Why All My Books Are Not In One Basket.

Wide distribution is a boon for Indie authors and for readers.

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I’ve never been a believer in keeping all my eggs in one basket, so to speak. I use more than one bank. I store my important files in more than one place. And I have always had my books available in more than one place.

In recent months, I’ve become more and more thankful that Amazon is not my sole venue for book distribution.

kobo

All my books are available on Kobo Nook, iBooks, and a number of other stores in addition to Amazon. You can find all the links for each book at jvlpoet.com/books.

 

Like the kindle app, the Kobo, Nook and iBooks apps are completely free.
And from an author’s point of view, there are significant differences:nook-icon
  • Those stores don’t remove readers’ reviews – but Amazon does.
  • Those stores don’t insist you spend $50 before you can leave a rating or a review – but Amazon does.
  • Those stores don’t care which country you live in – but Amazon does.
  • They don’t want to know who your friends are, or mistrust you because you might know some people. Amazon does, though.ibooks_ios_7_icon_update_by_hamzasaleem-d6stc29.png

As far as I know, I am the only Joanne Van Leerdam selling books in any of those stores. If you search for me, you’ll find me.

Amazon doesn’t necessarily make life as an Indie author smooth sailing. Sure, they’re the biggest beast in the eBook zoo… but that doesn’t mean it’s the only one that should be fed.

So, I’m going to start favouring different distributors when I buy eBooks, and still give the same support to my fellow Indie Authors through buying, reading and reviewing their books.
I’d love to see more people doing this, just to show we’re not reliant on a company that thinks it can do whatever it pleases, without consequence.

Let’s face it, if a dog bites your hand enough times, you’ll stop patting it. And if that dog doesn’t learn not to bite, it’s likely to end up very lonely. The only people who can teach it that lesson are the people with the option to pat the dog or not.

Personally, I think I’m going to make Kobo my first choice. Some may see it as the proverbial runt of the litter, but that just makes me want to support them. And in 24 months of working with them, I’ve never had anything but excellent service.

I’m also going to try to encourage others to buy my books somewhere other than Amazon.

In addition to adjusting my advertising and promotions, I think I may create a slight price advantage for those who buy from a non-Zon source. That’s easily achieved through my Draft2Digital account, and it might just drive some increased interest in my books on the other platforms. An additional advantage of using Draft2Digital is that their payment threshold is $10, not $100 as it is on Amazon.

On a final note, please don’t think I’m single-handedly trying to bring Amazon down. I’m not, at all. I’ve had good sales there and I’ve bought many, many books there, too.
I’m just very disappointed in some of their “developments” of late, and happy to find alternatives that don’t screw myself or my fellow Indie authors over at all.

Opposites Attract.

This is what happens when you marry a book nerd.

We live in a small town where my husband knows absolutely everyone.

This morning as we drove down our road, he commented on a block of land that sold recently.

Him: Somebody named Finch bought that block.

Me: Was it Atticus?

Him, suddenly doubtful of his local knowledge: I don’t know.

Me: Never mind. Probably wasn’t.

This is what happens when you don’t read anything but live with a book nerd. Poor bloke.

Nitwittery, Indeed.

As of July 1, Australians can only buy from their Amazon’s AU store. Guess who profits?

2015-12-12 21.42.30 Nitwittery

As of today, Amazon’s new rule about Australians only buying from their AU store will apply. Yet again, it seems that living at the arse end of the earth isn’t enough of a disadvantage. We already have to pay more to go anywhere and to send things overseas in the mail. Having anything delivered from overseas is ridiculously expensive. Now this.

I’ve yet to see how the new rule will affect my ability to actually buy kindle books and leave reviews for them.

I’ve definitely spent the required $50 in the US store, so I should still be able to leave reviews if it doesn’t happen automatically. It’s just an extra thing I’m going to have to do if I want to leave a review.
Are they going to make me spend another $50 in the AU store before I can leave reviews there, though? That remains to be seen, but I’m guessing so.

