Take Care - by Matthew Greene

Writing is a sedentary, solitary pursuit for the most part. How do you take care of your physical and mental health while you’re at it?

My first instinct was to answer this question with: I don't! That's the problem!

But let's see if I can do better than that.

So, I've been "selling out" a bit, as of late. By that I mean I've signed some contracts and taken some writing gigs that were purely for the money. Some of this was born out of necessity. (Three cheers for capitalism.) And I'm grateful for any opportunity to pay my bills doing what I love.

That is, until it ceases to be the thing I love.

Such has been my struggle for the last few months, as I dragged myself out from under the weight of commercial commitments and tried to rediscover the joy of the craft. And yes, I'm purposefully using a high falutin' word like "craft," because I'm trying to remind myself that my work is something that deserves to be taken seriously. 

I'll be honest, this has been a tough year. For all kinds of reasons, none of which I'll bore you with now. Suffice it to say, there have been days (weeks?) when it's been tough to do any more than just get through. There have been plenty of times when a new draft, a set of revisions, or a half-finished outline have seemed so meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Maybe that's why it was so easy to say yes to some of the soul-sucking writing assignments I've taken on, as of late. And maybe that's why it's taken such a toll on me.

Because yes, writing is hard. It can fill you with self doubt and make you question whether there's any merit to the way you see the world. It's not for the faint of heart. But the only thing that takes a bigger toll on my mental health than writing is not writing.

I discovered long ago that pen-to-paper (and, later, fingers-to-keys) was the way I made sense of the world around me. Crime fiction was a natural evolution of that impulse—the opportunity to sort the chaos of life into a narrative where things are solved. Maybe not completely. Maybe not perfectly. But it's a hell of a lot more control than I feel in the "real world" most days. 

While I was burning myself out writing "content" (god, I hate that word) that I couldn't care less about, I was neglecting the one thing that could have pulled me out of my artistic depression. I've discovered—not for the first time, and not for the last—that I need to write. 

I fear I didn't quite answer this very thoughtful question. I could come up with a list of things that have helped me in the past, healthy habits that I should get back to. I'll come back to read the sage advice of my fellow bloggers. I'm sure they'll have much more helpful things to share.

As for me, though, I'll just reflect on a moment I had this past week. My partner and I were on vacation in Dublin, and I snuck down to the hotel bar with a notebook and a pen. Fueled by gin and pent-up creative energy, I just let myself write. No expectations, no cell service, no contracts. And, liquor aside, those few minutes did a whole lot to heal me.

So, is writing the sickness or the cure? In my case, I think it's both. 

Pretend I'm Not Here by Poppy Gee

Describe your ideal bookshop

The main thing I want in a bookstore is to feel comfortable browsing endlessly. Sometimes you don't know what you're looking for until you find it. I'm so happy to be invisible in a bookstore. I want to soak it up, browse, read a few pages, explore, relax and find something new and amazing.

Here are some cool, original, unforgettable bookstores I have had the pleasure of browsing in:

Arcadian Books and Prints, New Orleans, USA

This is the most crowded bookstore I've ever been in. The book stacks tower precariously. Some fell, whooshing with a clatter to the floor, while I was there. The bookstore owner welcomed me then completely ignored me while he kept reading his book. I loved everything about this store. 

Quixotic Books, Launceston, Tasmania

This is such an unusual store. I walked in and saw hundreds of brand new books but I didn't recognise any of the covers. Usually you see all the regular big names in Australian publishing. Not here. Quixotic Books sells remainder books - books which didn't sell in bookstores overseas and were returned to the publisher. Toby Wheels-Cobb, the owner, selects books from catalogues of thousands of books, and brings them to Tasmania. He also describes himself as a book detective. If there is a book you want, he will find it for you.

 

Tell Me How It Ends Bookstore, Brisbane, Queensland

Located in California Alley in The Valley, this cool bookstore is owned by writer Lauren Jones. The decor is dark academia, you feel like you're inside a candlelit, gothic library when you're in this gorgeous intimate store. They stock everything, with a great range of romance.  

 

Barnes and Noble, Denver

There is nothing more exciting than seeing your own book in a big bookstore. I never take it for granted that my book will be there, and when it is, it's the best feeling in the world. My perfect bookstore would stock my books... I was thrilled to see VANISHING FALLS in this Barnes and Noble, several years after it was published.

 

No such thing as a bad bookshop, by Catriona

 Describe your ideal bookshop.

