"Offer your smile to The Fates and you shall feel less their Slave."~ DSF
WHY THIS BLOG?
I AM PARCA'S CHOSEN: Parca is the Roman Goddess of Childbirth and Destiny and after you get to know me, you will see why I believe she has, without doubt, made me her Poster Child. I deal with the odd serious issue but for the most part, my posts are just some cheeky fun. You'll find satire with the odd parody tossed in....and most definitely a generous helping of hyperbole, with a dollop of facetiousness.
Yes, I know, the word is ‘praiseworthy’, but
hey…words are what I do. One perk of writing is being able to make up words and
languages. Ask J.R.R Tolkien*.
*Looking at the massively famous/popular/prolific JRRTolkien
and GRRMartin, I am considering changing my name to DRRSevier-Fries. The RR has
got to be some sort of demonic, sell-your-soul-to-the-devil symbol, which, by
the way, I am totally open to…
To receive fame and fortune was never a goal
of my wanting to be a writer. Fame would be cool for a while but from what I
can see of celebrity, well, I think I’ll pass. As far as fortune goes, the truth is, I
was married to a wealthy man and had more security and cash than one should
hope for in a lifetime, and I was miserable. I had a
stalemate, not a soulmate.
At present, I am a busy quill pusher who supplements
my writing career by running (with my fine, imported soulmate) a wee family oriented motel in
the bowl of a rim of mountains called Hope, BC Canada and although we live simply and have a steady but decidedly average
income, I could not be happier. (*well, not unless Sean Bean came to town dressed
asBoromirand wanted me to test every mattress in the place with him…but that might not happen.)
But as happy as I am, I am over-the-moon
happier today because of one incident. It reinforced the one thing I have discovered
that I DO want to get out of my writing: Praise. I received a smidgeon of unexpected praise
today and it blew me away. Far too much, obviously, but it was a rush
nonetheless:
An innocuous little blurb from a stranger on a Face Book group made my day. My week. My month.
I got a 5 star rating for my book once that
sent me reeling too, but somehow, this praise was even more validating. Go
figure. Maybe I am just an insecure storyteller who appeals to 2 or 3 people.
Well then…so be it. But those 2 or 3 people
are now in my Will.
My last
AUTHOR MINGLE article was all about faces and the ones we offer the public via
our work (profile pics, avatars, dust jacket portraits, etc…). I crooned about
how I would only use my most flattering images regardless of how illogically
youthful or outdated they were. My image was mine own!
Little
did I know that I would soon be scrounging through every drawer in the house
looking for an ‘original’ picture of myself for my first newspaper interview.
The irony
was so thick I could almost taste metal. None of my good old standby photos
(read: de-wrinkled) of myself would suffice because they were scanned. The
paper needed an original file for optimum clarity in their article. I was
trapped.
But that
happened after the interview. The
beginning was far worse. Or should I say, the pre-beginning was worse.
The reporter was to call at 1:00 p.m. my time and by 12:30, I was pacing up and
down the room in front of the phone, wondering what questions were going to be
asked and what the hell the names of my main characters were. I had
written and self-pubbed three books. Why the hell did I have to write three? What were
they about again? My mind was beyond blank and verging on implosion.
And then
The Big One hit: should I spell my name with or without a hyphen? Which looked
less complicated…more memorable…attractive? Which looked less feminist…or did I
want it more Gloria Steinemesque?
Thus
begun my virginal foray into the world of newspaper interviews.
The phone
interview with a reporter from my hometown newspaper turned out to be a
valuable exercise in self-awareness: I was aware of my much-too-loud laugh, my
raspy voice that sounded like I was born smoking a cigar, my inability to
string four words together without adding the ever-so-eloquent ‘ummm’ and my
propensity to think faster than my lips would move. Oh, and I became keenly
aware that when being recorded on tape, I get the inexplicable urge to belt out
a Tarzan/Carole Burnett-like jungle call and/or giggle uncontrollably like
Betty Boop on laughing gas.
