flashbacks."


I mean, cover design is hard. It's not like Brain surgery, but come on, you have to choose the right font for the title.

Seriously?  Is it hard?  I mean, sure, the first time you do a book cover you have to learn that you never ever ever ever use Comic Sans, and that Courier and TNR are okay.  But do you have to learn this the second time you do a cover?  What about the 3rd time?  What about the twenty-fifth time?  With brain surgery, things can go wrong, complications can arise.  The operation can go arse buttocks to elbow (this is a family friendly blog; I probably shouldn't swear) but with typography you pick a fucking typeset and your done. (PS, I included a diagram in case some Americans weren't sure what an arse was.  I think you use ass, is that right?)

Cover design is easy hard.  I mean, look at this one as an example.  It's Blood of the Fold, book three of the Sword of Truth series. Now Book one and Two have a huge scarlett dragon in them.  Book 3 does not.


So why the Hell does the dragon only appear on the 3rd cover in the series?


Methinks the graphic artist read the first 2 books and got bored.  Which isn't a surprise, they're not awesome books.  In fact, they are the North pole to awesome's southnosicity.


Yes, it is a word.  Just because I made it up doesn't mean it isn't a word.  Shakespeare made words up, and people think it's awesome that he did.  Dickens made words up.  But people get all panicky if modern writers make words up.  English is an organic language.  It is alive.  You are allowed to make shit up.  Trust me, I'm a writer.


Not a published one, but that's no form of distinction at all.


I'm a writer.  Not a sheep.  


Though if I was, I'd be a cool ass sheep like this one.


But I'm not.


This blog post is getting long, so I'm going to split it in parts.  Tune in soon for more...