I feel as though I’m being screwed over by the Zon, yet again.
I’m so thankful that I have all my universal book links and custom shortlinks set up as part of my own branding.
At least none of that will have to change.

One quick virtual tour through the AU store confirms what I already suspected – prices for everything are higher, even factoring in the exchange rate. I can tell you where I won’t be shopping for anything other than eBooks! And if the books I want to read are available elsewhere, I’ll be giving the fine folks at Kobo some business.

A Protest.

Some people think you can write any old thing and call it a poem.
That’s not how it works.

IMG_4945

This
Is
Not
A
Poem.

This
Is
A
Protest.

A
Word
On
Each
Line
Does
Not
Make
It
A
Poem
Unless
Each
Line
Means
Something
In
Itself.

Wouldn’t
It
Be
Ironic
If
This
Became
My
Most
Popular
Piece
Of
Writing
Ever?
A
Bestseller,
Even!

©2018 Joanne Van Leerdam

Confirmed: I Am A Very Poor Juggler.

Life is demanding… and sometimes, something’s got to give.

lego-clown-juggling

I’ve been reminded of something important over the last few weeks: I can’t always actually do everything that I think I can. Well… at least, not all at the same time.

The past few weeks have been like someone who started juggling three or four cute, colourful hackey-sacks that could be dropped occasionally and picked up again without causing any trouble, and ended up trying to juggle five or six chainsaws that were both running and on fire at the same time.

Something had to give. And logically, that something could neither be my work, the show I was performing in, nor my mental health.

I knew things were going to get busy, so I tried to get extra work requirements out of the way early. As it turned out, it was actually a really good thing I did that, because it enabled me to find the time for the extra stuff that I hadn’t anticipated.

The show went off brilliantly, thanks to the efforts of cast, crew and a fabulous director who all worked incredibly hard to deliver a production that made showbiz look effortless. Even though last night was my first Monday evening at home in months, I spent most of it feeling sad that there was no rehearsal to go to, and missing my fellow cast members.

Even so, it’s a good thing ithat particular flaming chainsaw has finished it’s run, because the music director and I have already been running auditions for our school musical for the past two Thursday afternoons.
Rehearsals for that start in two weeks – at about the same time our semester reports are due to be ready for proofreading. No pressure, though.

All of this is why I haven’t blogged, read anything except my students’ assignments or written any book reviews. My social media has been reduced to that which I have planned and scheduled in advance, and I am very conscious of my poor engagement with others on those platforms. For that, I sincerely apologise.

Still, it’s all I can do to keep my head above water, so it is what it is. Those things will resume when I get my other priorities under control.

This week, I am going to attempt to conquer the out- of-control pile of papers on my desk that need to be graded, recorded and commented on in writing as constructive feedback for my students.
I’m also going to try to get one of my priority reads finished and reviewed.
I may even finish a poem that I’ve been working on in dribs and drabs when I’ve had a few spare minutes here and there.

Those may not sound like significant achievements, but each of them will be.

Here’s to setting goals and hopefully achieving them.

My Goodreads Challenge 2018: Check!

I’ve passed my Goodreads Challenge 2018 goal, and the books I’ve read are worth talking about!

At the beginning of the year, I set my Goodreads Challenge goal at 40 books for the year. I figured that was a fair goal, given that I work four days a week at a job that easily takes more than four days a week, and I have other commitments – writing my own books, for example, and rehearsing with the theatre company for a show in May/June before directing and rehearsing my school musical from June to September.

By mid-April, I had read 40 books and extended that goal to 75. There were two reasons for this.

First, being busy, I selected a lot of novellas and short story reads that I could slot in around my busy schedule. A lot of them could be read in the space of thirty minutes to an hour, so they fit into a lunch break really nicely and gave my brain some much needed down time.