The clock
proved that the interview took 20 minutes, but it felt like 2. What had I
said? Did I just ruin my career and put a giant cork in my bottle of
opportunity? I vaguely remember saying the words Hitler, mother and church. Did
that mean I said my mother met Hitler at church?
I moaned
my way to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub with my head in my hands,
trying to decide if I should drown myself in it, but I knew there was a part of
me that still yearned to see, at least once, an article in the newspaper about
my books. Even if I couldn’t recall their titles. *I think I said one was
called Twilight and another one Harry Potter something-or-other…
I then
recalled every important detail I forgot to mention and turned on the water.
In the
end though, I didn’t do a swan-dive with a half twist into my bathtub and I didn’t actually
embarrass myself too badly in the article. I took five million selfies and tried not
to look like my great-grandfather after one-too-many potato-distilled vodkas, and my sister
Rhonda helped choose the least ridiculous of the lot and I sent it in, hoping
it would be stamp-sized and airbrushed.
It was
neither. The photo took up 2/3 of the page and my black Leno streak in my
silver hair looked like I was wearing Pepe Le Pew on my head. But it was done.
I had survived and apparently, I was still a ‘Sevier-Fries’.
So, despite being scared and nervous, my first time wasn’t as painful as I
feared, my hyphen remained intact and I could still claim my name as untouched.
What more
could a girl ask for?
**Here is the article, although you may have to
subscribe to The Dauphin Herald to view the following link…sorry!
This email exchange had me laughing out loud and I needed to share. I have hidden the insurance lady's name for her protection. Not that she could get fired from her job, but from an influx of requests for this very select insurance...
CONDOM INSURANCE THIS IS AN EMAIL I GOT AFTER ASKING FOR AN INSURANCE QUOTE FOR MY APARTMENT LAST WEEK:
From: --------- To: denisesf5@hotmail.com Subject: RE: Insurance quote Date: Tue, 13 Aug 2013 18:08:18 +0000 Hi Denise,
Sorry about that, I understand that your premium would have been less
before with your condom policy. This is a “tenants package” which do
tend to be more that an “owned” property policy. Thanks! __________________________________ MY REPLY: Hi -----,
Hmmm...I have never heard of a 'condom' policy before...but I imagine
it offers good protection against unwanted tenants in small places.
Cheers...and thanks for the giggle of the day! Denise ___________________________________
THE RESPONSE: OMG, Im sorry, Condominium.
*I wonder, as a mother of 5, if I should have written "My old condom policy is full of holes..." ?
There are myriad reasons why writers write: to purge their
souls and rid themselves of inner demons; to offer the world insight and hope;
to give themselves and others the gift of another world made from the
uniqueness of their personal fantasies; to simply be creative and tell a good
story.
My reasons for writing are twofold and not in the aforementioned list. They are:
1)Sean Bean. Yes, my ultimate goal is to write a
bestseller that gets made into a movie starring Sean Bean. I will consult on set. Closely.
2)To have my picture on a book.
But not just any picture.
Many believe that in facing the reality of publishing , we
should show our real face.I disagree. Writers
usually deal in altered realities, so why not alter one more?
The task of taking a new profile picture for one’s website
or author’s page, or choosing the one best suited to grace the back cover of
one’s book is a gargantuan undertaking. For some. I am willing to concede that there
may be an author or two out there who could care less about what his or her
cover picture looks like, but they either model on the side or make The
Elephant Man look suave and debonair so it doesn’t really matter.
I like putting my best face forward. Even if I don’t have it
any more.
It seems every time I have to choose a new head shot to
download, I get younger.My Amazon
Author’s page picture was taken in my late 40’s. My Twitter profile shot was
taken in my mid-30’s and I was in the last year of my 20’s in my current Author
Mingle picture. If you ever see a published book with the picture of a fetus on
the back cover, that’ll be me.