I'm not a discerning customer when it comes to bookshops. Look at my laptop. I've never been in a bookhop that I didn't li- 

Actually, I've just remembered a crime-fiction bookshop, in Wigtown (Scotland's book town) that a. stank of cat pee and b. was owned by an insufferable couple who had show-offy conversations with each other designed to be overheard and admired. It closed.

Which is not to say that I'm disagreeing with Eric, from yesterday, on the general topic of the bookshop cat. The bookshop *dog* on the other hand . . . Well one bookshop dog, anyway. Last week, Neil almost stepped on a wee terrier in a secondhand bookshop. It got a huge fright and skittered off after a high-pitched yelp. The owner looked up and said, quite mildly, "Oh, did he bite you?" Um, no. But if that's the level of surprise you'd feel, I think we'll both stay out of his way. Right?

And I also want to say that every other bookshop in Wigtown is lovely. Fewer than a thousand people live there but there are more than a dozen secondhand bookshops, inlcuding Scotland's largest, called The Bookshop and owned by Shaun Bythell who has written four diary-style memoirs about running it.

The words behind the lamp are "set fire to"

I love new-book bookshops too. The Avid Reader is my home bookshop. I have my launches there and order all US books from there. Old Haunts, though, up in Granite Bay is a new bookshop that's been an instant friend to our Sisters in Crime chapter. Kramers at Dupont Circle in DC was a stroll away from my flat there and served dinner. Bloomsbury in Ashland has a great coffeeshop with a charming garden. Underground Books in Oak Park is one third of a perfect evening out in Sacrmento: dinner at Fixin's, new book, old film at the Tower Theater. (Next month is Hitchcocktober.)

They're all absolutely ideal. 

But to try to answer the question . . .

My dream bookshop has comfy seats to sit and read in. It's got a banned books display that doesn't tell you why, when and where the books were banned, so you have to think. (I mean, The Wind in the Willows?) It's got non-snooty categorisation. (Because sometimes the division between "literature" and "fiction", or between "general fiction" and "mystery" comes down to nothing more than snobbery. And, often, sexism.)

I'm easy about music or no music. Even about what music. If a bookshop played Slipknot I'd be intrigued enough to linger and try to work out why. Oh. I've just remembered a happy memory from my first trip to the US in 2004. Neil and I were in Wooster (sic) OH, browsing in different bits of a big bookshop, when both of us started to actually listen to the NPR programme that was playing. Then we searched for and found each other other and both said, "Are you hearing this? What is this?" It was CarTalk. Happy days.

You know what other kind of bookshop I love? Fictional ones. Only a protagonist who's been having a rough time and suddenly inherits a creepy old house in the countryside is better Catriona-bait than a book set in a bookshop. Whether it's the total seasonal escapism of Jenny Colgan's Midnight at the Christmas Bookshop, the interrogation of toxicity in Alice Slater's Death of a Bookseller, the dramatic wallop of Amy Meyerson's The Bookshop of Yesterdays, or Laura Jensen Walker's bittersweet but redemptive The Pilgrimmage of Primrose Honeychurch (coming 20 Oct 2026), partially set in Hay-on-Wye, which is England's book town.  

And that's pretty much where we came in.

Cx

Bookshop by Eric Beetner

 Thinking about an ideal bookshop is such a pleasant exercise. Immediately I picture a warm, inviting space and that is a testament to all the previous bookshops I’ve been into. I do think there is maybe a difference between something one would describe a bookshop vs. a bookstore. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

First, a bookshop in my mind is independently owned by someone with a passion for books and not necessarily big bucks. Ideally it is tucked away in some small town, maybe in a building with some history. I like a bookshop with many rooms. You walk in the door and then move deeper into the space, getting lost a little. That’s definitely part of the fun.

In Westport, CT. where I lived for a while as a kid there was a place called The Remarkable Bookshop. It was housed in a 18th century colonial that they painted pink and it became iconic in our little town. The floors creaked, there were steps down or up into and out of rooms that you just knew people tripped over all the time. But it was magical. It opened in 1963 but of course it is long gone now. 

Maybe the most important thing for my ideal bookshop is it has to have a cat. I’m allergic to cats, but I’d still want one in every bookshop. When I walk into a bookshop and see a cat I know I’m in a good place.

I like a good ‘Staff Picks’ shelf or table. I like to know the staff is invested. Any great bookshop should be a place where you can go in not having a clue what you’re going to come out with and end up with a passionate pitch from a worker who truly loves a book they are trying to get into your hands.

