 | If I can't tell whether I'm coming or going, it might be because I'm doing both. Promoting my first novel while checking proofs of the next is making me dizzy, but there's a logic to it. I think. My next novel is my best yet and I want as many people as possible to read it. In order to read it, people need to be aware of it, and the ideal way of bringing it to the attention of potential readers is through email. So I set myself the objective of finding 100 new subscribers by April. |
One of the best ways of growing an email list is by offering a reader magnet: an enticing freebie to pull people to my signup page. I published a reader magnet this time last year – Somebody’s Daughter, an e-book of prize-winning short stories – that you might have read. But not everyone who'd enjoy my novels also like short stories, so I decided to offer my first novel for a time-limited period.
Of course, it's not enough to organise the freebie and put my feet up. I have to promote Sugar and Snails before I can use it to promote Matilda Windsor Is Coming Home. Which is why I feel caught in a chain compelling me from a tiny bite to trying to swallow an animal bigger than me. Like the old woman in the rhyme.
Except that this version is fun and accompanied by a side-order of generous support from fellow authors and bloggers to help me digest a menagerie of insects, mammals and birds. Some have kindly agreed to re-blog reviews and guest posts. With others, we've worked together to produce something new. Let's ditch the dodgy diet metaphor, and have a look at those. Tap on an image to find out more.
Of course, it's not enough to organise the freebie and put my feet up. I have to promote Sugar and Snails before I can use it to promote Matilda Windsor Is Coming Home. Which is why I feel caught in a chain compelling me from a tiny bite to trying to swallow an animal bigger than me. Like the old woman in the rhyme.
Except that this version is fun and accompanied by a side-order of generous support from fellow authors and bloggers to help me digest a menagerie of insects, mammals and birds. Some have kindly agreed to re-blog reviews and guest posts. With others, we've worked together to produce something new. Let's ditch the dodgy diet metaphor, and have a look at those. Tap on an image to find out more.
A new short story based on an out-take from an early draft of Sugar and Snails. Come and join in the discussion!
Why did I take my walking boots and a First Aid kit when staying in with Linda?
A brand-new giveaway with five other authors – one lucky winner will win signed copies of all six books (entrants with addresses in the UK only).
 New post with reading recommendations for LGBT history month in February |  How romance almost hijacked my heroine’s journey and my novel’s USP: new post @ Women Writers |
Charli is also juggling several projects alongside a big one, but making less fuss about it than I am! But it can't be a coincidence that this week's challenge is to compose a 99-word story about a light at the end of the tunnel. Except that we're not allowed to refer to it using the cliché.
| Now, in the only scene I reluctantly cut from Sugar and Snails, Diana recalls watching the sun rise over the pyramids in Cairo and believing it's a new dawn. (Metaphor? Or cliché?) If she ever went back as a middle-aged woman, I wonder what that would mean. |  |
Sunrise over the pyramids
The sun god poked his head between the pyramids: an egg yolk; an amber traffic light; courage. At fifteen, I’d seen too many dawns abandon me to darkness. Cairo promised a signal change.
Sunrise on the pyramids is a tourist cliché. For those free to holiday abroad. For thirty years I was indifferent. I knew the glare could blind me. The heat could sear my defences clean away.
Simon’s invitation shimmers like a heat haze. If I accept, will his lustre dim? Or will it highlight every blemish? Dare I chance it? At fifteen, I watched the sunrise alone.
The sun god poked his head between the pyramids: an egg yolk; an amber traffic light; courage. At fifteen, I’d seen too many dawns abandon me to darkness. Cairo promised a signal change.
Sunrise on the pyramids is a tourist cliché. For those free to holiday abroad. For thirty years I was indifferent. I knew the glare could blind me. The heat could sear my defences clean away.
Simon’s invitation shimmers like a heat haze. If I accept, will his lustre dim? Or will it highlight every blemish? Dare I chance it? At fifteen, I watched the sunrise alone.
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