This has not been intentional. Well, not at first. The first
time I had to send in a profile picture that would introduce me to the world, I
chose one that was relatively new and wasn’t clear enough to count my
wrinkles.Vanity thy name is Denise.
The next one had to be different, for whatever reason, so I
chose one even younger, but not from ego, but, honestly, from a lack of choice.
I am the family photographer and am rarely alone in any pictures. The few that
are around belong on the cover of The National Enquirer alongside sightings of
aliens and Elvis at Dunkin’ Donuts, so I decided to be kind to the collective
eyes of the reading public and offer them a Vintage Me that had only one chin,
most of my own teeth and Sex In The City hair.
And really…who would care? The fact is, any form of you,
whether it be present day or Teen Heartthrob from the 60’s, it is still you. It
is the face you want your readers to meet alongside that particular book.
The way I figure it, my visual identity is mine to give or
hide, play with or re-arrange as I see fit.A picture of me is a piece of my real self that I will offer the public
at my own pace, and, to be frank, when I get one that people won’t mistake for
Gandalf with a perm.
Maybe finding my current face will become a game, like Where’s
Waldo (minus the hat), or a mystery like the elusive Great Garbo (minus the glamor) or the reclusive Howard Hughes (minus the Spruce Goose and the
billions).
I make one promise though: should I ever get published in
hardcover, I will send in a recent picture. It may even be one of me.
As some of you may already know from previous posts, I believe in Signs. When something is beyond coincidental or just too
bizarre for words…I call it a Sign, and I should be paying attention to what it
may mean. Most of the time I simply see it as a confirmation that I am at the
right place and the right time in my life and my choices have been good.
I have found lost, tiny diamonds from my rings in places
that I had no business even looking, but the Hand of God (or index finger of Buddha)
pointed me in the right direction; I have experienced circumstances that border
miraculous (scroll down and see my
Dec.10.2010 post) and I have been guided by a Guardian Angel in finding a
lost child in a Mall the size of Texas…
BUT…
NOTHING has been
as mind-blowing as the day I had last week. It was a Sign Tsunami and I
barely kept my head above the water. I can only write of it now after giving it due thought. Here’s how it went (with my initial
responses in parentheses):
1)a- Driving
my daughter Katja to school in the morning, we get on the subject of Jurassic
Park and the fat guy who gets eaten by a prehistoric fan-faced lizard. Cool
scene. You know…amiable, pre-school-time blood and guts death scene chit-chat.
Starts the day out warm and fuzzy.
b-
When she gets home, I tell her that I came across a picture of the fat man and
lizard in the news online shortly after I got home. Did NOT look for it! She jokingly
suggests that that it’s a Sign referring to me (the fat man…yes I’ve gained few
pounds, thank you) and her oldest sister who is arguing with me at present: she
is the lizard attacking me, you see. She laughs at the comparison but stops
when I tell her that her big sister once had the name Lizard. “That’s kinda
weird, Mom.” Indeed. (*Well…that’s a bit bizarre. Double bizarre.
Picture AND nickname!)
2)a- Went
to the library and a random book title caught my eye that I thought was a
favorite play of mine, Shakespeare’s ‘Taming of the Shrew’. It ended up being ‘Turn
of the Screw’, by Henry James. I put it
back.
b-
That afternoon I see a video clip that has one character say to another, ‘The
key is on the bookshelf. Look behind the book called Turn of the Screw. (*Wow! What are the odds?)
3)a- I
see my doctor for a prescription refill and ask her about a safe diet she can recommend.
She says The South Beach Diet is perfect. Try it.
b-
A few hours later, I get an obvious SPAM email touting the benefits and magic
of The South Beach Diet. My doctor does not know my email addy and I have never
looked it up. (*Holy crap!
Am I paranoid, or what?)
4)a- After
school, Katja and I drive to Value Village to find some pieces to make a cowgirl
costume for School Spirit Day. While driving, she asks me to recommend a few
Moldy Oldies tunes to download on her iPod.