Secondly, I hit a patch of writer’s block that hasn’t entirely disappeared yet. Rather than stressing about it, I decided to fuel my imagination and my soul with some great books. I’m still writing poetry, but the fiction brain is on vacation somewhere, and I’m just waiting patiently for it to come back.

So far this year, I’m at the point where I’ve read 77 of 75 books. That’s 77 great Indie authors whose books have received a review and free regular promotion not just on Goodreads and Amazon, but also on the Book Squirrel blog,  Facebook, Twitter, Google+ and Pinterest. Every single one of them is a verified purchase review on Amazon. I’m not saying that in the interests of receiving praise or adulation – instead, I’m rather chuffed at being able to do that for authors whose work I admire. I know how hard it is to get someone to review a book, even if they’ve really enjoyed it.

I also want to tell you how good these books I’ve read are.   I deliberately included some reads that I wouldn’t normally select for myself just to broaden the horizons of my book blog. Some weren’t to my preference genre or content wise, but that doesn’t stop me recognising great writing when I see it. I was genuinely surprised by how much I enjoyed them. There is definitely something for everyone on this list.

You can read my reviews of any books you’re interested in on the Book Squirrel blog, or on Goodreads or Amazon simply by searching for the book.

If you’re not following me anywhere that I post reviews, you are most welcome to follow me on Book Squirrel, Twitter, Facebook, GoodreadsGoogle+ or Pinterest.

So take a look at these fabulous books, see what interests you, and check out some great new reads. 

Clicking on the image will take you directly to my Goodreads Challenge 2018, where you can find details on each book’s author, genre, audience, and publication. 

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Mother’s Day, 2018: A Tribute To My Mother.

My mother was the most influential person in my development and career as a bookworm. 

Today is celebrated as Mother’s’ Day in Australia and many other places around the world. My mother passed away in 2011, but today I want to pay tribute to her as the most influential person in my development and career as a bookworm.

IMG_0035I inherited my love of books and reading from both my parents, but it was Mum who put the consistent effort in to enabling my reading habit.

I surprised my mother – and probably everyone else, now that I think of it – by being able to read when I was three years old. In a manner entirely consistent with how I would behave for the rest of my life, I picked her up on skipping words and sentences when she was reading to me. I can understand her doing that – I’ve read the same book to kids a bazillion times, too, and it does wear a little thin. Back then, though, I was probably morally outraged as only a three year old can be when they’re getting shortchanged on a favourite story. When I read back to her the story as it was written on the page, Mum thought I had merely memorised the whole thing. So she chose a new book for me, and I read that one to her, too.

From that time on, Mum was always enthusiastic and active in encouraging me to read widely, and spent many Saturday afternoons driving me to the library so that I could borrow enough books to keep me going for two weeks.

By the time I was ten, I had read all of her Agatha Christie books and many of my grandgather’s Perry Mason and James Bond books, and I had well-loved copies of the Narnia Chronicles and the “Little House” books on my own shelf.

It was then that Mum let me read the old copy of Anne of Green Gables that her own parents had given her. I clearly remember reading Lucy Maud Montgomery’s descriptions of Prince Edward Island sand saying to her, “I’m going to go there one day.”
“You have no idea how far away that is!” she replied.
“I don’t care. I’m going!” was my response.

23 2015-10-04 15.08.02
I finally did go to PEI and visited Green Gables in 2015, and I wished that I could have told Mum and shown her my photos. I believe she would have been genuinely happy for me, and proud that I had achieved something I had wanted to do since that young age.

I know my mother was proud of me for following her into teaching, and I know she would have been proud as punch of the fact that I became a writer, too.

My career as a poet and author, though, would have been far less likely to happen without the love for books and reading that Mum and Dad modelled and mentored for me, and for that I will always be thankful.

My first book was not born until almost five years after Mum graduated to heaven. I couldn’t write about her passing for several years afterwards, because it was too raw. When I did finish the poem that I wrote for her, I shared it with my father and siblings so that they could share my memory. If they hadn’t loved it, I wouldn’t have published it. They did, though, and it enabled me to share part of that last day of her life to which they were not witnesses.

Since ‘July 19, 2011’ was published in ‘Nova’, it has touched and encouraged many people who have lost their mums – and dads, and others close to them. When people tell me that my poetry has touched their heart or affected the way they think about something, that’s when I feel the most fulfilled as a poet. I’m really proud today that Mum’s poem can have that effect on someone else. Although she is gone, her legacy lives on, not just in my memory and my heart, but also in my writing.

It’s impossible to not miss my mother on days like today, and not a day passes that I don’t think of her.  So, for Mothers’ Day 2018, I want to share the poem I wrote for her with you. I hope you enjoy it and find it meaningful.

 

ScreenHunter_442 May. 13 13.50

Reader Life: Those Horrible Feelings You Get When A Book Is Absolutely Awful.

A reader describes the disappointment of finding a book she had been looking forward to was awful.

ereader pexels-photo-12627

During my lunch break today, I started reading a book I’d been looking forward to reading. I’d bought it because the story looked really interesting, and I was keen to give a new-to-me author a shot.

By the time I had read a few pages, I knew there were problems. The story didn’t go anywhere. More and more errors that should have been edited out were creeping in. Although marketed as a horror story, there were no hints that it was going to turn into one anytime soon… except in a grammatical sense, perhaps.

Still, I persisted. I figured that it had to get better. Right?

Sadly, it didn’t. It got worse. By the time I quit, there were numerous confusions of tense, and multiple blatant errors of spelling, syntax and word choice on a single page. By page 23, there still wasn’t a hint of anything remotely creepy, macabre or scary in the story. That really was the core of my problem – I was bored by writing that wasn’t even really a cohesive story, regardless of its intended genre.

I don’t like quitting. I really don’t. But when my dudgeon starts to rise because I’m not getting the escape I had hoped for in the middle of a ridiculously busy week, and I’ve wasted the time I had set aside to give my brain a break, it’s time to stop. In all honesty, most of the students in my Year 9 English class make fewer mistakes on a page than this writer, and he just hasn’t bothered editing anything, let alone getting anyone– professional or otherwise– to do it for him… I’m done.

In the past, I’ve let one or two authors know via private communication where there are a few really glaring errors that needed fixing. Those things have been fixed, and their book is better because of it. I’ve withheld my review until things were corrected, so that I could give a review that wasn’t full of complaints about errors. Most authors are receptive to that if it’s done discreetly and politely, with constructive help rather than criticism.

This time, though, I’m not going there. I simply don’t have time to fix this book – it’s time consuming, but not impossible, to correct spelling or grammatical errors; how, though, do you fix a broken plot that never does what it promised to do? The problems with this book are far more fundamental than a lack of editing.
angry-2191104_960_720It makes me sad to have to add another title to the small handful of Indie books I’ve read that just weren’t up to scratch. Of the hundreds I’ve read, the vast majority have been great, and some have been among the best books I’ve ever read. It makes me angry that people are willing to sell something which gives other far more disciplined and talented Indie authors a reputation they don’t deserve. The temptation to name and shame is enormous, but I won’t do it.

I’m simply going to walk away and pretend I didn’t pick it up in the first place.

I’ll console myself, and reward myself for my own diplomacy, by setting aside another hour tonight to read something really good from one of my ‘One-Click” authors. That is something guaranteed to make me feel better.

‘Anne with an E’ – It’s Just Not The Same!

Why can’t directors just leave an excellent story line alone?

A life-long devotee of L.M. Montgomery and ‘Anne of Green Gables’, I’ve read all the books several times. I’ve watched the miniseries starring Megan Follows more times than I can count. I’ve enjoyed various other film versions of the story. I’ve visited Prince Edward Island and the original house that was the inspiration for Green Gables, where I walked along the original Lover’s Lane and stood outside the Haunted Forest. I visited Montgomery’s birthplace and the first school in which she taught, which served as the inspiration for the school Anne Shirley attended.

I’m not an expert, but it’s fair to say I know my stuff when it comes to all things ‘Anne of Green Gables.

`My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.’ That’s a sentence I read in a book once, and I say it over to comfort myself whenever I’m disappointed in anything.”
This is a line and a scene from Montgomery’s book which has always stayed with me. I found myself saying it again today, shortly after I started watching the series titled ‘Anne with an E’. I instantly liked this new Anne, and the new Matthew. I found Geraldine James’ portrayal of Marilla suitably crisp and direct. I was delighted by the way in which the story had started, and by Amybeth McNulty’s delivery of that favourite line of mine. I began to fall in love, all over again.

And then they changed the story. Before the first episode was over, the plot had taken a completely different direction than anything written by Montgomery. “WHY?!” I yelled. “WHY do people DO that?”

Still, I persevered, telling myself it might get better. It didn’t.
I made it to 13 minutes into the third episode, where I clicked off in disgust after yet another change to the original story.

I won’t watch any more of it. It had so much potential, and I had so many hopes… and all it did was desecrate my favourite story and make me angry. This series, like so many other abominations of great books, is yet another corpse buried in that perfect graveyard.

A Favourite Poem: ‘The Bells’ by Edgar Allan Poe

‘The Bells’ is a magnificent poem that is best read aloud.

‘The Bells’ is a poem that Poe wrote in the final year of his life, as he battled writer’s block that seemed to have developed with his grief for his wife, who died from tuberculosis. It is highly reflective of the way in which he perceived the changes that happen in one’s life – as one gets older, the ringing of the bells is less about happiness and increasingly about grief and fear. From courtship, to marriage, then grief and despair, and finally one’s own death, each stanza grows darker and longer than the one preceding it. The haunting tone of the final stanzas is powerful and chilling, leaving the reader with a strong sense of impending doom and terror.

For me, this poem also reflects how happy times seem to fly past quickly, while periods of darkness and sorrow seem to linger and to obscure the light of those happier memories and thoughts.

It’s a beautiful thing to quietly read and reflect on the poem, but it is possible to overlook some technical elements of the poetry if one reads it silently. Reading the poem aloud adds another dimension altogether to one’s understanding and experience of the poem.

In each stanza, the bells are made of particular metals that reflect the purpose and symbolism of the bells, but which also have different sounds when they ring in that verse of the poem.
The verbs used by Poe to describe the way in which the bells ring have been purposefully chosen to shape the meaning by controlling the speed and temperament of the reading. Short vowel sounds in “jingling” and “tinkling” are replaced with successively longer vowel sounds that slow the reading down and lower the register of the voice, so that the mood becomes more serious and sombre. By the end, the “moaning and the groaning of the bells” is oppressive and fearful, evoking horror and fear in the reader.

I really enjoy the onomatopoeia – words that sound like their meaning – of the poem as it grows progressively louder and heavier, emphasising and compounding the darkening tone and message of the poem. It is the sounds of the bells that tell us what is going on, as much as the other narrative provided by the poem.

the-bells-419677_960_720

THE BELLS

I
Hear the sledges with the bells–
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells–
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II
Hear the mellow wedding bells
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells–
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III
Hear the loud alarum bells–
Brazen bells!
What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now–now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear, it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet, the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells–
Of the bells–
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells–
In the clamour and the clangour of the bells!

IV
Hear the tolling of the bells–
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy meaning of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people–ah, the people–
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone–
They are neither man nor woman–
They are neither brute nor human–
They are Ghouls:–
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A pæan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the pæan of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pæan of the bells–
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells–
Of the bells, bells, bells–
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells–
Of the bells, bells, bells–
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells–
Bells, bells, bells–
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Joey'sMapleLeafTatt

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