Things are happening.
Good things.
On the land.
With the building.
In my spirit and soul.
Until next time,
With love, always love,
Gin
Slow & Steady.
simple living
And what about commitment?
You see, first there is this: the footer. The solid footprint upon which to build level and square, solid, straight and true.
A slab is poured.
And a rather permanent footprint is created.
This is something solid, serious, the real deal.
It means something, though I’m not sure I can define what.
I know it means it’s happening. We’re doing this. Building a little cabin way out and way high.
But it feels like it means something more.
It’s also about building dreams, a life, hand in hand as we build the walls.
Slowly. Slowed by our aging energies. Slowed by the elements. Slowed by the schedules of others we’re working around.
Is slow such a bad thing?
Maybe it just means more time. More time to consider and refine our plans. More time to hike and explore and ride and write. More time to sit and stare at the view, in silence, together, as our hearts feel as radiant as the sky.
And along with solid grounding, those cement roots we sew into the ground, there lays a message of commitment. One of the scariest things to consider.
So today I’m thinking long and hard about commitment because… well, I’m trying to figure out how committed I am.
Is commitment the ties the bind us – the burden that has our hands held tight behind our back?
Or the devotion and responsibility that keeps us tied, which in kind creates a bond more powerful than that of freedom?
At times, you know, it is both.
Commitment can be our ocean. It is the vastness that holds us up, and that threatens to take us down if we don’t learn to swim. We must soften into the water. Allow it support us, and adjust to its ebbs and flows. That which is dense and rigid is more likely to sink. Like the concrete on the footer. How do we stay afloat in this ever changing world, these ever changing times, my ever changing mind?
Commitment takes time. It can’t be forced, but takes a subtle power and pressure like water sculpting stone. One more reason to slow down. Let it sink into your bones. Let it become you. If it will. And maybe it won’t. See if it will somehow soften you, change you, and move you to evolve.
It is a choice. Dedication, devotion and duty are the glue that adheres us, what holds us to person, to place, to profession. It holds us to center, though sometimes it is just… sticky.
It is not born but comes with time, like a fine wine rolling along your tongue. Committing to growing a garden, a dog, a horse or a kid, a relationship, a book, a building. These things don’t happen over night.
Commitment takes time and work, patience, forgiveness and acceptance. It takes a certain type of kindness that is intertwined with love. And commitment takes change. Yes, to remain committed, we not only grow into it, we flow with it. Thus along the way, something happens. We become more, we become less, we become something a little different. We change.
(Perfectionism is, if not the polar opposite, than the bucket that dosed the flame. Check out what Brene Brown has to say about that in her book, “The Gifts of Imperfection.”
Are you committed? To person, to people? To place? To your craft. To your chosen lifestyle. To your beliefs and creed and faith? To the place that you call “home?”
Am I?
Until next time,
With love, always love,
Gin
What the dirt stirred up.
Red flag warnings flare again today. Strong winds rattle the little camper. Dust devils twirl and dance along the dirt road where the horses run. Logging trucks stir lingering amber clouds in the far distance. Dry and dusty and this feels like the Wild West. And today, it feels like home.
The work site stays somewhat protected against the east facing hill, tucked between the little camper and the new bathhouse. The dirt work is done. Right on schedule for a cement pour happening later this week.
With light frost and ice kicked out of the dog water bowl outside, and inside the little camper the thermometer read 42, I’m excited for solid wood walls and a wood stove.
But we’re a long ways away from that.
In the meantime, plenty to do to keep me busy, and (in theory) out of trouble.
But then there was this.
Trouble.
It’s a thing for me.
Horses.
The livestock auction was this weekend with sixty horses being run through, mostly by horse trainers and traders, and not too many buyers. I could have bought a few.
I refrained.
And limited myself to just this one.
The new boy.
I don’t know what they called him at the race track, but the folks who sold him to me called him Jessie. A good, historic Western name. We’ll see if it sticks. He kinda looks like Cinco to me. See, before him, there was Tres, and there was Quatro, and two other sorrels with stars before that. This guy has a blaze, not a star, but sorrel he is, so we’ll see which name takes hold as he settles into life on this mountain with us.
So far, so good.
Getting a new horse (and this is something long overdue for us) is kinda like having a baby. You’re never really ready, and the timing is never right.
Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do to get through.
And I need horses to get through…
In an ideal world (if there is such a thing), we’d bring the new guy home and put him in a little pen and spend some quality time with him, bonding and getting used to one another for a week or a month or whatever it took before I was certain turning him out didn’t mean he’d run away. But it’s not slick and perfect here. It’s a little wild and western, rough and rustic (and did I mention, very dirty?).
So we bring the new guy home and put him in the corral where I keep my two old horses nearby at night. Leave him there a couple hours while he meets the old guys over the safe panels.
And then we turn him out.
Okay, so it’s 160 acres of fenced off open ground here, crossed fenced to maybe 80 acres. Turning a new horse out onto 80 acres seems a little nuts. And an ex race horse, at that. I expected all hell to break loose. It didn’t.
The old guys met the new guy, nose to nose, ran back and forth once in front of the camp for maybe 100 feet. Then put their heads down to eat. That’s kind of how it’s been ever since.
He’s a sweetie, a little unsure of wild open spaces, but bonding well with the old guys, and learning good lessons from them, from me, and from the mountain. How to cross washes and drink from creeks. How to lay down to rest in the morning sun and graze close to camp in the evenings where you’ll be treated and brushed and put in the safe pen for the night. And most important, of course: How to come to mama when called 😊
This guys is a keeper for sure.
Alright, enough about horses. I gotta get back to work…
Until next time,
With love, always love,
Gin
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A practical post on power…
… and a few photos from the past few days, leaning in and stepping back.
About the power.
Bob and I have lived off grid as long as we’ve been together. That’s twenty something years. And twenty something years of relying on solar power.
We’re no pros on solar power but we make do (with help on big stuff, without a doubt). It works. Well.
I thought I’d take a few to share with you what’s working for us here and now. I’m not saying this is “the” way. It’s just our way. And it works for us.
The tiny little camper we’re living in has a tiny little solar panel, battery and inverter that actually works well enough to keep us in a few tiny little lights. Good thing to note is that the batteries are sealed, which means safer in a small space, and if left for the season well charged, don’t freeze. We don’t use this much and I’m not big on lights anyway. I’m more a candle, oil lamp and solar twinkle lights kinda gal.
But we do have needs. And the tiny little system in this tiny little camper wasn’t going to cut it.
Back in California, I did some research into a portable solar system that would satisfy our simple needs. We’d need to charge devices, power tools and (yup) Starlink. The regular household Starlink, not the portable one designed for on-the-go. I decided on the Ecoflow Delta 3 Plus. This is the system we purchased on Amazon at about a thousand dollars: EF ECOFLOW Solar Generator Delta 3 Plus with 220W Bifacial Solar Panel.
So far, we’re glad we went with it. It felt like a pretty big drop in the bucket at the time, but we’ve had no regrets what so ever. Super simple, straightforward and reliable. It’s been more than enough power for us. Could have gone a little smaller, perhaps, to accommodate our minimal needs, but maybe we’ll get something else to plug in – like a portable cooler or something to keep groceries cold. Right now, we just make do. Refrigeration is great, but it’s over rated and not necessary. We go to town once a week and only get enough perishables to last that week. Cheese, butter, yogurt do fine. Likewise do most veggies. We don’t eat much meat but a pre-cooked roast chicken from our little local market, between meals made with the chicken and then soup made with the bones, lasts the better part of a week.
For emergency back up of charging devices, or for charging when we’re out in the field, I still love to use my Goal Zero Venture 35 mini battery/inverter and the Goal Zero Nomad 20 portable folding solar panel. I got this set up for my Long Quiet Ride, and rode with the little solar panel strapped on the back of the pack horse charging one unit, and a second small battery pack in my horn bag to get me through the day. I stressed about losing power a lot, but made it through. Now it just serves as a back up, and a seriously sweet stress reducer.
Of course, today is Summer Solstice. A beautiful blessings indeed. Solar power is having it’s heyday and the need for lights is just about nil, with the sun so early to rise and late to set, pretty much coinciding with our needs.
As for these photos…
Here’s an assortment from the past few days. Some are leaning in. Getting up close and intimate. (I finally unpacked my big camera, so that’s been a pleasure for me to work on in well needed breaks from the dirt pit – more on that next time!). Others are stepping back. Seeing the bigger picture. All of them, for me, are about finding beauty and awe with what is right there before you. It’s easy here. Looking closely. Feeling what you see. Quietly. Deeply. Intimately. Mine is not a view big and bright and shiny enough to attract a big fuss and crowds. But it is more than enough for me.
Until next time,
With love, always love,
Gin
Getting closer…
Things shifted overnight from, “We got this,” to “Holy crap, are we gonna get this?”
We leave in one week.
So far, the stress hasn’t come from thinking about building a cabin from the ground up in one season (we’ll see how far we get), at an elevation of 10,000 feet, while tending to horses, chickens, dog, and garden (yes, I am bringing a “portable garden”) all the while spending the summer together in a 14 foot camper circa 1964 without running water or electricity but with an outhouse nearby, a bucket to bathe in, and as usual, no where near neighbors, pavement or cell phone service. That said, we are setting up a simple solar system just large enough to charge cordless tools and operate starlink from time to time. Our compromise at modern living.
What has been harder is preparing to leave this place behind.
That’s where our attentions and efforts have been. Mowing, weedwacking, weeding, watering, organizing, tidying, trying to get this place in a space that will safely hold its center in our absence. And still finding time to be with beloved friends and neighbors, the river, the wind, the air and essence and little bit of tended wild that is this wonderful place.
And of course… there is this. The garden. My baby.
For anyone who has ever tended to the land with nearly as much love as we gave to our children, you know what it’s like.
Seems like this baby is always the biggest user of my time. Sucks time away and I don’t even notice it’s disappeared until I wonder where the day has gone and why I am so hungry. But you know, they say it’s those kinds of things, those things that you totally lose yourself in, and lose track of time, that show you where your true passion lies. Gardening is one. Most anything outdoors, I guess. Working the horses, riding, hiking, and writing inspired by the wild…
It wasn’t always that way, and maybe that’s part of what makes it so endearing to me.
Here are a few “before” pictures Bob pulled up of this land, to share the perspective of space where the garden now grows.
This was a baby born in a painful birth of being scraped with a skid steer to clear the open slate.
That was nearly six years ago. Almost six years of watching her grow, spread her wings, and fly, deeply grounded. Six years of hauling a shit load of top soil from the other side of our land, mail ordered earthworms, innumerable bags of steer manure and organic amendments to get her growing, and shoveling manure every single day I was here. Keeping the poop in the loop, and the loop ever growing.
And now, see what a few years can do?
To her, I have given blood, sweat and tears. Lots of tears. I cried a lot when we first broke ground. “It will never work, it will never grow, it will never be beautiful,” I would cry to Bob quite regularly. As usual, he’d just patiently listen and watch as I got back to work. I am glad to say I was wrong.
She has provided for us in kind year round. For a couple with a primarily vegetable based diet, that’s something to be proud of. Yes, it means we eat simply and yes, it gets boring at times. Believe me, by March we’re usually pretty sick of old winter squash and bitter kale while we’re waiting for the new crops to outgrow the slugs after winter’s heavy rains.
I’m sitting there now, flip flops kicked off and toes thick in grass, listening to swallows chatter about their nesting box while swallowtail butterflies and hummingbirds dance around the profusion of brilliant colors just beginning to emerge for the season. And all the while this intoxicating fragrance of rose, oh! all these roses! gracefully bowing as they bend in abundance, most of which were started by sticks I stuck in the ground and trusted they would grow. They did. While meanwhile and always, this space is serenaded by the ever present hum of the river that wraps around this land.
Of all the work we did here, clearing, cleaning, caring, opening dry and dead and overgrown, trash strewn and fire damaged that was this land when we first arrived, the garden has grown to the crown jewel of the land.
Beside the roses, what I’m most enamored by is all the fruit trees we’ve gifted to the land: apples and pears, plum and persimmons, walnut and almond and fig. And most endearing to me are the peach trees started from seed. You see, four years ago, the Old Man gave me five pits. He had saved them ten years and handed them over with reverence. Told me they were the best peaches he ever had, so he planned on planting them some day. I gave it a try. Put those pits in a pot with some soil and set them out in the garden all winter and lo and behold, by spring, shoots shot up and last year, I picked the first peaches. A humble start, but worth it indeed. This year, those trees, though still somewhat small, are laden with fruit and bending to the weight of their juicy promise… which (don’t remind me, please!) I will not be here to enjoy. Funny things is, one of those peach trees looked a little different. Turns out it’s a nectarine. I love these little surprises in life.
One final breath out here in this little bit of paradise, then time to get back to work, loading the last of the lumber into the horse trailer that will carry a lot more than horses on this trip across the West.
A deep breath. With our departure just a week away, yes, it gets scary at times.
Scared? Yes. Change is always scary, isn’t it? Change of pace, change of place.
Change of heart?
Hopefully only a heart growing, expanding, unfurling like the roses surrounding me.
Mine is not a fearless heart.
I would rather it be a courageous heart.
For I would rather a heart that loves and cares and longs deeply enough that it knows what fear feels like, and chooses to love and care and long above that fear. I would rather a heart courageous enough to step forth into fear, like stepping into the stirrup and settling onto the back of a bronc.
So here we go. Again.
Stepping.
Hold onto your hat and enjoy the ride!
Until next time,
With love, always love,
Gin
Loud motor; quiet voice.
Covered in sawdust and gear grease and dressed in baggy shorts not long enough to hide skinny white legs sticking out below, scraped up knees and all. Skin like rawhide and at times, admittedly, a personality to match.
This is no hot date.
These are two videos I took yesterday of us at the mill for anyone curious what our hot times look – and sound – like. In this case, loud. Yes, we wear ear protection. Bob is already hearing impaired. I can’t afford to be too.
My cinematography sucks, but that’s not what it’s about. It’s just an attempt to show you how it works.
There’s a sign I found a few years back that I just had to have and hung at the entrance to our ranch.
“Beware of the wife,” it reads, and if you know, you know it’s no joke. Depending on what mood I’m in, how tired I am, how late it is, and how late you are.
Still, I’ve been told more than once,”She cleans up well.” I think that was a compliment. I think?
In any case, this week found us dirtier than usual, arguing out of short tempters and frustration, not with one another but from working with rotten wood, in the heat and wondering why we’re doing this – and how the hell are we going to make it work. And of course, taking it out on each other. That’s the downside of partnership, of working with the one you love. They get the brunt of it, whatever “it” may be. We both are guilty of this. And working alongside one another as we’ve done for over twenty years, when the going gets rough, you can’t just walk away.
I wouldn’t want to if I could.
The comfort in commitment. The joy in being able to make each other smirk and smile, laugh and long, even during a downright dirty day. That’s good stuff.
Comfort in commitment… above and beyond love, and that’s the absolute essence. There’s commitment to habit and routine as well.
This is mine.
Early morning.
The alarm rouses me before the roosters. Right now that’s just past five. Slowly outside shapes emerge in shades of gray. Colors are slow to awaken. It’s a while still before sun graces the top of the farthest hill I can see from this little land tucked in as womb along the untamed river.
Now is the quiet time after frogs have settled and before robins wake. Even the dogs still sleep. The only sound is the river, humming as a steady wind. It is a time of tranquility, as if life on hold, the pause between the inhale and the exhale. It is a time to get in yoga and meditation practice, sharing the mat with two dogs and two cats. It is a time to softly putter about the cabin, often lit only by the setting moon or a single flickering flame. Time to get the wood stove going and the kettle on, coffee ready before Bob wakes, then time to write (often by candle light) before heading out to care for chickens and horses and walk the dogs.
Comfort comes in the familiar, in sounds like rain on the metal roof when I’m still in bed and the ticking of the cast iron woodstove contracting, a signal for me to put another log on the fire.
I like routine. It’s a safe place. In a world filled with chaos and conflict and unknowns, this is my solid ground, my foundation, a cradle that gives me some sense of stillness and calm. A time to be and breathe before the dirt and grease, sawdust and sweat, grit and grind.
The quiet before the noise.
(If you saw that video of the mill, you know what I’m talking about.)
Late afternoon.
Taking a break, laying back on lush grass, together with a couple of dogs.
Long golden shadows. Big cumulus clouds like plumes of smoke growing and gathering. The air is perfumed with blossoms of wild madrone and apple. Oak leaves suddenly full and waving in the wind as abundant undergrowth comes to life. The first of the turtles and gopher snakes cross the dirt road. Wild geese have come to rest among chickens and horses on pasture of the greenest grass I’ve ever seen. The puppy plays with the big old dog (funny because the big old one was the young one just a few years ago), and mama hen pecks in the grass with her five little chicks around her.
Sawdust and the sound of the mill feel far away. This feels like a dream. A dream I didn’t know was in me.
Get real. It’s unreal.
Who’s to say what’s real?
Living in a place which most days feel pretty dreamy, we’re often told this isn’t real.
Okay then, what is?
“It’s not the real world,” they may say of this kind of life, this place, how folks like us chose to live.
I get it. Growing up in the suburbs just outside “the” city, I didn’t know a life like this was possible, didn’t know this world existed.
“Grow up and get a real job,” you’re taught.
“Wake up and get real,” people tell you.
“C’mon… get over it… join the real world,” is what you hear.
Took growing up for me to figure out what “real” really was.
Am I living a dream? I dunno. Pinch me. I’m awake. Seems pretty real to me. And at the same time, sure enough, this is a dream come true.
Guess you gotta start by having dreams. Boy, did (and do) I.
I dream. Then get to work. Hard work. Willing to live with dirt and bugs, blood and bruises, and regular cold and wind; live in cars and tents, mud shacks and mobile homes in someone else’s back yard; live without indoor plumbing, central heating and heaven forbid, luxuries like hair dryers, coffee makers and cell phone service. “Live like no one else now so you can live like no one else later,” we once read. I am willing to try.