So, I grab at a distant memory and mention Mr. Roboto by Styx and sing
a few bars: Domo arigato Mr. Roboto!
Domo!We laugh. Silly song. We’ll have to ask Scotty, her big brother, what
that means. He speaks Japanese quite well after having lived in Japan after
university.
b-
10 minutes later, it comes on the radio. I hadn’t heard it for 10 years! “Mom…isn’t
that the song you were just singing?” (*Bloody
hell! What's next? A Japanese robot at the next stop sign?)
5)a- We
get to Value Village to find some cheap cowboy vests and boots…cheap horse
maybe. Preferably stuffed.
b-
Katja sits down and starts to put on a rather perfect pair of ladies cowboy
boots when I tell her to stop and listen closely to the piped in music humming
overhead throughout the store. She stops
mid-pull, looks up to me with huge, surprised eyes and says, “Oh my God! Is
that Nancy Sinatra? Freaky!” (Yes, my 13 year old likes Nancy) And yes. You guessed it. ‘These
Boots Are Made For Walkin’’ was our boot-hunting back-up music. (*Holy shit!)
6)a- That
evening, my son Steven calls from Alberta and we chat. TV shows I get for free
online come up in the conversation and I mention that I am hooked on The Big
Bang Theory. He loves that show and asks if I have seen The Ball Pit episode
yet. Too funny Mom! Killer hilarious!
b-
You know what I’m going to say, right? After we hang up, Katja and I sit on the
computer and bring up the next episode on the list. Half-way through, guess
what scene pops up? The Ball Pit Scene. It’s great, but I am too flustered by
this time to enjoy it fully. (*Feckin
Feckity Feck! Out of 6 seasons of 23 episodes each…let’s see, that’s a possible
138 episodes, that one comes on just
then! I need to buy a lottery ticket.)
7)a-
Before tackling my all-night book writing session (as I do nightly), I watch a
little ‘TV’ online. I am currently watching LOST. We gave up TV but we still
watch what we want online. Saves cash, it’s commercial free and makes us all
read a lot more. SO…I watch the next episode…but wish I hadn’t. Without going into a long explanation of what
happens, let me just say that in it, one character tells another a story about
how he won the lottery and got the numbers from a guy way far away in a place called Kalgoorlie, Australia. It was a man
who was fighting with his son and he wished he had the guts to call him on the
phone.
b-
This REALLY blew me away…after a day of endless blow-aways: My daughter, the aforementioned Lizard who is
on the outs with me right now (and who I wish I could call) lived in
Kalgoorlie, Australia and JUST moved out of it! (*Okay. Fine. Is that a Sign to call? Was that a punch in the gut or
what! What am I supposed to do! AAARRGGGHHH!)
This was all blog-worthy, crazy–ass stuff I knew I should
write about, but the straw that broke the camel’s back happened the next morning at
breakfast. I KNEW I had to get this all
down for the world to see, if only as evidence to my now 100% belief in SIGNS
and my new goal in discovering what the Sam Hell they mean! What happened, you
ask? Well…
8)a- I
had slept in after a 5:00 a.m. bedtime (I write better at night) so I had
breakfast alone and late (not usual)…about 10:00 a.m. I had bought a treat for Katja the
week prior and got her a sugar cereal (again, not a usual) and decided that I
was craving some of her Captain Crunch. Why not? The South Beach could wait. Mom’s can have some fun too,
right?
b-
Wrong. What happened next was not 'fun'. It was insane! So much, that I
even took a picture of it. I sat down to eat my Captain Crunch and watch one of
my favorite comedians, Stephen Colbert on The
Colbert Report. THIS is what came on as I ate:
You can imagine me sitting there, spoon
frozen mid-way to my mouth, looking at the Captain. I hadn’t
eaten CC for years, but there it was. RIGHT IN MY FACE! Here is a bowl shot for further proof:
And the ONLY thing that
was even MORE bizarre, was this:
Yes…I was reminded that my husband is from Germany. (*I surrender. Strike me down with lightning and take me now.)
Here is a 60 second clip of it (I won't even go into the 'coincidence' that my ex-husband is a dentist. My head might explode.):
I am either exceedingly perspicacious or just headed
for some kick-ass Enlightenment! All these Signs! What am I to do with this information?
What is the name of your book and if you had to sum up a description in 40 words or less, what would you say? The
name of my book is The Saving of NATION. Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun
married a mere 36 hours before committing joint suicide. This seems a
fruitless gesture unless you see how it would legitimize their child. A
child hidden and raised in Canada postwar. This is his story.
Where did you get your idea for your book? I got my
inspiration for this book from my father-in-law, now deceased, whom I
never met. One day he was a carefree young man, a carpenter’s apprentice
with a bright future and a girl he was drumming up the courage to
propose to, and the next day, he was a soldier in Hitler’s army. He left
his home a sweet young boy and returned a bitter man with only one eye
and more scars than the ones caused by shrapnel too deep to remove
safely. I married his son, who was visiting Canada one year…a decent ,
kind and loving man affected but not ruined by his father’s fate. After
wondering how my husband turned out to be so much the opposite of such a
damaged father, I began to wonder how a son of Hitler might have turned
out, especially after finding out his true identity upon becoming a man
on his 18th birthday. Could anything good come from such evil…or would
his blood be his poison?
When did you publish this book? I self-published this book April 2 2013 on Amazon KDP Select.
Is your book part of a series? No. Not yet anyway. Should it become a bestseller, I might write a sequel!
What is the most important thing about your book you would like to share with potential readers? The
Saving of NATION is not a story about war or Hitler as such, but a
message of how we all, despite our pasts or predestined fate, have the
choice to control our own destiny.
What was the hardest part of writing your book? The
hardest part of writing this book was balancing my life around the
actual writing of it; I have a husband, five children and a cat and when
I write, I disappear and they are not a part of my world anymore.
Slipping back into reality can be draining. Luckily, they were all very
supportive, due in no small part, to my threatening to use their names
as horrible characters in my book should they pester me and make me lose
my train of thought…
What is your next writing project? I am knee deep in
a novel about the tragically, and shamefully, forgotten segment of
Canadian history that saw tens of thousands of Ukrainian immigrants and
Landed Immigrants alike, imprisoned in concentration camps in Canada
during the First World War. Even librarians try to correct me and say
only the Japanese were interned in Canada during the Second World War
and I have to give them a history lesson. Shockingly and sadly enough,
my college Sociology professor didn’t know either, and that was my
inspiration to finally write this new book.
What formats are your book available in: The Saving of NATION is currently an ebook available on Amazon.
What is your name and where are you located? I am Denise Sevier-Fries and I live in Comox, BC.
Do you write under a pen name?No. I will take the full credit and lumps that come with people knowing your identity.
What books have influenced your writing? I love the
Jack Whyte historical fiction series The Dream of Eagles; Diana
Gabaldon’s Highlander series; Anita Diamant’s inspiring The Red Tent and
thousands of others! I also love the classics Pride and Prejudice, The
Grapes of Wrath and To Kill A Mockingbird.
What inspired you to first write? I am a storyteller
and love to engage people in my tales…so putting the words down on
paper was the natural evolution of that inherent trait, I suppose.
What have you learned the most about being a writer/author? I
have birthed 5 books and 5 children and it is hard to decide which was
the least painful. They have all caused me, at one time or another,
immeasurable joy, unholy suffering and fodder for my blogs and books. I
have also learned that my husband and my children may be my heart and
soul, but writing and photography are my air and water and I need them
all to survive. I have also learned that writing, even with all its
extreme ups and downs, is by far, MUCH easier than trying to get
published and having ones work actually read.