Well delineated sections are good. There is a charm to browsing through a mish-mash of books looking for a diamond, but somehow that feels more at home in a used bookstore. Couldn’t say why, but in a used store the chaos is part of the charm. But if you have a special corner you return to each time you enter a favorite bookshop then you immediately know what is new, what’s being featured and what you should be looking at next. It becomes a personal, familiar space for you whether it’s the Mystery section, Romance or Horror. 

Any bookshop owner will tell you they can’t survive on book sales alone. I like to see puzzles in a bookshop. We’re so often the same demographic. Little book-themed tchotchkes and gift-y items are always welcome. 

I don’t drink coffee (I know, a writer who doesn’t drink coffee or alcohol - I’m a disgrace to the profession) but I do love a little coffee bar inside a store. That and comfy seating is a welcome invite to sit and browse. It is letting you know they are not trying to rush you out and get on with the next sale. I don’t love the people who take advantage of the seating and never buy a book, but bookshops don’t judge, only other customers. And more than a few books have been know to be written on a comfy couch in a cozy bookshop.

I like a good playlist, but music in a bookshop should be calm and I prefer instrumental. If I set foot in a bookshop and see a cat, hear some jazz and smell coffee I am in heaven.

Last, in my ideal bookshop I’d see myself behind the counter, recommending books, scheduling readings with authors I love, checking out the new releases and smiling at my wife as we settle in to our new life as small town bookshop owners who are poor, yes, but happy. In my vision she has a coffee in hand, I have my allergy meds and we both love hearing the sound of the bell over the door ring when a new book lover enters what I hope is their favorite bookshop.

Shoot the Refrigerator

  

Describe your ideal bookshop.

Writers such as Ann Patchett, Gabrielle Zevin, and Louise Erdrich have written about the ideal bookshop. Their visions tend toward the utopian: community, discovery, celebration, the warm glow of books bringing people together.

 

Lovely [sarcasm mode ON].

 

I’m looking for something with a little more adrenaline.

 

My ideal bookshop would remind me of the scene in Edward Abbey’s The Fool’s Progress—which, if you haven’t read it, you should. Henry Holyoak Lightcap is a boozer, a misanthrope, and a man on his third marriage. When his wife finally has had enough of him and leaves, he takes a .357 to the refrigerator.

 

Yes, the refrigerator is symbolic: defiance against modern progress, matrimony, and possibly refrigeration itself.

 

But that’s not why I love the scene.

 

I love the sudden, glorious act of Enough.

 

Books are in bookstores to be sold. Bookstores, like the rest of us, have bills to pay, so shelves are inevitably influenced by what sells.

 

But what sells is not necessarily what changes us. Sometimes what sells is the safe thing. Sometimes it’s the thing that has acquired so much momentum that refusing to stock it would be commercially insane.

 

Fifty Shades of Grey is an obvious example: a phenomenon that began as online serial fiction, gathered an enormous audience, and was subsequently revised and repackaged for a much larger market. The early print edition was infamous for howlers in copy editing and printing errors. “She liked caning” is a rather different proposition from “She liked canning.”

 

Then there’s A Confederacy of Dunces.

 

John Kennedy Toole couldn’t get his novel published. He committed suicide. His mother persisted in trying to get the manuscript published, eventually putting it in the hands of Walker Percy. The book went on to win the Pulitzer Prize.

 

One book was practically impossible to sell until everyone wanted it. The other became a publishing sensation.

 

That’s the problem with letting the market decide too much: the market is very good at recognizing what it already recognizes.

 

My ideal bookstore would therefore be slightly unruly. I want books that might and will offend me. Books that make me uncomfortable. Books that make me think the unthinkable because I never experienced life the way the characters experience it. 

 

I want the book I didn’t know I needed because I didn’t know it existed.

 

Reading as escapism has its place. I enjoy it myself. Sometimes a reader needs a beach, a detective, a dragon, or a very attractive vampire. Fine.

 

But the books that matter—the books that alter a life, a conversation, culture—often make us think, feel, argue, or get genuinely pissed off.

 

There are already more books than there is shelf space. We can’t read everything, so someone has to decide what gets the real estate.

 

I’d rather that decision be made with some faith in readers because if how we spend money influences what the media corporations publish, and what corporations publish influences what we see, then the choice of what reaches the shelf is already shaping the field before we ever walk into the store.

 

And who knows what books we never discover because nobody decided they were worth the gamble?

 

Give me a bookstore full of bad bets.

 

Give me books that are weird, dangerous, inconvenient, brilliant, offensive, overlooked, or just plain difficult.

 

Give me something that makes me want to shoot the refrigerator.

Two Fishes A Bookstore, Coming Soon?

Describe your ideal bookshop:

Somewhere in a parallel universe there is a tiny little bookshop built on the edge a lake or sea, called Two Fishes. Right now, it resides only in my mind, but I can still see it clearly. If I focus hard enough, I can smell the it too, the fresh pastries, a steaming pot of strong coffee. The books, new and old, of every genre stacked from the floor to the ceiling. It has huge picture windows that allows the weather inside, whether it's the bright sun of a summer's day, a rainy windswept fall with orange and brown leaves plastered against the glass, or fat snowflakes drifting down from overstuffed snow clouds to frame the windows in winter finery. And of course music, low and slow, but always there.

And there are cats, at least two, but probably four, that roam the aisles or curl up on a welcoming lap or a plush armchair. There is little shop attached that sells wonderful local pastries, along with tea, and coffee, and of course wine from all over the world. 

Browsing, moseying, loitering over the pages is not only allowed, but encouraged. Local and indie authors are searched out and highlighted right along with the super famous from the big publishing houses.

There is no such thing as sections based on the color of the author, books are displayed together based simply on their genre. The booksellers are passionate bookworms who delight in sharing their love for reading with every guest who walk through those doors. And are paid accordingly. 

Every year there is a writer’s conference that uses one day to highlight local writers, new writers, and marginalized writers. There is a podcast that not only talks about the latest and greatest in books, but also share opportunities for local writers to meet more established writers, form writing groups and be a place where writers can congregate, seek advice, or simply feed off the energy of being around other writers. 

This is my ideal bookshop, a place where writers are supported by other writers and readers can find and peacefully enjoy their love of stories. A place to find a respite from a world that has become unhinged at every turn. 

Triage that Sh*t by Faye Snowden

We all get notes from editors, beta readers, and agents. Sometimes we don't agree. When you get feedback to change something that you really want to keep, how do you let it go or justify keeping it?

I have a pile of Poets & Writers magazines on an old Salvation Army desk where I wrote my first few novels. Some of the magazines are well-thumbed, others with perfect covers, barely perused. Some time back, long before this week’s question was published, I picked up the July/August 2025 issue. On the cover is Toni Morrison with a formidable stare, as if she is saying, “I dare you. Come at me.” 

Stop judging me

The accompanying feature article, adapted from the book, Toni at Random: The Iconic Writer’s Legendary Editorship by Dana A. Williams explains how an author did just that. A poet with whom Morrison was working to publish a book of poetry argued with Morrison about everything from the font the publisher selected to the cover design. At one point she writes to Morrison, “…the designer didn’t read the book and thought: a classy French lady who writes love poetry…although I really wanted to keep out of it, I…spent seven hours looking at least 3,000 book covers…”

Let’s stop right there. 

Three. Thousand. Book. Covers. To be fair, I don’t know if this number accurately reflects the author’s research, or if it’s an exaggeration for effect. What it does reflect, however, is an author’s struggle with a work of art which in the end becomes a product in the marketplace, not an inconsequential product, but a product, nonetheless. As such it must compete on bookstore shelves with similar, brightly colored products all screaming to the reader, “Pick me!” I believe, as Morrison said in her response, that it’s the publisher, their editors to an extent, and their designers who understand what aspects give a book the best chance of succeeding. 

Now, I have pushed back when I felt that the cover design for my Killing series was not right. Below is the first idea my publisher had for my latest book, which isn’t bad, just not right for the mood of the book. They listened to my concerns and produced a phenomenal final cover, which is at the end of this post.

As for manuscript edits, I rely on my editor to identify areas that need work. I generally listen. He knows what he’s doing and I don’t have time to protest every single, little thing, nor would I want to. I work full time at a demanding job, have six grandkids, and am probably working on another book by the time the editor’s notes arrive. I certainly don’t have time to research 3,000 book covers, and since I am a fierce protector of my time, I triage the edits this way: 

For the record, I seldom make it to 4 with my editor. He’s awesome.  

Guide, Don’t Decide from James W. Ziskin

We all get notes from editors, beta readers, and agents. Sometimes we don't agree. When you get feedback to change something that you really want to keep, how do you let it go or justify keeping it?

All of my editors have sung the same song. “You are the author. The final decision is up to you.”

What I’ve always appreciated about my editors is that they never try to write the book for me. They never say, “I would have done it this way or that way.” Rather, they tell me what they don’t get. What’s confusing or underdeveloped. I find it reassuring to have a professional in my corner who guides instead of decides.

Beta readers may not be professional book jockeys, but they’re real readers. Eventually, your work is going out into the world and will be read by other real readers, so the feedback you get from betas is absolutely valid. Since they’re involved earlier in the manuscript’s life, they might be more likely to provide gut feelings, point out plot holes that will be mostly filled before the editor gets it, and be overall more critical (or supportive) of the story, depending on whether your beta readers include other writers, friends or…your mother. In the past, my beta readers have discovered major and minor errors in my work, and they’ve stayed my hand when I was laying it on a bit thick, not quite thick enough, or when I was simply wrong about something.

I’ve worked with three agents during my career. The first—about thirty-five years ago—gave no feedback and discouraged all contact. I felt like an unwelcome guest at her party. After two unsold books, we parted ways. I shrugged it off, sure I’d find another agent in no time at all.

Actually, it took me seventeen years to find another agent, but my experience with him was wonderful. He offered advice similar to what my editors did. He was kind, honest, and supportive. We parted ways on the best of terms after seven books sold. I’ll always be grateful to him for selling my Ellie Stone novels.

My current agent expresses her opinions honestly on my work. Some things she loves, some things she doesn’t. The feedback has never been on the micro level of my writing style, which seems to suit her fine. But she doesn’t always like the mood or characters in my books, and, while I’d love to hear effusive praise for my every word, I appreciate her honesty.

Once I’ve taken stock of all the feedback I’ve received, it’s my turn. I have to decide what to accept and what to reject. Why do I reject some suggestions? Usually it’s because I know what I’m trying to accomplish with my books, which ideas I developed to shape my story and characters. I’m confident I’ve done those things right. Or, at least, the way I wanted them to be. 

And when do I accept the feedback and make the changes? When I’m made to realize that I’ve failed to make those ideas clear to readers, starting with my beta readers, agent, and editor. I’m not so arrogant to think I’m always right, so, in some cases, I’ll take another stab at the project and incorporate the feedback they’ve offered.

The thing is, writers need editors and readers, beta and professional ones like agents, too. We don’t simply type out our books and stories and post them for the world to see. At least we shouldn’t do that. Multiple sets of eyes—eyes with experience and perspective—will always improve a book. And that’s why I recruit beta readers, have an agent, and work with editors.

*******************************

THE PRANK…enigmatic and unnerving. The pace never flags for a second. This is some masterly plotting. I loved it.”

—Liz Nugent, author of Strange Sally Diamond

sldjfnsdlfjn

Gut Feeling

We all get notes from editors, beta readers, and agents. Sometimes we don't agree. When you get feedback to change something that you really want to keep, how do you let it go or justify keeping it?

By Dietrich

The email comes in. The track changes open. The editor’s note says, “So… about this one part…”

Right in the middle of the feedback is a suggestion aimed squarely at the thing you want to keep most—the line that makes you smile, the subplot that feels like the book’s secret engine, or the ending you bled over.

You don’t agree. Not a bit.

So, you trust your instincts—the ones that come from deep within every book you’ve ever loved and every scene that has ever worked.

When feedback smacks into something I really want to keep, my first move isn’t to dig in. It’s to get curious and ask a few questions: What problem is this note trying to fix? Is it about clarity, pacing, emotional logic, or reader investment—or is it just someone else’s taste? If I cut the scene or make a change, does the story lose something it genuinely needs, or does it just lose something I’m fond of?

If it’s something load-bearing, —holding up the theme, the character’s core wound, or the whole vibe of the book—then I need to keep it. Other times, I need to realize I’m attached to it simply because I like it, not because the story needs it. This means the story will be happier when I let it go.

Here’s a good general rule to follow: Work with the notes instead of against them. The goal isn’t to win the argument; it’s to make the book better. Right?

If time allows, I might try the change, make a temporary version, and live with it for a day or two. Then I read the surrounding pages and ask myself, “Does the story feel tighter and clearer? Or does it suddenly feel like something important just dropped off?” This second reaction is usually more honest than the defensive one I had in the first five minutes.