That’s what dreaming has meant for me. That was the price I paid. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
Everyone’s got their own price, their own path, their own definition of what “living a dream” might be. I don’t know what that means for you. I just hope you’re living it too.
If not, there’s still time.
Who says you’re too old (or young or poor or whatever the excuse)?
I don’t ever want to stop growing up. And I don’t ever want to be stuck being grown up, either.
Growing up doesn’t mean to me now what it meant when I was young. Maybe because now I’m easily as old as what I thought grown ups were supposed to be, but I sure don’t feel like them. Then I thought grown up meant boring and stuffy and sensible shoes, clean jeans and finger nails and well groomed hair, sitting at a desk all day and raking leaves on weekends; cocktails promptly at five o’clock and nothing much gets done after that. No thanks. That’s not for me.
As a kid, too, I remember thinking that being grown up was some required state of feeling like you know it all, losing that sense of curiosity, wonder, and awe. I haven’t felt that, and hope I never do because the moment we feel we know it all, have all the answers and/or have the right to speak our truth as if it were “the” truth, we start closing. We stop seeing. Stop hearing. We lose our sense of wonder and we turn into old farts. Not the most eloquent choice of words, but you get the point.
What makes life living more than curiosity, wonder and awe?
And of course, love.
That’s the magic of life. The hot and spicy. The zip and zesty. The fascination and enchantment that makes life worth living.
That childlike sense of openness.
The beginners mind.
Finding magic every day.
Making magic, too.
The ability to laugh at dumb jokes. And laugh at yourself.
The reminder to smile warmly at strangers, and enjoy watching kids and puppies play.
The nudging to just let it go when you’re cut off at the end of a passing lane or that parking spot you were vying for is taken before you can back in.
It’s taking time to smell the roses, watching baby geese take their maiden voyage, laying back in the grass or against the front steps with your eyes closed and listening to crickets on a still summer eve.
It’s listening to the same old stories from an old man or same old jokes from your partner, and still chuckling every time.
It’s having your breath taken away as a pair of red tail hawk do their courtship dance overhead or watching thunderheads build for the first time this year gracing us with an unexpected blast of thunder so sudden the puppy barks.
It’s accepting that you’ll never know it all, control it all, or do it all, but having fun trying, maybe failing, and trying again.
If missing out on any of that is what growing up means, I’m glad it didn’t happen to me.
Growing up is a work of art, fluid and ever changing, like an endless emerging of butterfly wings.
It’s not a place we get to – you know, as in “being there.” Rather, it’s an evolution that lasts as long as we are blessed to live our one wild life.
Now it’s the end of the week. We’ve kissed and made up. And washed up. Even got a little rain to keep down the dust and water the garden without moving a hose.
Now we’re back out there, getting ready to stack the next load of boards and beams for Bob to take to Colorado. All the bells and whistle and gears and grease are doing what they’re supposed to do. The broken rototiller remains broken but we borrowed the neighbor’s working one. (Thank you, George.) The garden shines and grows, somehow joyously. And looks like we finally figured out a floor plan we can build in one season with the material we’ve been working to amass.
Keep on keeping on.
It’s what we do. Would I want it any other way?
I choose to keep living the life we live and love doing what we’re doing, with wonder and awe, feeling fulfilled and full of joy by doing what we do, together.
All of it. The ups and downs and ins and outs and round and rounds and all.
Until next time,
With love, always love,
Gin
Marketing Madness
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Truth is, I’ve had little time for marketing since the release of my second book, The Last of the Living Blue. Probably all for the better. For my sanity, if not for sales.
“The books will sell themselves,” some say. I’m not so certain. I’ve always been a big believer in the direct correlation between hard work and success. But I’m also learning this. I’m not a salesman, don’t make a good one, and don’t care to be one. I’m a writer, and a rather quiet, solitary sort. I’m a writer because I love to write – not because of some calling to sell myself and my work. However, I do write for others to read… Thus, the dilemma.
So, if sales are up to me (and it appears they are) well, looks like I’m not going to be retiring from my day job any time soon. I never thought cleaning cabins or digging ditch would be my calling either, but by now I know I’m damn good at both, so might as well…
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Food for thought.
Live a life worth writing about.
Find your inspiration in your world.
There is always a story around me to share.
Take the time to listen. To see and feel… and write.
The one rule I’ve always believed in for writing: write regularly, and write well.
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So, life goes on.
House building, the summer social scene (yes, would you believe, even way the heck up here – this time of year, at least?), back to work on Ginny’s book, and waiting out the monsoon storms before placing another log on the wall of the new cabin. Horse work is on the back burner this year, and ditch work put off until the monsoons settle down. And still there’s no shortage of work. Only a shortage of daylight and personal energy.
Simple living. I once read a quote by Dave Ramsey that went something like this: “Live like no one else now so you can live like no one else later.” I think it’s safe to say I know no one else who lives like us. Not in this country at least. Years ago, we decided it made more sense to move out and camp for the summer, rent out our big house. Then we sold that, and moved out for good. Now, we’re down at the Little Cabin. If you stop by, it might look romantic. A tiny one room log cabin over the Rio Grande. Candle light, cozy, a cute outhouse nearby complete with crescent moon cut out on the door we leave open only when we’re in there. The view down river is too good to miss.
Then there’s the reality of sponge baths and doing dishes in a bucket on the picnic table. Three of us in a whole house smaller than most of your bedrooms and some of your bathrooms. Peeing out in the rain. Digging through a box under the bed for a change of clothes (it’s easier to just wear the same old thing – heck, clean clothes are going to get dirty sooner or later). Hauling water. An abundance of dirt and bugs. A step above camping. At least we have solid walls. Not quite a solid foundation. The northeast corner is taking a dive and the over easy eggs in the cast iron pan on the wood cook stove I fry up in the morning always make a left hand turn.
Yes, we’re building bigger. (There’s a lot to be said for a toilet and kitchen sink…) And we’re building it ourselves. And that, my friend, might be yet another book!
