Selling Books In A Digital World: Video!

I have presented this workshop a few times, most recently for the Maryland Writers Association back in February. I recorded and posted it on YouTube, so anyone could watch it. Of course, my real life presentation was better, but I did my best with this one.

It’s long, lecture length, and was a good practice session for me.

One of the things I’ve noticed giving workshops on marketing over the years, is a lot of people want a “quick fix” to how to market their books. But there really isn’t any such thing. Sure, you might get lucky with something you try. But most of us need a plan that aligns with our business, goals, and personality, and so it’s best to start thinking about the way we spend our hours and dollars strategically.

My main goal of this workshop is to help writers start thinking strategically about selling books. We can’t do everything all the time, so we should focus on doing the things that are going to have the most impact for us and be the most enjoyable over time.

Writing Tips (Sometimes): Sussing Out Subtext

Have you ever heard the word “subtext” in the context of a story? It’s one of those words people like to throw around when they’re talking about literature, but not everyone understands it the same way.

When I think of subtext, I think of it as an underlying message or theme—something that isn’t explicitly stated in the text or by the narrator, but that hovers around the edges as a potential conclusion based on the things that are explicitly stated.

There are lots of ways to include subtext in a narrative, but first I want to point out that some people see subtext whether it’s there or not. They are always drawing conclusions from things—even conclusions that you didn’t intend or disagree with!

This is fine! It’s part of the process of writing and reading. You write a story and bring your perspective into the creation. But when a reader consumes a story, they bring their perspective to the story as well. And sometimes this means reading into things in a way you didn’t intend.

But say you want to include subtext, and you want it to be pretty clear to the reader what you mean, even if you didn’t say it outright. How do you do that?

Focus on the gaps.

The empty parts of the story are key to subtext.

  • What does the character not say?

  • What does the narrator avoid mentioning?

  • What do you know about the story that the reader doesn’t?

There are a lot of specific techniques to achieve this. For example, symbolism. Maybe the color red (or any color) is frequently incorporated into the story. The character is constantly noticing red things—roses, shirts, barns, bricks. Red represents anger and passion. None of the characters or the narrator says it outright, but repetition a specific symbol can help direct the reader’s attention toward a concept that isn’t actually stated.

Use the setting. 

People associate ideas, moods, and all kinds of things with the weather, making it a great way to add implicit ideas to your narrative.

For example, perhaps you have a cheerful, optimistic character, but the weather is always bad. Snow, rain, storms are constantly happening in every scene. This creates a contrast, that perhaps the cheerful optimism showed by the character are less true than the character thinks.

This is also a great way to...

Incorporate an unreliable narrator.

An unreliable narrator is a narrator who is lying or uninformed about the truth of what’s going on. Unreliable narrators can be extremely engaging for readers, who may notice inconsistencies or irregularities that the main character doesn’t notice or ignores. This is a tricky tactic, but when well done, can create an interesting and engaging story. Famous examples of unreliable narrators include American Psycho, Fight Club, and Lolita.

Let silence fall.

While there are many more ways to weave subtext into your narrative, the last one I am going to mention is silence. 

In music, silence (or rests) is just as important as sound. It’s is the balance of emptiness and fullness that makes music—after all, no one likes to listen to incessant noise or endless nothing. It’s the same in storytelling: what is not said is just as important is what is said. 

What aren’t your characters saying? What do they avoid thinking about? What is your narrator neglecting to mention?

If you want to use subtext in your tale, remember that you have to trust your reader to pick up on them. It’s okay if they don’t, but it’s important to not be too overt or obvious. Otherwise, it’d just be text, and not subtext. 😄

Sometimes, it’s better to leave things unsaid.

Ariele's Vlog: Crossover Skillz

I have developed a ton of skills since I set out on the mission of becoming a full time author. I can now code (at a basic level), do graphic design (intermediate), build websites (intermediate), manage distribution (advanced), do book formatting (advanced), write in a wide varieties of styles & genres (expert), manage social media (advanced), edit (advanced), build marketing and business strategies (advanced), and a wide range of other things. The tough part is figuring out how to apply said skills in a way that actually enables me to make money.

