10 years an Indie Author: guest blog by Marti Talbott

This past July marked my tenth year as an Indie Author, but my writing life began long before that. Before I retired, I had three finished novels, Seattle Quake, 9.2, The Promise and Broken Pledge, all of which I had submitted to traditional publishers who kindly sent me a file folder full of rejections.

One day I discovered “Mighty Words,” a website that let authors upload manuscripts and allowed readers to post reviews. Seattle Quake 9.2 had just made it to the top twenty when suddenly, Mighty Words disappeared never to be seen again.

Writing was in my blood, so after I retired, I wrote a Scottish short story called Anna, and made it free to read on my website. I found Public Bookshelf, a website that allowed me to post the story with a link to my site, and began to write more short stories about my MacGreagor Clan. By the time my short stores numbered twenty, I was getting over 10,000 views on my website a month.

By the time Amazon started their upload program, I had three novels and twenty short stories ready to go. Of course, I wasn’t the only one. Hundreds, maybe thousands of authors frustrated with playing the traditional publishing game, discovered they didn’t really need a publisher. Not only that, Amazon paid authors 70% while trade publishers only paid 10% at best.

Those were the good old days. Unfortunately, the more polished and professional the competition became, the more I realized I needed to improve. What? My books weren’t perfect? Far from it. Today, those early books and those that followed have seen multiple proofreads and edits as late as just last year. Even now, someone tells me that on page 36, line three there is a typo. It’s frustrating, but it’s all part of the game.

Between July and December of that first year I sold 777 copies of my books. I discovered more sales outlets such as Apple, Nook, Kobo and eventually Google Play. The next year I added more books and sold over 24,000. Writing and publishing an average of 4 books a year, my highest was 56,000 in 2014. And then – the good years were gone. The competition steadily grew, promotion became more difficult as well as expensive, and one or two bad reviews meant certain tragedy for many a new author.

To date I have written over 50 books, updated the cover arts multiple times, changed my blurbs until I found something that tempted readers to buy, and tried dozens of ways to find new readers. In the end, the path I took to become published was well worth it. I can safely say that people all over the world have read my books, and that’s a very gratifying feeling.

© Marti Talbott 2019

About Marti Talbott:

Marti Talbott  is the author of over 50 full length novels, all written without profanity and sex scenes. She lives in Seattle, is retired and has two children, five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. The MacGreagor family saga includes The Viking series, Marti Talbott's Highlander's Series, Marblestone Mansion, (Scandalous Duchess series), and The Lost MacGreagor Books. Her mystery books include Seattle Quake 9.2, Missing Heiress, Greed and a Mistress, The Locked Room, Love and Suspicion, and The Dead Letters. Other Historical novels include The Promise and Broken Pledge.

The historical novels are available on Amazon, Nook, Apple, Google Play, and Kobo.

The mysteries are exclusive to Amazon and are in Kindle Unlimited.

Facebook | Web-site

A Riddle in Bronze (Mysteries in Metal, Book 1) by Simon Haynes

Release date: November 30, 2019

Subgenre: Gaslamp Fantasy

About A Riddle in Bronze:

 

An elderly professor and his daughter advertise for an expert bookkeeper.

Instead, they employ a naive young man with very little experience.

But what if keeping the books is not the real reason they hired him?

What if they have an ulterior motive?

London, England, 1871.
When I applied for a position with Professor Twickham and his daughter, I lied about my qualifications.

As it turns out, they lied about the job for which I was applying.

Had we not been so untruthful with each other, there might have been fewer night terrors stalking the inhabitants of the City.

Fewer unexplained disappearances.

Fewer deaths.

Now, nobody is safe from the creeping horrors we've unleashed.

With no time to spare, we face an impossible task: we must discover the mysteries in metal in order to right this wrong.

But is it already too late?

 

Excerpt:

 

I was about to ask what my duties might be, and whether the professor wanted me to get started immediately, when there was a sound of approaching footsteps from the hall outside. It was a heavy tread, which discounted Mrs Fairacre, and I wondered whether one of the other applicants had come to plead their case.
Instead, the door opened and a young woman strode in without having paused to knock. "Father, have you... oh!"
The newcomer was around my age, with long dark hair tied up in a rough bun, in the way of a washerwoman or a market stall-holder, and she was wearing a set of bib overalls covered in soot or a similar fine black powder. Heavy work boots completed her outfit, and I would have taken her for a chimney sweep had it not been for the way she addressed the professor. Then I studied her face, and in that instant it was as though the mirror atop the great lighthouse of Alexandria was reflecting sunlight directly into my unshielded eyes.
I do not speak of radiant beauty or other such romantic frippery, but rather the sheer life force and strength of character apparent within the person standing before me. This was a woman who stood for no nonsense, and her clear, intelligent eyes would miss no detail, however small.
Then she gave me a warm smile and held out a slender hand. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Hartlow. I'm Roberta Twickham."
So taken was I by the radiant smile that I had already extended my own hand before I became aware of her error. "Ah, er, it's Mr Jones, actually. Mr Septimus Jones, at your service."
Roberta withdrew her hand. "Father," she said, with an edge to her voice. "Tell me you did not hire the wrong bookkeeper."

 

Amazon 

 

About Simon Haynes:

Simon Haynes is the author of the Hal Spacejock series, the Hal Junior series, and the upcoming Harriet Walsh series, as well as several dozen short stories. He is also the programmer and designer behind Spacejock Software, and is responsible for popular programs like yWriter and yBook.

 

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Newsletter

 

Hollow Heart by Ben Eads

Release date: November 29, 2019

Subgenre: Horror

About Hollow Heart:

 

Welcome to Shady Hills, Florida, where death is the beginning and pain is the only true Art…

Harold Stoe was a proud Marine until an insurgent’s bullet relegated him to a wheelchair. Now the only things he’s proud of are quitting alcohol and raising his sixteen-year-old son, Dale.