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That said, I thought I’d share this on my blog for all fellow writers and anyone else who’s interested. This stems from a conversation with a friend/fellow author who asked me to share my secrets for selling books. I had to laugh. I have no secrets, and don’t sell a lot of books! However… I have made a few observations, and for him and anyone else interested, here is what I’ve learned in these past six months in which I’ve had two books published. (Seriously, has it just been six months? Okay, Gin, you can take a deep breath, and relax… before you get back to work!)
I’ve put a lot of thought into this, and have only touched the tip of the iceberg of this topic. Still, it’s a lot to take in, so please take your time. Skim it over now, maybe come back and read in depth when you have the time. Then please, share with me (and other readers/writers) your thoughts on this after you’ve had time to read and think it over.
Marketing Madness
Reading, writing, publishing, marketing. The wide world of books. It’s all a changing game. What worked once is no longer certain. What worked yesterday may not work today, and if it works today, please don’t count on it to tomorrow. And no one has the answers.
So, what do we do? Follow each passing fancy? Or stick with what you believe in. Be true to yourself. Honor your work. And keep on writing.
I use the term “Marketing Madness” because I swear it is enough to drive you mad – or make you mad – if you let it. Or you can turn your back and walk away, but that’s probably not the best answer either. Because the bottom line is this: you wrote a good book, and people will want to read it. So, marketing, in its simplest sense, is letting people know about your book (or whatever product you are trying to market). It’s reaching people, which really is what writing is all about anyway. Only different…
The Rules.
In this changing day and age of publishing, we writers by default must learn about marketing, yet the marketing stage is hardly set. There’s no clear road to follow. We are all forming it as we go along. There are no set rules, and we’re forging new ways all the time. Learning from others – sharing what has worked, what has not – helps tremendously. If nothing else than by opening up ideas we may have not yet considered. And giving each other the well needed pat on the back, simple encouragement to keep on going. Just the same, remembering that what worked for one may not work for another, and/or the game may have changed yet again by the time you try it.
I personally find this marketing thing difficult and frustrating. I feel I am selling myself when all I want to do is write. Yes, I know, terribly idealistic. So, we learn, we grow, we try, and we know there is no fairy godmother that’s going to wave her magic wand and suddenly we’ll have everything we ever dreamed of, sales like Steven King, be all we want to be, find ourselves as an overnight success and talking about our latest book with Oprah on TV.
The Big Secret?
I hate to break the news. So far, I found there isn’t one. It’s about hard work, like it or not. And it’s up to each of us. No one will do it for you. Someone may point you in the right direction, but chances are, they won’t even hold your hand or carry you there. If you’re lucky (and you know I think luck is made up of hard work… and a good dose of, ah, guts) they’ll give you a helping hand if you’ve fallen down.
It’s up to each of us to get our name out there, our books sold, and establish a market presence. And we find out, it’s not that painful after all. Especially if it means people are reading our books, which is why we’ve done all this work anyway.
Does it ever stop? Not from what I hear. So… we have to get used to it. Find our own style. Like with finding our own voice in writing, perhaps we have to find our own way to succeed in marketing.
Sharing Ideas.
I would love to share more and learn more on this topic which isn’t always the most fun to address, but matters to all of us authors trying to get established in this crazy, changing world. We all can learn and even enjoy with the support and encouragement of each other.
I enjoy bouncing ideas back and forth and learning from others. Yes, these are interesting times and I realize there are no set rules – we’re in a very changing game here, and want to learn all I can, but be smart about my choices. I do not want to ever devalue my work and be a 99cent seller. I would like readers to read my work because it’s good, not because it’s cheap. Likewise, I have not heard one positive confirmation that paying for publicity or marketing works wonders. Let me know if you’ve heard otherwise. Save your money, and get to work.
If I’m good, sales will come in due time – but not by sitting on my hands. Hard work does not frighten me, and I don’t believe in fairy tales.
The truth: Be true!
I’m thinking there are other things we can do beside compromise our integrity. Get the word out our way – sincerely, honestly, and ourselves. Slowly, but surely. Blogging, giveaways, personal appearances, personalize anything/everything, like correspondence, and writing everyone back. Treat our readers with respect, and trust they will in turn respect our work.
I’m not finding sure fire answers. I guess there are none. Yet I shall always believe one can build success on a combination of sincerity, belief in your work, and working hard.
So far, here is what I’ve learned in these past six months about marketing in a nutshell.
What’s worked for me:
– Blogging. It’s me. It’s real. It’s sincere. I’ve been told what I do is not “proper blogging.” My posts are too long, too personal, too rambling. Yes, that’s me. Don’t like it? Don’t read it. Though after six years at it, I’ve not only established a decent following of over a thousand people who care and I in turn have learned to care for, I have met many a real people because of blogging. Friends. Fellow writers, readers. People I converse with on a first name basis, and know the name of their wife, kids, dogs, and the town they grew up in. This is good stuff.
– Facebook. But minimally and with caution. It’s shallow. It caters to those who would rather “like” the latest picture of my pup than read real news, though so many of us turn to it to find some happy medium of keeping up to date and not losing touch with friends and family. I have no interest is posting selfies and telling you what I ate for dinner, but I will share my latest book and building news and blog posts. I found this summer I don’t have (or take) the time to look at the feeds, so I’m probably failing at the FB game now. I no longer look into what other folks have put up. I’m sorry. If you really want me to know, write me. I respond if I’m written to personally but otherwise, the random checking into other people’s lives has lost its interest for me when I barely have time for a bath.
– Reviews. Do your darndest to get folks to read and review. Ask people. Be personal. Don’t send out a mass mailer, but a personal note. Give them your book. You’re not asking a favor – you’re sharing a gift. Though… getting them to POST those reviews, well, that’s not always easy. Everyone is busy. Respect that. Then bug them to get it done!
– Endorsements. Take a chance – ask! I am wonderfully surprised by the person who could have hit “delete” but instead said “sure” versus the colleague I swore would have been interested but now can’t find a minute to write me back (Note to self: Be the person you want to work with! Treat EVERYONE with respect, and respond in kind.)