It reminds me of something we used to say when I worked in theatre. A techie without an actor is a contractor, an electrician, or a handyman. An actor without techies is a guy trying to emote on stage, naked in the dark. Lol.

Rest Free, Roxie

We had her for six days. Roxie, an 11-year-old West Highland Terrier with aggressive bladder cancer, was handed to me by the NHSPCA on a sunny Thursday morning. She was sweet and gentle, and thrilled when I asked, “Do you want to go for a car ride?” When I opened the window, she stuck out her nose and let the wind ruffle her fur.

As she settled into our house, it was easy to see she’d been well loved by her previous owner. She was comfortable around everyone, didn’t mind being carried, and trailed us like a tiny, furry shadow. We were only fostering her, but it seemed like she was at home right away. She and Blueberry got along immediately, the cats were curious but unbothered by her presence, and Dandi treated her like a sister—jealous and needy and rather hilarious.

We learned quickly that Roxie didn’t need a leash. She never strayed more than fifteen feet from a human, even when the most interesting thing of all—a chicken—walked past. She wasn’t afraid of the goats either. She simply trotted up and introduced herself as if she’d met plenty of goats and found them blandly interesting.

But the cancer was stronger than she was. She couldn’t keep food or water in her stomach for more than a few minutes. Her whole body would shudder and shake every time she breathed in. She was stiff and struggled to move most of the time. All she wanted was to lie on someone’s lap or stare out at the darkness as the sun set.

In the few short days she was our family member, we learned that Roxie:

  • Loved boat rides

  • Loved to be chased

  • Loved tennis balls

  • Loved barking when she wanted something

  • Loved duck jerky

  • Loved napping on top of humans

  • Loved napping in cozy pup beds

  • Loved napping in human beds

Roxie was sweet, happy, and always up for an adventure. Even when she could barely sit up from the shaking, she wanted her nose out the window of the car, to chase Dandy around the garden, or to grab that tennis ball in her teeth.

The thing is, I knew before I even brought her home that Roxie was facing the end. The rescue made that clear.

She wasn’t going to live past three weeks.

She didn’t even make it one.

But I still loved her. As much as you can love a pet. As much as you can love a being who’s been entrusted to your care.

I have always believed that love is a choice. I know some think it’s mysterious and uncontrollable. But not me. I can choose to love. And I chose to love Roxie, even though I knew that love would bring a deep, aching pain along with it.

And I would make that choice a thousand times again.

Rest free, Roxie.

Better Than Dead: A Poem

Remember 2020? Heh. As if.

The first year of Covid was a weird time. I canceled all my events, rebuilt my business and marketing plan, and you guessed it, stayed home. I also quit drinking, built a new workout routine, and catapulted headfirst into my art, which turned into my primary coping mechanism to get through 2020 and 2021.

At the time, Josh and I lived in Baltimore in an 1100 square foot townhouse with three cats and a dog the size of a person. We were both working from home, and early on in the city, we were afraid to even go for walks in the very busy city parks, because everyone else was working from home too. Not to mention, in the early days, we didn’t have tests (at home or at the doctor’s office), we didn’t know how it spread, and we didn’t know how to protect ourselves, let alone how to protect others from us.

Everything was a mystery.

And so we stayed home.

The isolation was new to me. Though I’m an introvert and managed it well, I was not by any means immune to its effects. This poem reflects the new emotions I was grappling with—not just the aloneness from the separation from my community contrasted with the strangeness of having Josh around all the time, but the the sense of togetherness knowing everyone else was doing the same thing. All that, plus inability to rectify the feelings; the inability to know what to do with it all. It is an acknowledgement of this new type of aloneness that I’d never experienced before.

Better Than Dead

And so we stay home
We stay alone

We are separate, but in this together
Isolated, but never alone
Always alone and
never alone

alone alone alone

It’s strange to be alone
but also not alone
Either way, it’s
better than dead.