But there is an infernal rhythm, beating like a diseased heart from the hollow behind his home. An aberration known as The Architect has finished his masterpiece: A god which slumbers beneath the hollow, hell-bent on changing the world into its own image.

As the body count rises and the neighborhood residents change into mindless, shambling horrors, Harold and his former lover, Mary, begin their harrowing journey into the world within the hollow. If they fail, the hollow will expand to infinity. Every living being will be stripped of flesh and muscle, their nerves wrapped tightly around ribcages, so The Architect can play his sick music through them loud enough to swallow what gives them life: The last vestiges of a dying star.

“Like the warped demonic lovechild of Clive Barker and Chuck Palahniuk, Ben Eads' work is not for the faint of heart...or stomach.”—Kealan Patrick Burke, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Kin and Sour Candy

“Ben Eads is a fearless writer, so be prepared. His horror is not for the faint of heart, rather his readers must be equally fearless to face the truth that hides in the dark heart of his work.”—Fran Friel, Two-Time Bram Stoker Award Finalist

“With his latest offering, HOLLOW HEART, Ben Eads has not only penned an absorbing and deeply unsettling novella that adds to his already impressive and growing body of work, but one that further cements his position as a skilled author on the rise, and deservedly so.”—Greg F. Gifune

 

Excerpt:

 

Dalton pointed to the hollow. “See the opening?” 

Terrell squinted. “Yeah.”

“Walk up to it, and when you see the fireflies, wait for The Architect.”

Terrell’s eyebrows rose. He scratched his head. “The Architect? Why would someone call themselves—?” 

“My good man, I can create anything,” The Architect said through the thickest and oldest British accent Dalton had ever heard. “My masterpiece is almost done, my lads.” 

While clouds hid the moon, Dalton could barely make out The Architect waiting in darkness, so his memory filled in the rest. He looked as if he’d just finished a hard day on Wall Street, circa 1920, with mutton chops and a bowler hat to top it off. His body shook, as though he were warped celluloid played on a dusty, old projector. 

Like each meeting, Dalton’s left eye twitched, the migraine soon to come. 

I can do this.

The Architect approached them, splitting the grass below his feet. Reality bowed, faintly shimmering around him. Something deep in the hollow had pressed Play, and all Dalton could see were those double pupils, rolling in their oily sockets. Tiny black rivers ran from the corners, tracing geometry across a face as pocked and scarred as the moon which kissed it. 

Bringing his hands together in a steeple, The Architect stopped in front of Terrell. A switchblade smile cut his face, reminding Dalton of an artist’s flip-book in motion. “What do we have here, my lad?”

Dalton cleared his throat, pushing the acid back down. “I—I need more time to find Harold’s dad. While I’m searching,” Dalton motioned to Terrell, “you’ve got him instead.”

  Terrell’s jaw dropped. “The hell you doing, Dalton?”

“You disappoint me, Dalton Gladen, but let’s see what you brought,” The Architect said, approaching Terrell. “Come to me, my lad. Let’s have a look at you.” Three hundred pounds of Terrell rose from the ground, until he was nose to nose with The Architect. He grabbed him by the throat, lifting him higher into the air. 

Kill him.

The forest’s wildlife and insects fell silent. Dalton could only hear The Architect and Terrell. 

Terrell’s hands went to his neck as he choked. “It—it hurts. Stop. Please.”

“It hurts?” The Architect cocked his head. “Pain is just one of my hobbies. A hobby the world will soon know.” 

The Architect placed his right thumb on Terrell’s forehead, just above where his eyebrows met. “Your spine was crushed in two places. Your hips, shattered. A few years ago, yes?” 

Terrell managed a nod.  Dalton tried to move, to breathe. Nothing.

The Architect licked his cracked lips. “Your nerves smell sweet, indeed.” Small pieces of rusted barbwire grew over his teeth, splitting his cheeks. A few barbs stuck out from below his eyes, teasing the air as they grew toward Terrell’s face. 

“Dalton. Help,” Terrell managed. 

The Architect’s fingers caressed Terrell’s face, wiping away tears. “I know where every nerve in your body starts and ends. Those pathways,” His barbwire maw spun in a circle, like heavy machinery, “they know so, so much.” 

God, I hate that sound.

Sparks flew as the barbwire smashed together, forming a sawblade that whirred to life, sending sleeping birds from their nests. Metal cutting metal echoed off the massive oaks and birches. The Architect’s face split as the blade came out. Dalton strained to hear The Architect’s words over the din.

“Whether they’re in your spine, your teeth, your intestines—I will find each and every one of them. Once I string them around your spine, you will be my new cello.” The Architect leaned in close to Terrell’s ear, mouth whirring faster. Black oil splashed Terrell’s face. “My lad, you will sing.” 

 

Amazon | Goodreads

 

About Ben Eads:

Ben Eads lives within the semi-tropical suburbs of Central Florida. A true horror writer by heart, he wrote his first story at the tender age of ten. The look on the teacher’s face when she read it was priceless. However, his classmates loved it! Ben’s short fiction has appeared in magazines or anthologies by: Crystal Lake Publishing, Shroud Magazine, and Seventh Star Press. His first novella, Cracked Sky, was published in 2015 by the Bram Stoker Award® Winning press Omnium Gatherum. When he isn’t writing, he dabbles in martial arts, philosophy and specializes in I.T. security. He’s always looking to find new ways to infect reader’s imaginations. Ben blames Arthur Machen, H.P. Lovecraft, Jorge Luis Borges, J.G. Ballard, Philip K. Dick, and Stephen King for his addiction, and his need to push the envelope of fiction.

 

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest