In the summer of 1996, I changed colleges from UW-Stout to UW-Whitewater. I took summer courses that year to help adjust to the change. I stayed in White Hall on the Whitewater campus. I knew no one down there. The accelerated summer learning classes were difficult. Each of the four classes I took that summer boiled a semester of material into twelve very long class periods over three weeks, and each had a ton of homework, reading, etc...

On my first day, I bought a very small TV at Walmart, carried it over a mile and a half back to my dorm room, and spent that summer holed up in my little room doing homework and watching Comedy Central nonstop.

"Soap" was in heavy rotation that summer. As were episodes of Kids in the Hall, The Daily Show's inaugural summer with Craig Kilbourn at the helm, and hours of "Who's Line is it Anyway?" each afternoon--the original British version with Ryan Stiles, Colin Mocherie, Greg Proops, and Tony Slattery anchoring a majority of the episodes.

Geniuses all.

Was very sorry to wake up and find out that Mr. Slattery is no longer on this rock. I'm sure the world will be much less enjoyable without him.

He had his darkness. He had some rough times over the years battling addictions, but he was always great on Who's Line, and he will always be tied into my mind with that long, hot, lonely summer at Whitewater.

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c93lqxgznnwo
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On Saturday, November 9, I had the pleasure of driving down to Chicago, all the way into the heart of the beast, to partake in the Midwest Mystery Writers Conference held in a large lecture space in Roosevelt University along Michigan Ave.

Got to see some nice panels presented by some nice writers. Got to talk to Cayce Osborne again, which is strange because we live in the same town but only run into each other in distant locations. I got to talk to Molly MacRae again—my mom’s favorite writer—and get Molly’s newest novel, Come Shell or High Water, signed for my mom. I also got to pay $15 for a slice of pizza and a Coke because Chicago sucks.

My day started at the unholy hour of 4:00AM. I dragged my carcass from bed, showered, and was on the road to the Windy City shortly after 5:00AM. It takes about three hours on a good day to get into the downtown from Sun Prairie, so I made it to the parking garage where I’d reserved a space around 8:30AM.

I made the trek to the venue on the second floor of Roosevelt University and was greeted with what looked to be more than 100 fellow writers gathered together. (I’m bad at estimating crowd sizes…so I’m going to guess it was probably around 200 people…but I’m not certain.)

Now, if you’ve never attended a conference like this, it’s nothing fancy. It’s a room. They have panels where one writer will moderate by posing questions to a dais of other writers. They get to reveal their insights, maybe tell a funny story, and maybe you learn something or take something away from it to help you later on as a writer. You also get a chance to maybe hear from other writers, possibly people whose work you might not initially have considered as interesting, but after meeting/hearing them, maybe you’re more inclined to look up their stuff.

This is how Bouchercon and Left Coast Crime and all the other conferences work, except that the larger cons usually have multiple rooms hosting multiple panels, so you have to make decisions about who to see throughout the event. the MMWC was all in one room with a set number of panels for a single day. It was cozy.

A few writers stood out to me during the day. Daniel Kraus has a new book out called Whalefall, and if you want an absolutely brilliant premise for a horror novel, you need to check this one out. Mallika Narayanan had a lovely accent and spoke quite eloquently about getting her new book to press. The Funny Thing About Murder panel was, as you would hope, quite fun and witty. It was also the only panel where I’d seen or known of all the authors beforehand (Ellen Byron, Molly MacRae, Catriona McPherson, James DF Hannah, and Lori Rader-Day).

I bailed out of the conference halfway through the second-to-last panel of the day because I knew I had a long drive ahead of me, and my night vision is not what it once was. I wanted to get well clear of downtown Chicago before total darkness set in, so I missed some of the Inside Publishing panel, which was interesting, and I will never have any idea of what the last panel held. (Such is life…)

All in all, it was a good day, although getting out of Chicago was a nightmare, as usual. (Made the mistake of getting on 290 West and finding it had slowed to an absolute crawl…)

I don’t envy the task of putting on a conference like this one. I don’t envy anyone the task of putting on any sort of gathering like this. My buddy, Eric Larson, is the creator and organizer of TeslaCon, the largest Steampunk Conference in the United States. He’s put it on every year since 2008. I have seen firsthand what a drain it can be on people, and how difficult and thankless it is. So, for the organizers, Lori Rader-Day, Tracy Clark, and Dana Kaye—I have nothing but appreciation and compliments.

Conferences like this always make me wonder two things, though: Why do they always hold them in major cities where the traffic is a nightmare? I know the access to the city by plane and public transportation is a big plus, but if I was putting on a conference, I’d want to do it in some town like Mineral Point, Monroe, or Platteville, Wisconsin, or Galena, Illinois, or Dubuque, Iowa—let’s take it to the country where it’s far easier to access by car or bus, parking is plentiful and free, and the city will benefit more from the tourism dollars.

Secondly, I always wonder if there’s a better way to do conferences like this. They all work on the same basic pattern, and it works for what it is—don’t get me wrong—but as a former teacher, I also know it’s not the most conducive method of learning.

At Bouchercon this summer, Eli Cranor ran a wonderful panel where he interviewed other authors about the nuts and bolts of how they do what they do. It was the best panel I saw in five long days of watching panels. To me, this is the info I want to gather from other authors. I don’t necessarily need to hear five writers break down the thriller genre, but I would love to hear more about how they do what they do. Where do they write? How do they write? How do they construct sentences? Paragraphs? Pages?

If I had any leverage in the publishing world at all, I think I’d like to put on my own conference, but I’d try to make it more like a one or two day college for writers. I’d want more classroom-like atmospheres where established writers volunteer to take on a group of 10 or 12 and actually work with them in various subjects. Maybe construction, editing, or for the more independent-minded writers, publishing or graphic design or something like that.

It would be more interactive. The panel-conference design is good, but you only really get any sort of notoriety if you’re lucky enough to speak on one of the panels, and even then, you have to stand out in a group of equally talented and intelligent folks. I think having more dialogue and less lecture would be welcome at writers conferences. Let’s toss ideas around and learn while we do it.
Problem is, that would take some money. And space. You’d need rooms. It wouldn’t be a cheap conference. If the conference was held in a more remote town like I would want to do it, it would probably require catered lunch, as well.

I know there are already established workshops that function this way (the Madison Writers Studio springs to mind), but they are usually very small group, high cost functions. I wonder if there’s a method to do it with a larger group, with looser classroom spaces, and more interaction. After all, the interaction between writers is really why you attend these things—networking, making connections. It’s how we stop feeling like we’re doing this madness all by ourselves. We need to remember there are other people struggling with the frustration of the industry, the dwindling readership, and the lack of money, fame, respect, and care just like the ourselves.

I dunno…maybe I’m just dreaming silly dreams and thinking impossible thoughts. The logistics of it alone are enough to quell my desires to attempt it.

It’s still nice to get out to these things to see and be seen. I’ll definitely attend more in the future.

​Even if that means going to Chicago.