Do you see writing as a career? Indeed I do. When I
began this book (which was the first I’d ever written), it was in the
wee hours of the morning and I was so engaged in writing it, that when
my daughter returned to my desk to give me a second kiss goodbye before
hurrying off to school, I chastised her for dillydallying and told her
she was going to be late…but she looked at me with a puzzled look on her
face and said, “But mom…I just came back from school. That was a kiss
hello.” I was stunned. The whole day had passed and it had felt like a
minute. I had found my vocation; for better or worse, I was a writer.
So, yes, I need to believe that I can eventually feed myself from this
job that chose me so persuasively.
Is there an Author that you would really like to meet? Jack Whyte or JK Rowling would be a massive treat!
Do you have any advice for other writers? Compare yourself to everybody and nobody.
What is the one most important thing others should know about you? I am not Norman Mailer. (*yes…there is a story behind that)
Allow me some brag time if you please...I don't get to do it very often .
My photograph of a boat in our local marina just won 1st place in the Comox Valley Art Gallery PHOTOPIA JURIED PHOTO CONTEST AND EXHIBITION! There was an awards ceremony and I won the top prize of 125 smackeroos and got a nifty gold embossed certificate for my wall. *The money will go towards a new camera as mine currently has duct tape holding the batteries in.
Better than the ceremony or the cash though, is the exposure. I hope my new moniker 'the award winning photographer' opens a few doors...or at least a buffet or two. I'm feeling peckish.
Here she is, my winning picture: *click on pics to enlarge
CHINA CLOUD
Here are a few more of the ones I entered...and that are on display at the gallery as well:
I made this meme today after finally recovering from the Red Wedding scene on Game of Thrones on HBO.
Only I don't watch HBO. I watched the episode on a free stream website online that I won't mention because, for all I know, it's illegal and in 5 minutes, a team of Men In Black will bust down my door and try to confiscate my laptop and erase what little is left of my memory.
So, what is it about GOT that distracts a 50+ year old woman with a hubby and 5 kids away from life on a regular basis, either on the screen or in the much-cherished 5 GRR Martin books?
The answer is: I don't bloody know.
But I find solace in knowing that the fascination with GOT is ageless and worldwide. My 20 something year old son got me into the series and after season 1, I bought all the books and devoured them. Then I bought the DVD's. Then I made this:
Is it simply my romanticized love of anything medieval? My obsession with anything Sean Bean? Perhaps. But whatever it is, I got it bad. And I'm not alone. And maybe that is the answer right there: not being alone. Being part of a community, a family of like-minded and passionate people is addicting. And just plain fun.
Obviously I already have a family; a REAL family, but seriously, although they are a pretty good bunch, they will never understand why I want to time-travel to Westeroos and
1) marry Ned
2) adopt Jon Snow or at least marry him to one of my daughters
3) use Joffrey's skin to make a soccer ball that the White Walkers can use for their down time between uprisings
4) make Walder Frey an hors d'oeuvres for the dragons
5) give Jamie his hand back
6) give Little Finger the finger
7) have a coffee with Varys
8) find my own dragon eggs
9) get Hodor into therapy
10) raise a direwolf
11) become buds with Jaqen H'ghar 12) hug Tyrion
I don't blame my family for not understanding since I don't understand it myself, but for now, I will continue to be a fantasizing fan, a wannabe medieval castle-bound maiden (yes, I said maiden, so shut up) and random meme maker.
Oh...and I have one message to David Benioff and D. B. Weiss:
How many times can you kill Ned? First it was the horrific and utterly devastating killing of Ned himself...then his namesake unborn grandson, Ned the Baby, was stabbed to death in the womb. Who's next? Ned the Baker? Ned the Uncle's Brother's Friend's Janitor's First Cousin? Ned the Pet Hampster? It has to stop! My heart simply cannot stand another Ned murder.
I should temper my title by saying that I have actually been around the block a
few times on my computer and I am not completely
inexperienced, but until I can refrain for Googling YOUTUBE once a week for a
new step-by-step tutorial, I will consider myself an innocent. A Pseudo-Newbie
if you will.
