Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead propping on my arse in a seaside holiday town, but the experience in magical Rovinj has been so wonderful that my aversion to sitting still now seems wrong. Seven nights in one place! No car (and limited drawcards near town)! Laziness but plenty of restorative exercise! A rare opportunity to review what an inspiring long trip has provoked!
So . . . I depart homeward today with many changes afoot, both in the short term and into the 2020s.
Nervous but excited.
As part of the Tractor Big Year, preparing for self publication in small licks every day, one decision has become clear. I’ll self publish the nuclear book but first will come number one in a series of murder mysteries, and to have any hope of promoting that, I need to return to that genre. A book omnivore, lately my reading has been all over the shop but my core reading preferences are murder mysteries and literary novels. I’ve decided to immerse myself once more the mystery genre.
As a start, I’ve watched the first three episodes of two recent, classically inclined, mystery TV series, Shetland and Jack Irish.
Shetland, based on the series novels of Ann Cleeves (which, to my regret, I have not read), about a policeman in the Shetland Islands, represents one perennial sub-genre, the police procedural. I began with Series 1 from 2013 (there are now four series!). Murders are committed and solved, amidst which the hero, Inspector Jimmy Perez, copes with life as a widower and father of a teenager. Douglas Henshall is superbly cast as the dedicated, principled Perez, and the rest of the cast is just as adept. Tight scripting and lush landscape cinematography add to an experience that is at once familiar and exciting.
Jack Irish, a scarred, barred solicitor existing around the edges of Melburnian society and illegality, was a creation of Australia’s finest mystery writer, Peter Temple (recently deceased). A couple of Jack Irish movies have been made, plus an earlier TV mini series. Netflix has a new season (from. 2016) in which fresh plots spiral out from the Temple books. Guy Pearce has always played Jack Irish, and here he is superb in a lengthy drama involving a shady church and Philippine crime. This is a PI novel, one in which the PI is almost shambolic but nonetheless a true hero, and the script progresses sharply and dramatically. Supporting roles by Marta Dusseldorp and Claudia Karvan are terrific, and all the regular bit players circling the persona of Irish are brilliantly cast.
I’ve only watched the first three episodes because I’d downloaded them, and travelling to Europe has shifted my apparent domicile so that episodes four onwards aren’t available to me until I return to Australia. I can’t wait to watch more once home.
Taking two months out of Big Year obsessiveness, it’s vital for me to prop and ask: am I okay or is change needed when I reboot in June? The last four days’ posts have assessed, for my benefit, each of my four Big Years, and I’m pleased to leave Australia’s shores with a smile on my face. 2018 has not unfolded quite as hoped, and I’ve battled myself and the world, but I’ve done myself proud.
So . . . a break and then leap back in, Andres!
I used to be right into the crime fiction/murder mystery genre and it remains close to my heart. But I’ve had to triage reading and viewing over the last couple of years and for some reason gravitated to sci-fi. I’ve just finished watching the stunning Netflix series “Altered Carbon” and on today’s flight will binge watch the “American Gods” series and the movie “Annihilation.”
But now that the Tractor Big Year has taken control and is directing me to self publish my first murder mystery, it occurs to me I should zero back into the crime genre. Accordingly, I’ll begin seeking out new mystery series (I’m sick of the oldies) and will commence on two Netflix series. The first is “Jack Irish,” starring Guy Pearce, based on the brilliant novels of Peter Temple, sadly just deceased. The second is “Shetland,” a series based on books by Ann Cleeves, someone I’ve never tried. I’ll be intrigued to see if the old crime fiction magic recasts its spell on me.
Book stuffers shovel extra books in the back of ebooks to inflate Amazon’s tally of pages read, which links into how much Amazon pays authors. A most interesting Forbes article that cites David Gaughran, an author about self publishing who is helping to educate me.
Daily research into and exploration of how to self publish towards the end of the second decade of the Twenty-First Century . . . have I accomplished that? A resounding yes, for 85 days (15 days have been travel days or sick leave).
My assessment of this Big Year’s impact? Entirely positive. I have a halfway understanding of what I need to do, I’ve put steps in place to self-publish a murder mystery upon our return to Australia, and websites/blogs have been refreshed in a most satisfying manner. So . . . a tick for this Big Year.
In the Old World, my Big Publisher did all the work for me, the writer. (This remains a strategic option.) My only job was to mail in my printed Word document.
In the New World, I, the Self Publisher, have quite some work to do, and at each step, I can DIY (do it all myself) or pay someone else to do all or part of the job.
An example? An ebook needs a cover as much as a paperback does. I can DIY this task: conceive a nifty design, then take a photo or draw a picture on my iPad, then type in the title, etc., using some software program, and finally upload it to the Amazon website. At the other extreme, I can pay mega bucks to any one of a multitude of firms who can make my entire book, including using my title to design and manufacture the cover. In between, there are many, many firms or individuals who charge a lot or not much to do part of the process. As one example, there are “build your own cover” websites that give you a range of options but don’t cost much at all (but typically give shoddy results).
A wealth of options, expensive or cheap, wonderful or abysmal, exist for other self publishing steps: copy editing, proofreading, book layout, indexing, referencing, publicity, promotion, distribution (to bookshops, for a print-on-demand paperback), etc., etc.
What a minefield!
A bold new world . . . visionary new possibilities . . . what can you expect but a gathering of rip-off merchants? DIY self publishing offers to the unwary a plethora of firms hawking over-expensive, useless services. Luckily there are individuals and groups sifting for junk. I am fully warned.
Keeping up my theme of being controversially bold in order to spur myself into action, here’s why bookshops are DOOMED:
In the Old World, Robin Reader pays $15 to $35 for the privilege. I, the writer, pocket $1 to $3.
In the New World, Robin Reader coughs up $3 to $10. I receive $2 to $7.
In the Old World, pre Kindle, you, the writer, sought the attention of a Big Publisher who stuck your paperback in Billy’s Bookshop. You can still opt for this strategy in 2018 and it can be sensible. What might you expect? At best . . . an Oprah bestseller! Or you might sell a few or more than a few. What’s your worst outcome? No Big Publisher notices you . . . not one . . . you don’t end up with a book at all!
In the Old World, pre Kindle, if you were REJECTED (note the jilted lover language), you could (and still can) pay someone to print your PDF and Photoshop’d cover, stick the book in your garage, and hawk it to friends. This was the old “Vanity Publishing” approach, one rightly stigmatised.
In the New World, your strategy can be to Self Publish your ebook and pbook. This is NOT Vanity Publishing – you mimic the professional steps of the Big Publishers by paying for editing, for cover design, for this and that. Your ebook and pbook will NEVER end up in Billy’s Bookshop. What might you expect? At best . . . a bestseller! Or you might sell a few or more than a few. And your worst outcome? Because it’s not in Billy’s Bookshop, no one even notices its existence and all you end up doing is hawking a few to friends.
The worst outcome in the New World is no worse than it was (and can still be) in the Old World. At least your garage doesn’t smell of mouldy books!