– Giving away pdf copies. It doesn’t cost you anything, but you get people to read it. If it’s good, and it better be or you don’t want your name on it, they’ll like it, and they’ll spread the word. Slowly but surely. Trust this one. The more readers, the better. Give it away! Maybe you lost one sale, but chances are, you’ll get a whole lot more because of it.
– Book signing. Once again, anything personal. I’m proud of my book. I want to share it. I’m shy and thought this would be torture, but it’s not. Readers are good people. Share your time and enthusiasm with them.
– Going beyond local and finding your niche. My local following… isn’t. More of my readers are from far and wide. I’m proud of this. Look far and wide. Not everyone works best from their front door. Find which way works best for you.
What didn’t work:
– Anything close to home. I’m not a social person or part of the nearby community, so this should not come as surprise to me that they didn’t care that one of their “locals” was being published. I thought suddenly they’d care. They didn’t.
– GoodReads. Their giveaways and support for authors. Not yet, at least, though I’m not done trying. So far what I found is that they attract quantity, not quality. And they are attracting a younger market than my readers. I know my readers and most would rather curl up with a book than sit at the computer surfing social media. Though, some of them do that too…
– Writing groups? I don’t have time…
– Twitter and other social media. Once again, I’d rather be sincere and be me. It’s not my style, my audience or my way of reaching out.
Getting Readers.
Of course this is the bottom line. And it’s not as easy as one would think.
You write to be read. So, you write a great story, but really – who has time to read now a days? Seriously – like remember the old summer reading list? Now we’re all too tied up and life’s too complicated and sitting down with a good book seems a million miles away most days.
And if there are readers out there, which I still believe there are, how do you reach them? Well, that’s what this is all about, this marketing madness thing.
And that’s where reviews come into play.
Getting Reviews.
This is a big one, and tops the list for “to do” because it really does matter. Though I honestly haven’t figured out why yet. I’ll let you know if/when I do. For now, I just know this. It’s a numbers game, maybe, but it’s not a bad or evil one, I don’t feel compromised, I just try to encourage readers to share (and post) their reviews.
Try anyway. Keep trying. Give away. The more you give, the more you get. That’s nothing new – we should all know that already.
How do you go about getting reviews? Start by asking. Personally. And then, you got it, follow up. It’s a bit of a dilemma. People promise. They mean well. But at the end of the day, where the heck are the reviews and the reviewers? Seriously, getting people to post reviews can be like getting water from a rock. (Once again, note to self: treat others how you wish to be treated! I’ve learned to post positive reviews for writers who could use them, and deserve them!)
There are places you can actually pay people to review your book. Let me know if that works for you. I haven’t done this and have no intention of trying. Maybe I’m a cheap skate, but I believe my writing is good enough that I don’t need to pay someone to read it. I think the point is, I want someone to WANT to read my books. And I want the right people to read my books, not some random person who is just doing it for the money. It might be the slower way of doing things, but once again, for me, it’s the sincere route, and the way I’ve chosen. I’m not going there. Not unless you convince me otherwise.
Reviews matter. They are important numbers our industry (books/publishing) bases our success upon. They help other readers find books, choose books. They need not be elaborate or fancy. Some are. That’s great. Some aren’t. And that’s great too. Not everyone wants to read a long one (or write a long one). Although those long one do help the curious book explorer understand their selection well, those short and to the point ones matter too. One of my favorites, from reviewer Lisa: “Damn good read.” That works for me!
Social Media
Of course I need to elaborate on this. It’s a huge topic, but I’d like to put it in its place and keep it small and manageable. I personally think that’s all it is worthy of. I am, after all, not a social butterfly. The following is based on a conversation with fellow writer, Kayann Short.
Social Media is hot right now. It’s new, news, ever changing… and flaky. You can play the game and go for the latest greatest, which may be something new and shiny next week, so stay on your toes. But if you do choose to play this game, ask yourself this… Is it you? Are you being sincere? Are you willing to give as much as you get? (Remember that 80/20 rule for those of us who use these things not just for entertainment, but for business: give 80 percent of the time and be lucky to get responses back the other 20.) Does it have substance? Are the people hooked on social media your readers, your target market? I wonder.
On the other hand, would the impact and importance of community involvement, writers groups (personal networking, etc) as well as writers and readers working together (as in book events, signings, etc), be more valuable than randomly reaching the masses impersonally with spam and twitter?
Is social media the modern way and the way of the future for writers? I don’t think so. I think it’s fickle. And I don’t want to be.
I’m not saying I’m ruling it all out. I’m open minded, just hesitant. I’m trying to learn the new rules, but I see too much fly by night, flitter, twitter, missing a backbone, spineless, give it a try, let it go, and try something new… The latest, greatest, bubble gum burst lasts about as long as that flavor… That’s my hard, harsh take on social media so far.
Personal Appearances
This is my style. Keep it personal. Be real, be me. Book signings, community events, anything personal. Get to know your readers, and the bookstores.
I was petrified of doing this at first. But it’s not as painful as I thought it would be. In fact, it’s really FUN. And an incredible opportunity to share, meet, learn.
Learn from your readers.
Learn what touches people.
Learn who your readers are!
Keep it personal – that’s my rule of thumb. I hope I’m always open to hear from my readers. There’s a lot to learn if you’re willing to listen. And you might even meet some great folks along the way. Icing on the cake, but what would a cake be without it?
Writer’s Leagues, Groups, Conventions
Support groups?
Writers Anonymous!
No, really, there are some amazing groups, organizations, leagues… Join! Participate! Share! There’s something to learn from everyone if you’re willing to listen. Find your niche, and find like minds or at least, like markets. Share ideas. Listen to what others are going through, and share what you’ve learned. I’m new to all this and learning all the time but am learning it’s fun – you’re dealing with other writers. And they’re in the same boat you are in, paddling madly to get to the other side and still looking at the same side of the river bank.
Help each other out, and maybe the tide will be more likely to turn.
What’s next?
Do you want to find and follow the next trend, or learn what works best for you and develop your own style? I’m big on being sincere, true to myself, true to my readers. All I can do is hope that in the long run, this approach will pay off.
I don’t want to be silly thinking my books will sell themselves, nor turn into a door-to-door salesman when what I am is a writer. We each must find what works best for each of us, I suppose, but certainly be willing to work. Ultimately, I want to be sincere. I still have to look in the proverbial mirror at the end of the day, and I want to like the person I see staring back at me.
What works for you? What ideas and suggestions do you have? Any advice you’d like to share? What are your thoughts on Marketing Madness?
Please take a moment to leave a comment so we all can learn from each other. Or if you prefer, you can always write me personally at gingetz at gmail dot com.
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Good stuff.
Good Stuff.
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Breaking Ground
This is big news. Yes, you got it. Ground breaking news. Progress on our new home. We started with the logs, harvesting the beetle kill from our land across river in winter. Dragging dead trees across the frozen waters for their next life of becoming a part of our future home.
Now the foundation begins.
Down on the exposed bluff above the Rio Grande, the bulldozer breaks ground. Earth is moved to make way for what will be our home. A hard, harsh cut gouged deep into fragile soil. I stand in the pit and place my hands upon the layers of soil that took maybe millions of years to amass and here we are moving them all in one day. I find myself crying. I think these are happy tears. We have waited a long time for this. There are many, many dreams tied into this one pile of dirt.
On one hand, I ask forgiveness for the land for such disturbance. We try to live simply, modestly, carefully. On the other hand, I see how we will be even more connected, grounded, a part of each other, with our home a part of the land, in the earth, partially buried and within these millions of years of creation.
I’ll need to keep that in mind when it seems some days like progress is going slowly.
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All in all, it’s been a wonderful, crazy, busy week and looks like many more not only in the future, but here and now. Better get used to it. Coffee is good. Sleep is over rated. Jogging takes less time than walking. We’re running around finishing up projects on the guest cabins before the season opens, and Bob points to the plastic lawn chair next to the one he’s sitting in.
“Too busy to sit and enjoy the day?” he asks me.
I know. He’s right. I sit. A full minute, shifting my focus and tapping my leg and completely missing out on the view before me of the full creek, greening pasture, and horses lying about lazily. I know I’m not supposed to do that. I’m supposed to be here and now. But here and now, I’ve got things to do. Things I want to do. Good things. Okay?
“Can I go now?” I get up. I’m ready to get back to work.
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Announcing a new book.
Over the weekend, I signed the publishing contract for my next book, The Last of the Living Blue, to be release June 30th by NorLights Press. I feel very, very blessed.
I think what makes me as happy, maybe happier, than having my publisher believe in me (when now that I’m revamping and working on the final draft, I’m wondering why and how she did when I see how much work it needs! Thank you, Sammie, for trusting me, and may I not let you down.) is the incredible support and warm reception I received from so many of you upon sharing the good news. Thank you!
I’ll keep you all posted on progress as we countdown to the release date.
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Just when you thought the ground was drying out. Just when you thought “watering the lawn” sounded like a good idea but you don’t have sprinklers or a lawn, just a sub irrigated pasture that needs surface moisture from time to time to grow good grass for the horses. Just when you started to worry about fires and drought and all those things we DO need to worry about here surrounded by half a million acres of dead and dying trees due to bark beetles.
Suddenly, more snow!
No, it won’t kill the beetles. It won’t bring our trees back to life. But it does help the grass grow and gives us a great excuse to catch up on indoor work today.
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Alas, I find a reason to go out there, in it. It’s beautiful. It’s fun. Anything’s better than sitting around staring at a screen! However, that does bring me to this:
Apologies, friends, family, readers, those who reach out and write to me, for being so slow to respond this past week. It has been a crazy, wonderful, busy week. Please know you matter so much to me. As I wrote to fellow blogger and friend, Carrie of The Shady Tree, I may be the world’s worst “blogger” and that’s okay because you know I never liked that word or title anyway. Blogger. Yuck. Anyway, you know the last thing I want is more time in front of the computer. Writing already takes up so much time. And when I’m done, I’m outta here! The last thing I want to do is spend more time sitting in front the back lit screen when I could be out there… There is so much out there!
How do you get it all done? I don’t want to settle for “good enough.”
“Trust,” Ginny tells me. And I trust it all happens in the right time, and in the meanwhile, do all I can to make it happen.
(“Dance,” she says too, as she raises her arms wide with a wonderful smile on her face like she hears the music and all the while she’s sitting in the wheelchair but you’re pretty sure any minute now she’ll burst out dancing. Yes, I definitely should dance more!)
And speaking of Ginny. Dancing in the Wind, a tale of two Virginias, will be put on “back burner” until after the finishing touches of Living Blue are complete. Then we’ll give it all we got, and we got a lot. Can’t wait to share this one with you all.
That novel too may take longer than I expected. And, I wonder, when will I find time to fit in the poetry project? I’m not sure, but somehow I feel certain it all will come together. It is all coming together!
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On a side note.
A new long-distance friend is starting up a most interesting business, and I think her idea is so fun, so fantastic, I wanted to share this with you. Jill is combining the opportunity to make new friends, enjoy the great outdoors, and talk books. Sorry, guys, this one’s not for you. Ladies, please check out Outdoor Book Club.
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And Stuff
The ethics involved in consumerism. Otherwise known as: A confession.
Last week found me in the big city. Denver. Smaller and warmer and friendlier than what I used to call “The Big City,” though lacking the unmistakable diversity, culture, chaos and intense vibe of New York. Which was fun back then, and still I crave in small (very small) doses from time to time.
I had not left the mountain since last November at which time I went to Lake City and had lunch with a friend in the only restaurant opened “off season.” This means, nearly six months of missing (as in not having been there, not as in longing for) town, telephone, traffic and putting on clean boots. This also means I had not touched cold, hard cash in a good long while. In fact, I had not even opened my wallet, which is why it came as a big surprise when I finally did and saw that my driver’s license had expired. Whoops.
I realize how spoiled, lucky (or dare I say… smart – ha ha!) I am to have built such a simple, quiet life. I’m busy, I get a lot done, there’s more than enough work, but I’m here. And the rest, I can do without. Maybe I might miss out on fun stuff like nights out on the town, talking on the phone, Starbucks coffee and travel, but this is what keeps me sane. And even then…
Love kids as I do, I would have made a really cruddy soccer mom.
Downsizing, simplifying… These things matter to me. I actually try to have less. I don’t want to be a part of the Fattening of Society. I don’t just mean the waist lines of the people. I mean the wallets, the debts, the amassed good, the expanding feeling of needing more, or deserving more. I want less. Of “things.” Stuff. Consumerism. Spending. I want more time in nature, with my boys, writing, taking pictures, dreaming. Yes, I want time to dream. I want slighter debt, fewer possession, less stuff, a smaller house to clean and fewer clothes to wash. A basic diet, nothing fancy, simple food is just fine, and, crazy as it sounds, comfortable shoes. Being in the city reminds me of this every time.
My escapades took me of course to the thrift shop, where I was able to find my new summer wardrobe and a few things for my son for less than the cost of a pair of new jeans.
And then, yes, the big confession. I found myself at Wal-Mart. Shopping. No one to blame but myself. It was my idea. Here’s why. It’s cheap. I justify my horrid behavior by knowing I’m saving myself money. Saving myself while messing up the world? It’s hypocritical. It’s wrong. Believe me, I know. Supporting maybe slave labor in China or something totally terrible. Tell me how do they do this when a new pillow case cost less at Wal-Mart than it did at the thrift shop? How to they grow the cotton, harvest, process, dye, mill, sew and ship it all the way from China to Colorado for a buck fifty and make a profit? Who, I should ask, makes a profit, and who is losing out? This is crazy. And here I am supporting it. Feeling guilty, but secretly grateful for the prices. What’s a person to do?
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Revealing.
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Another big moon comes
and goes as
the season of life
and death that is
spring unfolds
somewhere, maybe
here, maybe
tomorrow today
as the cat lays in
the grass planted
last fall inside
the kitchen window
and waits.
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And I wait impatiently for the horses to begin shedding their shaggy coats just so I can have reason to spend more time with them as they bustle about on dry dirt and vie for the attention of my curry comb and close breath.
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A mourning dove shows up early, lured by warmer air only to find no more than small patches of open ground, not ideal for a ground feeder, and the seeds I throw out daily are of no interest.
Down at one of the few open places where the Rio Grande runs clear and black like licorice beneath her otherwise still white ribbon, a pair of Mallards swims from one end of the open place to another and fly off as the dog and I cross river, me on snow shoes, he on broad feet with long fur between his pads that have only rarely touched bare earth in so many months.
Spring approaches the high country like a chrysalis revealing.
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After weeks of crunching more numbers that I have since… ever… and straining my eyes where by my reading glasses no longer seem strong enough, I’m done playing architect, done with our house plans. We await the opening of white pasture and the cutting into ground, and in how long, too long, not soon enough, we will be in there living, breathing, walking around,, parking muddy boots by the door, sitting at the kitchen table with burning candles and full plates, watering house plants, baking bread, making love, kicking back in my claw foot tub and writing while the sun comes up in my nook.
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So much for the simplicity of a little log cabin. These drawings, ten pages from the bottom of the concrete footer to the top of my writing nook, seem so complex. Does it help or hinder to have plans drawn up by those who have built, not just those who have planned it on paper? I do not know, but I’m ready to put down my pencil and pick up my draw knife. I’m ready to build, to break ground and pour cement and peel and stack logs and with tired muscles and sore hands sit back at the Little Cabin and watch the new one come to life.
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Balancing.
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I never wanted the same old thing. I was not ready for this winter to turn out like all the others. It did not.
After a dozen years and ten winters here, there are expectations. I fear such thing. Comfort can allow complacency. I would rather remain stirring in the winds.
The enticement and exhilaration of change.
It can be additive. We crave the new, that which is just out of reach, as does the horse pressing on the barbed wire to get hold of the grass on the other side.
Or so I thought. Yet I have comfort in this familiar view, the same steaming coffee cup in my hands, the same warm body to wrap my legs around at night, the sound of my dog’s heavy sigh close by as he rolls over contentedly in the early morning when I rouse. The sound of my son’s steady breathing as he sleeps in the other room with the open door and I tip toe about the cabin building the fire, getting the percolator on the stove, sitting down to write with a cat curled on either side of me.
I don’t want to cling to the familiar, but desire a balance between that which I can hold onto, with that which will not stop from shifting through my fingers.
Without this balance, would we not be floating with our feet firmly planted in the clouds, or in fear of lifting off from the ground and trying to fly?
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History in the making, we are all seeing it in our changing world. It is frightening but fascinating. I don’t want to miss it. I don’t know if there is a thing I can do but help open a few eyes and remind people of the simple beauty of the wilds. These dying woods are more than just a resource. They are a part of our collective soul.
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A little bit about the book…
Getting ready for the big day. Ups and downs. Talk about expectations!
Maybe it won’t be anything special. But of course it will, because every day is, no matter what they say, and that one is Valentine’s Day.
I was just a writer. I had time to write. Once you’re published, you become an author, and suddenly, your time is taken up marketing and you don’t have near the time you used to have to write. What’s with that?
When all I want to do is share my words, what I see, a story. I don’t want to be selling you something. Like myself. I ask you this, how do we share our words without selling out? Make the most without making a mess?
That said, I’m grateful for so many who have shared so much helpful information on just how we to go about promoting our books – if not to sell ourselves, than back to the main focus – sharing our words. This site, Joanna Penn’s The Creative Penn, tops my list at the moment. Worth checking out if you’re looking for some good marketing suggestions and how-tos.
Finally, a quick question/request. Are any of you active members of Goodreads? I’ve just signed up and am trying to learn the ropes. I’m also looking to see if any of you might willing and able to read and post a review on Goodreads to get the conversation going there. Please let me know if you can help out or have some ideas and suggestions.
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Gin Getz 