My most recent foray into new computer territory has been
Tweeting. I put my newest self-published book out there on Tweetland and
thought, HEY! This is easy…I will just Tweet the living shitout of this sucker and get it seen around the
world! Media Whoring at its finest! After blistering my finger on at least a
hundred Tweets, I went to bed satisfied at a job well done. THAT will get my
book out front!
But the next day, I received an email that made me blush. Something
I haven’t done since my real-virgin days. It was a message from Twitter
berating me for mass Tweeting and informing me that my account was suspended
for one hour (was I to stand in the corner?) for it was not allowed… and should
it happened again, my account would be permanently deleted. It was against the
rules a very annoying to others. I was being a Tweet Twat (my words, not theirs) and I got Tweet Beat (again, my words, not theirs: are you writing these down? I`m offering you literary gems here.)
OUCH!
Red-faced and reaching for a glass of Beaujolais Superior, I
sat stunned. Suspended? Me? But I didn’t know! That’s not fair! I drank my
indignation and embarrassment down with my carefully measured ‘medicinal’ wine (one
crystal glass full; to the brim). My husband walked in at that moment and
became rather concerned, “Look at your face! Are you okay?”. I assured him that
I was just fine and simply getting an ass-kicking from my computer. He didn’t
want to know what that meant and smiled vaguely as he backed out the door. I think I frighten him at times.
I
was alone again with my Oppressor.
So now what? Do I apologize? Write an explanation…a ‘Who
Knew?’ excuse that was sincere? I decided to wait an hour and then Tweet ONE
message that had nothing to do with my book, just to show that I understood the
gravity of my crime and that I really did want to tweet fun stuff too. So after
an hour, I Tweeted an article titled “10 Fun Cupcake Recipes” just to show how
safe and obedient I was. I should have felt better, but I only felt humiliated.
I had been reduced to cupcake recipes.
The shame has receded and I am now better informed and able
to work within the Tweetesphere guidelines. Lesson learned: read the rules of anything
you join. Save yourself a spanking.
The only other as-of-late experiences worth sharing here are twofold:
1)I discovered, while creating my book trailers, a
website that offers background music for as little as 99 cents and it is very
easy to download and use. If I can do it, anyone can. It is called JewelBeat:http://www.jewelbeat.com/
2)I was very intimidated by trying to make a
'clickable' Table of Contents on my Amazon KDP SELECT self-published books as recommended, so I just downloaded
them without it. Bad move. Not very professional and not fun for the reader. It
nagged at me for weeks and made me miserable: people were buying my books and
seeing how inept I was. CRINGE! I hadn’t even converted them to HTML yet, which
was also recommended by KDP as it seemed to hard to figure out.
BUT…I just, today, found a wonderful tutorial on
YOUTUBE (my visual bible) and it was so easy that I re-published all of my
books with clickable chapters on Kindle e-reader! Bless the YOUTUBE GODS! I
will devote another glass of sacrificial wine in your honor! I converted my
manuscript into HTML (just save it on your computer as a WEB PAGE that is found
when you click the ‘Save As’ menu) and followed the tutorial. Easy Peezy Lemon
Squeezy!
At my age, and perhaps yours, being a blushing
innocent is not the fun it once was…so I just wanted to share my new found gems
and hope it helps make your beginner’s foray in the world of self-publishing a little
less scary. It is surprisingly satisfying to learn new tricks and inside scoops
and makes one more confident and worldly, not to mention, part of a growing wave
of over-50 quill pushers who want to keep up and, maybe, even excel.
I will continue to reach out and learn,
make blush-worthy mistakes, and take my lickin’s as I bungle my way along…but I
will never give up my goal to master my Toshiba Laptop, the evil black box that
mocks me daily, and to write the next blockbuster bestseller so I can have it
adapted to film and ensure that Sean Bean is hired as the main character so we
can finally meet. If my main character is a woman, a boy or a plant, well… he
can adapt. He is an actor, is he not! If it becomes an issue, I’ll re-write it.