I also pay attention to patterns. One person hating a favorite scene is interesting. Three different readers all flagging the same thing is hard to ignore.

At the same time, I stick to the non-negotiables—the emotional truth that has to stay, the structural choice that makes the book feel right, and the voice that would die if I polished it too smooth.

Killing your darlings might be the right call. There’s a kind of growth in cutting something I love because the larger story is stronger without it. It shows me that it’s better to serve the book instead of my attachment to a single shiny moment.

And if I do cut it, I cut it clean. I don’t want to leave a ghost of the original hanging around as a half-measure. Either it earns its place or it doesn’t.

If I do keep it, I just need a clear reason. “I just like it” isn’t enough. A good editor or agent usually respects a clear, story-first defense more than they respect instant obedience. They’re not looking for writers who never push back. They’re looking for writers who can tell the difference between ego and craft.

The decision never becomes automatic. Every new set of notes reopens the same questions. The skill isn’t in always keeping or always cutting. The skill is in coming back, again and again, to the same simple test: what actually makes the story better?

Trust your instincts. Stay open to the input that shows you the blind spots you couldn’t see on your own. And remember that the story is what matters here.

When the notes land and something you love is on the chopping block, sit with both the attachment and the suggestion long enough to hear what the book itself wants. That’s usually where the right call lives.

You're Not Done Yet

 

Hi! Terry here with our question of the week: 

We all get notes from editors, beta readers and agents. Sometimes we don’t agree. When you get feedback to change something that you really want to keep, how do you let it go or justify keeping it? 

 I’ve been in writing critique groups ever since I first thought about writing a book. In the beginning I panicked over every note anyone gave me. Change the name of the protagonist because the woman critiquing knew someone with that name once and didn’t like them? Sure. But what about the other woman in the group who loved the name? One person thought the descriptions were beautiful. Another wanted half of them cut. Yet another wanted to add his own ideas. Needless to say, conflicting critiques put me in a tizzy. 

After a while, I learned a few valuable lessons: 

 1) Sit on the critiques for a day, a few days, a week. As long as it takes to look at them with a cold eye. 

 2) Consider the source. I don’t mean that the critique is only valid if it comes from someone whose work you admire. One of my best critique partners ever is a non-fiction writer who doesn’t even read mysteries. But he has an uncanny ability to get to the heart of what I’m trying to do and make suggestions that work. Also, a good reader doesn’t necessarily have to be a good writer. 

 3) Before changing anything because of a note, make sure the comment addresses what your intention is with your manuscript, not what their idea of what the piece should be. 

 4) Each member of a critique group has a “theme.” One may be more interested in overall plot, another in depth of character, another in grammar and style, yet another in descriptions. If you’re aware of that, you’ll be more comfortable with assessing how much a comment mean to you. For example, when I write a first draft, I often neglect description of surroundings. So if a critique partner is sensitive to description, they may zero in on that, and I tuck away the comments for when I actually am ready to write the descriptions. 

 If you are with a critique group or beta readers long enough, you’ll learn to trust both them and yourself. 

BIG NOTES. At some point, I began getting notes from agents and editors. Those are ones that I pay most attention to. 

 My first agent, as far as I can tell, never read my books. She never gave me any notes, so I was surprised when my second one said of course she would read a manuscript before she sent it off to my editor—and she would send me notes. I will never forget the first notes she sent me. She said: “This is good, but you aren’t done yet.” That turned out to be one of the most important notes anyone ever gave me. Every book I wrote, she would say the same thing: you aren’t done yet, you need more (fill in the blank—chapter, twist, wrap-up). Each time I said, “That’s not true. It’s done. I don’t need anything else.” And she would reply, “Fine, I can send it this way. It’s okay.” I would go off and pout…and then…and then. Oh, wait. 

Every single time, I would come up with a new twist, a new way of ending the book, new thinking about what happened. And the book was stronger. I learned to trust her. She’s no longer my agent, but that note lives on. 

Every time I finish a book, I think…I’m not really done. What does this need to make it complete? It happened in Deep Dive, my most recent Jessie Madison book. I was very satisfied with the way everything worked out. I knew who “dunnit,” knew how it ended. But that night when I was in the bathtub, a little voice said to me, “You couldn’t leave well enough alone.” I gasped (literally) because the voice was one of the characters in my book. And I knew in the moment that the book was not done. Not at all. There was another twist—a big one. And it made the book so much better! 

 Bottom line, if someone tells me words are extraneous or not working as they stand, I’ll take the comment seriously. But I’ll consider all of what I talked about above, and make my decision based on whether note is in line with my intention…and even if it doesn’t, I may circle back and take another look. Golden words aren’t indelible.

How to Relax on Release Day by Poppy Gee

With so much buildup to release day, if a book doesn’t take off right away it can feel like a failure. Do you see your releases as a marathon or a sprint for readership?

A marathon.

On my first release day, I put my baby in the pram and went for a long walk, I bought a chocolate bar and sat in the sunshine eating it. It was summertime, it felt surreal, I had no idea what to expect. I bought myself a small glass jar of shells which I have kept on a shelf and it reminds me of that magical day where you're floating on air, dreaming of all the wonderful things that might happen! 

On my second release day, I went for a long walk alone. It was winter, it was rainy and the river was full and the ducks were happy, and I felt excited. I got my nails painted. I did a newspaper and a radio interview, and then I had a glass of bubbles with my husband. Simple pleasures!

I used to worry about sales. I used to check the numbers. Not lately. You can't control sales. 

The only thing you can control is the reason you write. The one thing I did on both release days, which I recommend every writer do, is I sat at my desk and did a little bit of writing on my next project. If you're worried about the sales of your current book, the best way to promote it, is to get another book on the bookstore shelf. And that's the best thing for your writerly sanity too. 

The Proper Treatment of Book Sales, by Catriona

With so much buildup to release day, if a book doesn’t take off right away it can feel like a failure. Do you see your releases as a marathon or a sprint, for readership?

I'm writing this at the WWW - the Wednesday Writing Women, or are we the Women Who Write in this Winery? Not enough Ws - and present tonight are an always-indie writer of romance and mystery, an always-indie writer of educational non-fiction and picture books and a traditional and indie author of many mysteries, who's now a ghostwriter.

I'm taking soundings.

Tamsen Schulz has a street team and a PA. So I'm not sure her experience is going to map very squarely onto the average writer's life. But her books? Good for all! Tamsen and other indie authors can also run price promotions and bundling offers, to climb the online rankings. 

Lisa Nalbone's books for non-traditional learning environments have a ready-made audience in that world. The picture book, Harper the Love Puppy, is her first plunge into the crowded general-picture-book market. Personal appearances in local libraries and children's playgroups have been her focus. And not stressing about sales is her superpower. Bloody California hippies!

Eileen Rendahl actually answered the question! Marathon, she said, building from book to book. She wrote a newsletter and did a ton of social media posts starting weeks ahead of release for all her books. But she has shared the information that being a ghostwriter now means there is zero promotion on her docket and that's one of the great boons.

Spring Warren isn't here tonight, but I can share these questionably helpful tips: either win awards with your debut or write a grow-your-own bible while living in one of the most grow-your-own and if not go to the farmers' market and if not go to the food Co-op and if not then maybe Whole Foods kind of town you ever did see. See above: California hippies comma bloody.

And then there's me. And the reason I crowd-sourced an answer to this question is that thinking about approaches to growing a readership - aka book promotion - is not one of my strengths. I can admire the swagtastic brilliance of Ellen Byron, the tireless polishedness of Hank Phillippi Ryan and inventiveness with an ARC parcel of Jess Lourey but I could more easily explain the scoring system of a test cricket match to these three terrific women than I could be anything like them.

What I do do by way of promoting a book is say yes to everything that comes along. A library, writer's group, literacy society or social club is having a lunch? If I can get there, I'll be there, donating profits from book sales to their good cause and trying to make people laugh. And I'm no less likely to be doing than when the last release is months behind me and the next is months ahead. So I suppose I must think it's a marathon, at least. If not a Sisyphean curse.  

Gabriel was right to point out, earlier in the week, the part that luck plays. I had written four Dandy Gilver novels, with modest sales, when I happened to release one about Dandy going undercover as a lady's maid in a grand house exactly when the world was going Downton Abbey mad in 2011. All of a sudden it was starred reviews, top-ten picks and my first award. Pure luck.

The only other thing I think I've done right - and there's a lorry-load of luck involved here too - is keep writing. There are another eleven Dandy Gilver novels after The Proper Treatment of Bloodstains. Enough so that the publisher is just about to have some fun with rejacketing and packaging them. Watch this space. I'm looking forward to seeing what happens.

Cx