My fifth grade English teacher was Miss Klir.
Not Mrs. Klir or Ms. Klir.
Miss.
God forbid you make that mistake. She would wheel on you and shriek, “My mother is not present!”
Miss Klir was an old school battle-axe. She was nearing retirement when I was in her class in 1985. She was a product of “normal” school, a two-year teacher factory meant to churn out instructors to help train the postwar child boom. They were taught pedagogy and curriculum and sent to teach the masses. For her, this meant a two-year stint at UW-LaCrosse in the “rural education” program.
Her first eleven years of education in the 1950s and ‘60s were spent in honest-to-god one-room schoolhouses. She served as principal of a small, rural elementary school after that. Then, she taught fifth grade at Mount Horeb from 1967 until her retirement in 1991.
Miss Klir was one of those teachers the older kids warned you about in hushed tones while you were on the bus. “Better hope Miss Klir retires this summer,” one of the older kids told me toward the end of fourth grade, “or you’re dead meat.”
She was legend. She demanded respect, and she got respect. Silence was the rule in her classes, and no one dared whisper. No one passed notes. We understood that those were her 55 minutes each day, and we were there to learn.
Miss Klir did not put up with your shit, is what I’m saying.
Miss Klir demanded a lot of us. She was the only teacher I’ve ever had who demanded you stand by your desk when called upon and speak in complete sentences. It was not enough to raise your hand. You had to stand. When she said good morning, we had to reply with respect, “Good morning, Miss Klir.” You said please and thank you for everything. You said, May I please be excused to the restroom instead of Can I go to bathroom?
It was hardcore. It was a level of respect and discipline training most students never got.
Miss Klir was a round woman, only five feet and change. She conducted class from a well-worn rocking chair at the front of the room. If she had to get up to get for something or to write on the board, she would rock back and forth a few times to build up a head of steam, and then use the forward rocking to launch herself out of the chair. One day, as she rocked backward, her momentum carried her too far and she actually tipped over backward and ended up sprawled on the ground, ass over teakettle.
Not one of us laughed. We didn’t say anything. We were frozen in terror. We looked around the room at each other. What do we do?
Miss Klir rousted herself to her feet with some difficulty, said nothing about tipping over, and continued class as if it never happened.
Any other teacher would have been laughed at. Any other teacher would have laughed at themselves. Miss Klir was built different.
In those days, we started school in the middle of August, usually somewhere between August 15 and August 20 would be our first day of school. We’d bang out two weeks of class, get the Labor Day weekend, and then start the fall in earnest.
I remember going into Miss Klir’s class with great apprehension, fearing everything the older kids warned us about. Her legend preceded her. We knew what was expected on day one, but she still went over her rules, as draconian as they seemed at that time. Then, she taught us how to take notes, because she expected us to take notes. She was the first teacher who demanded we take notes.
The first six weeks of class were pretty tough. It was definitely a learning process. She was the first teacher I’d ever had who really demanded the highest levels of respect for her, for the material, and for ourselves.
English had always come easy to me, and she seemed to realize that and cracked down hard on my written papers. She expected better penmanship. She expected high levels of grammar and punctuation. We were drilled on vocabulary and spelling. Homework was mandatory. It was a big leap from fourth grade to fifth, and Miss Klir’s class seemed to be the bellwether for that.
Then, in October, she brought out a whole new assignment: we were to memorize parts of a poem. At the time, poem memorization was part of Wisconsin’s fifth grade curriculum. I do not know if it still is. That was the reason for this.
Helen Hunt Jackson’s “October’s Bright Blue Weather” was the poem in question. Eight stanzas. Four lines in each. It’s not a huge poem, granted—but to a fifth grader who had never had to do such a thing, it was massive.
Miss Klir seemed to understand that the whole poem was out of reach for most fifth graders, so she only demanded we memorize the first stanza and one other stanza of our choice.
We were given a week to memorize our stanzas, and then she called us up to her desk one by one to recite. I had intended to just do the first and second stanza. Easy enough. I ripped through the first stanza, got through the second, and something took a hold of me. I realized I knew the whole poem. After the second stanza, I simply continued, rattling off all thirty-two lines with easy.
While I was reciting, I saw Miss Klir smile. I had not expected that. She was not a smiler. And when I finished, she slapped her palm on her desk and said, “Good for you!” She had a wide, genuine smile on her face.
It was at that moment that I realized Miss Klir might not be all bad.
I finished fifth grade in May of 1986. I saw Miss Klir around school for the next four years, always remembering to answer her good mornings with respect and a complete sentence, but she was no longer scary. I survived her class.
To this day, I put her in my top five teachers list—one of the five best teachers I had in all my schooling—from grade school through seven years and three earned degrees in college. When I tell former Horeb kids that I valued her that high, many of them look at me like I’m crazy, but Miss Klir was the last of a dying breed.
Miss Klir retired in May of 1991. I had just completed my sophomore year of high school. I didn’t know about her retirement then, but at some point during my junior year, I’d visited the middle school and saw some fresh-faced youngster in Miss Klir’s old classroom. I had no doubt that the new teacher was full of modern ideas and favored a more laid-back approach. She would not be hammering kids with a sword-sharp tongue for speaking in incomplete sentences. Hell, the new gal probably let kids remain sitting when they answered questions.
More’s the pity to them.
Miss Klir remained in Mount Horeb after retirement. She became very involved in the community. She and her sister ponied up the money for an old schoolhouse where they used to teach and got it declared a state historical building. She spent a ton of time in the visitor information booth along Main Street.
I remember walking past the booth in the early 2000s when I was living in an apartment off Blue Mounds Road after I had gotten my master’s degree and was still seeking full-time teaching employment.

By this point, I had been out of her class for at least 15 years. I had moved away from Mount Horeb in 1992 and had only come back recently. I saw her in the booth, and since no one was asking questions, I stepped up and gave her my best “Good morning, Miss Klir.”

She took a deep breath in through her nose as that amazing mind took me in from head to toe. I was a regular-sized kid in fifth grade. As an adult at that time, I was 6’1” and hovering around 300 lbs. I had a goatee at that time. I had to look completely different, right?
Miss Klir scrolled through her mental Rolodex for a moment and then said, “Good morning, Mr. Little.”
She leaned forward and held out a hand. “It’s good to see you again.”
She was underappreciated by a lot of students, but she was one of the best.
Miss Klir passed away in 2022, at nearly 90 years of age. She never married, never had kids.
She taught kids, instead.
Every year, when we hit October, I always think of her. Hard not to. I wonder if that was part of her plans, her legacy. I wonder if she knew that by making hoards of fifth graders memorize a poem about October in October, it would make us think of her for the rest of our lives.
I think she knew.
I hope you’re doing well, Miss Klir, wherever you are.
In her honor, please read Helen Hunt Jackson’s poem.
I won’t make you memorize it.

Back from NashvilleI had long been meaning to attend a Bouchercon. If I was smarter, I would have done the one in Madison, which would have been a much easier drive and would have saved me a bundle—but that was in 2006, and I wasn’t even a writer then (my first book came out in 2007), let alone a crime writer.

Still, Nashville was only a ten-hour haul. Very doable for one who likes driving as much as I do. I don’t necessarily like traveling, but I enjoy driving, especially on roads I’ve never driven before. This trip included a lot of roads I’ve never seen before.
I was very surprised at how much Kentucky reminded me of Wisconsin. Basically the same type of scenery. Except Kentucky has waaay more Baptist churches. Like way more.

And Wisconsin has waaay more bars. Like way more.

Nothing against the Baptists, but I prefer the bars, and I'm not really much of a drinker. Bars have fish fry. If the Baptists start baptizing cod in cornmeal batter and deep-frying it, I may convert.

Indiana and Illinois remain unexciting. There's a whole lot of nothing in illinois. If you're wondering where America is keeping all their nothing, I found it. It's in the soybean fields somewhere between Champaign and Rockford.

What I learnedThe biggest reason I took on this solo mission (wife and college-aged child stayed back in Wisconsin because a giant book convention would have bored them out of their minds) was to see and be seen, as well as meet some of the like-minded fools who tilt as this windmill we call crime fiction. I also wanted to learn some things that might help my in this silly, Quixotic endeavor of selling books.

The three biggest things I learned:

1. Gotta start writing short stories.
   
2. Gotta start a mailing list. (Welcome to it, by the way. This is it.)
   
3. Gotta go to more events.
   

That’s it. That’s my big takeaway from this thing.
The short stories one is pretty self-explanatory. Writing short stories helps refine the tools used to write novels. It also might help you get some writing credits that agents and publishers find appealing. If you’re lucky (which I am not), you might win an award for a story. It can only help, not hurt.

The mailing list was hit upon again and again by many people as being a major boon toward selling books, provided you have things to tell people at least once a month. Which I think I do. I’m never at a true loss for nonsense.

And the more events thing is just continuing to see and be seen. It helps. It doesn’t result in book sales, but being around might help you make contacts in the big gated clubhouse publishing sometimes seems like it is. I gotta meet more people. To that end, I joined Sisters in Crime while I was in Nashville, and that seems like a positive step.

The GoodThe best things that happened at the Con: I met some really cool people. Jacob Moon, JL Hill, Adam Frost, Lawrence Allen, Jason Powell, Del Chatterson, Michelle Kubitz, Cayce Osborne, Alex Kenna, Christine DeSmet, Meagan Lucas, Robert L. Zeid, Leigh M. Hall, Joe Wistrcill, and Robert Swartwood were all cool as hell. There’s proably a bunch of people I’m forgetting—and I’m sorry. My brain only a has a small capacity for names and moments.

I also got to say hello to Dennis Lehane, S.A. Cosby, and Matt Goldman. I knew Matt before, but he’s still pretty rad. Met Vivien Chien, too. She was lovely and awesome. So nice. And saw the great Molly MacRae, my mom’s favorite writer. Also got to hang out with Reavis Z. Wortham, John Gilstrap, and Marc Cameron for a little bit. I’m nowhere cool enough to be in their company, but they were kind and funny as hell. Highly recommend any of their books.
I also met a woman from Janesville, Wis. who lives in the same assisted living facility as my wife’s grandmother, which just goes to prove how freakin’ small this world truly is. We both had to travel ten hours so I could see a book to someone who lives 45 minutes from me.

The BadDamn, these things are expensive. When it’s all said and done, between the hotel (which had a room fee, parking fee, and daily “resort fee”), gas to get down there, taking a week off of work (even though my job doesn’t pay a ton), food, drinks, etc…

This was a pricey-ass weekend.

When the dust settles, this whole shebang will probably run me more than $3K just to hang out and feel like I’m doing something to advance my writing career.
Was it worth it? Probably.
I’m also a massive introvert, so these conventions are difficult. It is REALLY hard to walk up to people and introduce yourself. I’m far too much of a good Midwestern boy to think my accomplishments matter, so suggesting to people that they read some book I wrote is akin to pulling one’s own teeth.
Everyone I approached at this thing was awesome—don’t get me wrong. Everyone was great. Harlan Coben (yes, THAT Harlan Coben) was extremely approachable. Dennis Lehane was cool as hell. Brad Thor looked like he was having a great time. People had kind words and advice aplenty.
J.L Hill had crazy stories about growing up in New York in the 70s. (The dude does not look like he’s almost 70 himself.)
Everyone was super cool and extremely chill. Lots of good people there.
It was still hard as hell to walk up and say hello.
Introverts of the world, unite…separately, in our own rooms, and please text—don’t call.
Will I be attending another major convention like this anytime soon? No.
I already know I won’t make Bouchercon 2025 in New Orleans, so don’t look for me there. I’m setting sights on maybe returning in 2026 to Calgary, primarily because I’ve always wanted to visit Calgary, and this is a good excuse to do so. We’ll have to see how life shakes out for me in the next year or so.
I’m looking at other conferences like Left Coast Crime, Malice Domestic, or even returning to Tennessee for Killer Nashville. But I have no concrete plans to show up to any of them yet.
I’ll let you know if that changes.

I will be attending the one day Midwest Mystery Conference on Nov. 9 in Chicago, so I hope to see some people there. That’s a one day thing, and it’s only a three hour drive to get there. Not terrible (at least not for those of us in the Midwest who are used to driving at least an hour or two to get to anything cool).

The UglyThe resort was awful.
I mean, it was beautiful. It was spread over almost 8 acres, however. For a convention where MANY of the attendees are 70+, this doesn’t lend itself to being the most accessible thing in the world. There were a lot of mobility scooters needed, and almost everyone complained that it was too spread out and too hard to get around.
The Gaylord Grand Ol’ Opryland Resort is a feat of architecture and modern excess, but for a conference with a bunch of writers (who aren’t known to be the most physical bunch to begin with), this was a big place. It took a long time to get anywhere. You needed an app with maps and GPS to help you find things. The parking was terrible, and on a 102-degree Nashville day, hiking a few hundred yards from your car to your room was less than fun.
Still, I survived it.
Also, not a fan of Nashville traffic. Granted, I’m spoiled by living in the place where I grew up. Madison (pop. 300,000) has some bad traffic days. I’ve driven a lot in Milwaukee (pop. 570,000), which also sucks. Nashville (pop. 700,000) has windy roads, weird highways, and some people who think that speed limits are laughable suggestions. It was better than Chicago traffic…but still not great.


End ResultsAll in all, I’m not going to complain. I’m glad I went. I will go to another Bouchercon again in the future (I hope).
Maybe by then, I’ll be more than a small-time hack desperately trying to make a name for himself.
It’d be nice to at least be nominated for one of those fancy awards the next time I go.


Future appearances:September 16, 6:00pm: I’ll be at the Karl Junginger Memorial Library in Waterloo, Wis. for my usual brand of off-the-cuff idiocy.
November 13, 6:00pm: I’ll be at the Germantown Community Library in Germantown, Wis. to talk about writing, NaNoWriMo, and why I do what I do.
Hope to see you there.

​Publishing ain't easy.

If you want to know what kind of uphill climb it is, an agent for Tony Hillerman didn’t like his first book and advised him to “rewrite it and get rid of all the Indian stuff.”

Probably for the best that Hillerman didn't listen.

When I shopped THE SINGLE TWIN a few years ago, I had an agent tell me she really liked my writing, and she really liked Abe & Duff, but no one would read a book about a couple of middle-aged schmoes from Chicago, and I should change them into a younger lesbian couple.

Yeah...probably wouldn't have worked for me.

I told her I write middle-aged schmoes because I am a middle-aged schmo. They're my people.

Side note: The word "schmo" is kind of fun.

​Anyhow, I might not have Hillerman's readership, but I'm still trying to do my best.

Dark Winds season 3 is due out soon, and I think Tony's legacy is firmly cemented in the annals of crime fiction.

One hundred-and-two thousand words is a lot. 

I've been slogging away on a sci-fi novel for many years. I finally finished the first volume of what I hope will be a trilogy, but we're going to see if anyone wants to publish it for me before I do it myself. Again.

The final word count ended up being 102K. That's a bunch. Most of my books have hovered around 80K, so another 22K is a lot more words. But I love this book, love these characters, and really enjoyed writing it. 

I started writing it in 2015, but I don't think I finished the first draft until 2019. And now, I've done a full second draft, polished it up, and it's about where I want it, more or less. If I end up trying to do this thing myself, it'll take another full, read-aloud, line edit and another speed read-thru to make sure it makes sense.

I haven't written a hard sci-fi novel, yet. This one is a space opera inspired by Firefly and Gareth L. Powell. I'll try to make sure it sees the light of day sometime, but until then, just hang tight.

It's probably cheating if I just lazily Photoshop my own NYT announcement, right?

Yeah, probably. But an unimportant independent writer can dream, you know.

I've decided that I'm just going to make up my own newspaper title and declare myself one of that imaginary newspaper's best-sellers.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud to tell you that #BoughtTheFarm is now a West Des Moines Leader-Telegraph Best-Seller.

I only bring this up because I see a lot of independent books touting "awards." When you do the research into these "awards" (and there's a reason I keep putting that word in quotes), you find out that most of these indie book "awards" aren't really awards as we traditionally think of them. They're paid awards. They link back to a website that lists them as a winner, but for $125 (or sometimes a whole lot more!), your book can get one of those awards, too.

Even if they're not paid awards, they're the sort of award that costs a lot of money to submit the book to a "contest" where they're almost guaranteed to win some sort of award. Even if that award is an honorable mention, it will come with a fake little ribbon you can add to the cover of your book's future printing to give it an air of legitimacy.

On the original cover for #WhereArtThou, I even included a little ribbon of my own that stated "Winner: of absolutely no literary awards. You can just put these medals anywhere you feel like. No one even tries to stop you from doing it." This was a cheap shot at the fake book "awards" industry.
The only reason I bring this up is because this is an industry that preys upon every nobody writer's greatest need: to be recognized. There are so many predatory companies and individuals out there trying to take advantage of the fools like me desperate to prove to agents and publishers that we're as good, if not better, than a lot of the books that get published every year, so why not us?

I've likened publishing to being a very exclusive club, and you can't get in unless you know the password. And no one will tell you the password until you get in. It's like that in a lot of creative fields. In Hollywood, you can't get the SAG card you need to get cast in things until you actually get cast in something, which you can't do without an SAG card.

Nowadays, people talk about the Steppenwolf Theater in Chicago in hushed and reverent tones because it's the theatre group that gave us John Malkovich, Laurie Metcalf, Gary Sinise, and Moira Evans. But people forget that Sinise and Terry Kinney started Steppenwolf because they were young and struggling actors who weren't getting cast in anything, and they needed to perform. They told the professional theaters, "Screw you. We'll make our own theater." And they did. Unlike most small-time writers, though, no one said they weren't "real" performers.

Everyone is looking for legitimacy in their creative endeavors. The NYT Best-Seller list, for many, is the ultimate sign of legitimacy, but when you do the research on the list, you'll learn it has nothing to do with popularity or sales metrics. It's the choice of a couple of editors. A book can sell zero copies, and the editors can still pick it to put on the list if they so choose. An independent book is highly unlikely to make the list, regardless of how many copies it sells, until it's picked up by an agent and successfully pitched to a Big 5 publisher.

So, is the NYTimes best-seller list any more or less rigged than the indie book "awards" that charge you for a ribbon to put on your book?

I don't know. This is just me looking at a very confusing and difficult industry and trying to make sense of it.

I see people talking about spending tens of thousands of dollars on advertising to sell a couple hundred books. I see people spending a lot of money buying tables at conferences and conventions to sell a half-dozen books over the course of a weekend. I saw a post on Reddit where a new indie author was so sure his debut self-published trilogy would be a major hit if people read it that he was trying to talk his wife into letting him spend $100,000 from their life savings on advertising.

My dude: Please don't.

Legitimacy is something every author craves, but most of us will never get to the point. We're not going on the Craig Johnson-style massive book tours where he gets to talk at 40 bookstores over two months. Netflix isn't paying seven figures to make our books into a series like they did with The Lincoln Lawyer (thanks to Amazon's massive success with Connelly's Bosch series). There will never be a bidding war for our stuff because it doesn't check the right boxes, whatever those boxes might be at the moment.

But that doesn't mean that companies won't be willing to steal your money with the illusion of legitimacy in the shape of a fake award or the promise of putting your book on the desk of hundreds of agents and publishers "desperate" to publish it.

Be wary out there. Too many vultures.

​#indieauthor #BookPublishing #bookawards #WriterBeware #indiebooks

We are about eight-and-a-half days from the official launch of #WelcomeToMeskousing.

Pre-order link here: https://www.amazon.com/Welcome-Meskousing.../dp/B0CW18Q49T

This book started out about three years ago. It's one of the books I've worked on the longest. It went through several start-and-stop iterations where I couldn't figure out how to get the story to do what I wanted it to do.

I wanted to write a story about a sheriff fighting a werewolf. It started as a short story, then became a novella, and then morphed into a novel, which is pretty typical for me. I don't write short pieces well. If I see a short story contest with a thousand-word limit, I don't even bother trying. I can't do it.

Once I decided this thing was going to be a novel, I started with the main character, a half-Irish, half-Ojibwe woman I called Shelby Ree. I liked the name for its simplicity. Three syllables. A last name that was easy to type. A first name that was feminine but not common.

After that, I couldn't figure out whether I should start the book with Shelby still on the force in Dane County, or whether she should be established in Meskousing County.

And then I couldn't determine a tone for the story. I knew I wanted it to be more serious than Abe & Duff, but not so serious that it became a chore to read.

All the while, I'm working on other things, and pushing this book to the back burner, wondering if I'm good enough to write from a woman's perspective.

And don't get me started about the challenges there!

I'm well aware of the mockery a lot of male writers get when they write female characters, especially female point-of-view characters, so I wanted to make sure I didn't make those mistakes,.
It took a lot of work.

Somewhere during the early days of writing #BoughtTheFarm, I figured out that I could introduce Shelby Ree as a character in that book, and then I would be able to just spin her off into her own story from there.

When I was nearing the end of writing #BoughtTheFarm, I also realized I knew what I wanted #WelcomeToMeskousing to be: a combination of #NorthernExposure and #TheXFiles. Once I solidified that idea, the rest of the story fell into place.

As always, whenever I have a book on the verge of being released into the wild, I'm filled with apprehension and worry. Will people like it? Will it be good enough? Did I do the ending justice? Will people want more of this?

It's always a nerve-wracking feeling.

I read this book a lot during the writing and editing process. Every time it got pushed to the back burner, I'd have to reread the whole thing up to the point where I left it to make sure I still knew the story.

I like this book a lot. It was fun to write. I like the characters. And the setting is near and dear to me, as well. Meskousing County is a fictional setting, but if it were real, you'd find it lies in the hills and valleys between Viroqua and Reedsburg. At least, that's its general location.

I've always said that most of the time when I write small towns, they tend to take after Mount Horeb. This one is no exception. I named the county seat of Meskousing County "Mount Bodd" after my beloved hometown. However, the physicality of Mount Bodd is probably more closely aligned with even smaller towns in that region, such as #Belleville or #Blanchardville. When I left Mount Horeb in 1992, it was around 4500 people. Now it's far beyond that. Mount Bodd is probably 2500 people. It's much smaller, so Blanchardville feels like a better physical representation of it.

Still out here trying to represent Wisconsin in literature, though. If Craig Johnson can write about Buffalo/Durand Wyoming in the fictional setting of Absaroka County, I can do the same with Meskousing.

Fun fact: "Meskousing" is an English spelling of a French spelling of a Miami Indian word for the Wisconsin River, which originally meant "river running through a red place." The word was warped and changed until it became "Wisconsin." There's some good websites out there that explain its history and changes over time, but I wanted a title that basically said "Welcome to Wisconsin," so this fit the bill.

Some people have the physical copies already. I hope they're enjoying them.

You can still get a personalized physical copy here:
https://www.paypal.com/instantcomm.../checkout/XMXPWZW6CV7RY
(But hurry, as I only have three left for the moment...)

The physical book is available at Mystery to Me and Frankie’s Book Nook, as well. If I get off my own insecurities, maybe I'll get it into some other places, as well.

As always, reviews and word-of-mouth is EXTREMELY important to any book's success. Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, etc... Anywhere you can post a good review, please do. It helps immensely. Also, don't discount your own social media. Just letting your friends and relatives know about a book is big help.

Let your local library and indie bookstore know, too. I have promo material, if you'd like it.

As always, if you need someone to show up to speak to a book club or a library or whatever--I'm always around. Give me five minutes and a stage and I'll probably show up.

Eight days and counting.
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I hope you enjoy Meskousing County.