Not So Fast

Hello,

You seem to be incredibly impatient. Didn't Sunbury tell you to wait a year before resubmitting? It seems like you only waited three months. And you "rewrote" the novel? Even though a different publisher has it?

[This is where I wanted to bring up how she harassed her Hollywood agent to the point that the agent cried mercy and dropped Dear Author as a client. But then I thought that would just be salt in the wound. The ridiculous, ridiculous self-inflicted wound. She's like a some dumb kid drunk-dialing an ex or compulsively checking dating sites to see what else might be out there. But I didn't say any of that. There were only two paragraphs in my reply.]

Sorry things aren't moving fast enough for you.

Love,
[me]

---

From: Author
Sent: Wednesday, January 16, 2013 3:09 PM
Subject: PUBLISHING NEWS

Hi

Well, I have some big news.  About six or seven weeks ago I wrote to my first publisher.  I told him I rewrote my novel and I asked him to reconsider my submission.  He forced me to complete a book proposal.  I mailed the proposal back to him.  Then I heard nothing from him.  I wrote to him, then his wife, a couple times and asked what was going on.  They never bothered to respond.

Yesterday I decided to send him a new message, since it had a been over a month since the last time I wrote.  Today I got a reply.  He doesn't want to publish my book because it he considers it to be humor and humor doesn't sell well.  

Nice of him to finally let me know what's going on.  Meanwhile, I'm thinking my second publisher should be sending me edits soon, and I will end up getting my book published much faster than if I went back to the first publisher.

This is all my news.  I couldn't tell you about it Sunday, because I had no idea what the first publisher was thinking.  Of course, now I'm hoping the first publisher is very sorry when he says I have a big hit with this book.

Stay happy,

[Author]

Sad Trombone

Click to hear

The other day I received an email titled "BAD NEWS."

When I forwarded it to my husband, he thought someone had died. No. Not even close.

Months ago I'd had this sudden terrible feeling in my stomach, and I said to him, "Do you really think they'll publish her novel?"

"No," he said. Just flat out, no sugar, n-o. There was no way Sunbury Press would publish the author's novel.

He and I had joked that at some point the publisher would have to realize that the Second Worst Novel ever—the tale of a writer who whines a lot and refuses to make changes—was written in first person because it is our dear Author's story. And we would shout, "Soilent Green is people!" and laugh, but at that moment—that "no"—was without humor.

Months passed. I was extremely skeptical of Sunbury. Why were they putting off sending the author notes? The publication date would be pushed back and still no edits arrived. Was their editing process simply going to be a list of typos she needed to change before they hit "print"? They didn't seem to be allowing any time for a real revision. If they didn't understand how badly the manuscript needed to be revised, what was wrong with them?

When the edits finally arrived, the author was categorically opposed to every last one of them—everything from "move the period to the outside of the parentheses" to "put the names of books insides quotes." The solution to the author's jarring tone was to change everything from present to past tense and remove every simile.

When these "edits" were recounted to me, I imagine that the manuscript was passed from person to person—from editor to assistant to janitor to someone's 7th grader—until they found a willing "editor," all the while never knowing that they could just negate the contract because the author had grown so frustrated with Sunbury's lack of attention that she had been shopping the novel around to other publishers.

After some back and forth over email, Sunbury finally told the author they cannot publish her novel at this time. Somehow this was a surprise. This was "BAD NEWS."

I wasn't sure what to say to the author. I mean, I hadn't told her any of my previous thoughts about the situation (e.g. Your manuscript is lousy; if your publisher doesn't ask for sweeping changes, readers ought to demand their money back; your publisher is a joke...), and it's not like I was rooting against her. I hate the manuscript, but I didn't want them to cancel her book deal.

A Deal Has Been Struck!

Apparently the author has "sold" the second worst novel ever (see posts labeled "the one about the idiot writer") to Sunbury Press. I was shocked, but maybe they didn't read the whole manuscript yet. That or they believed they could still do something with it. (In which case, they have no idea how opposed the author is to revisions (let alone the sweeping changes to plot and characters that would need to take place).)

Rather than re-open the second worst novel ever, I re-read my posts. I had been trying to remember what it is that just doesn't work about that story--especially now that House of Lies in on TV and completely amazing. The main character of the second worst novel ever does the "afterwork" that the characters in House of Lies are trying to secure. House of Lies is riveting. The second worst novel ever is terribly boring. According to my posts here, it is not simply because the main character whines about every last thing without ever DOING something but because she runs away from her problems (the House of Lies company) too quickly. Does Sunbury Press know that? How far did they get into this story? Did the author do such a terrible job of describing what Project Managers and Partners do that Sunbury Press has no idea what kind of story they could have?

Man. I can't believe she "sold" this story. Isn't that so ridiculously uplifting to anyone with a dream of becoming a successful artist?

The End is Nigh

Sadly, you plan to come to visit and take back your copy of The Worst Novel Ever. I haven't made the time to relocate my list of things to say about your novel on this blog, but even if I did have it right here next to me right now there isn't much reason anymore to explain to you what all my notes mean. You've moved on. You are looking for other ways to make money off your writing. Before I lose this copy, though, let me at least explain what all these pink Post-It tabs mean (if I can remember).

Tab 1: I have no idea what this one is marking. It's on a page where Angela's narrator voice is bitching about a card she found wherein Miss Nevada congratulates Angela's husband on his marriage but also regrets not being his wife. This sounds good. It isn't. The flames of rage that Angela supposedly feels are only lukewarm to the reader.

Tab 2: "Angela practically choked on her own saliva." For real? That sentence just about sums up how ridiculous the scene is. Angela is still narrating. She has moved in with Bev and invited her son Josh to dinner at the house. Bev's daughter pushes Josh to tell his mom what's on his mind. He says, "She's talking about . . . how we're so fucked up."Angela then "practically" chokes on "her own saliva" because she is so shocked to hear her son use the "f-word." Supposing that this were satire, the next two paragraphs would be perfect.

"Well . . . well . . .," Angela said, unable to keep the needle moving across her brain.

When the doorbell interrupted in jolly fashion a minute later, Madison leaped to her feet, hurrying to see who might be there. Angela, meanwhile, silently fondled her silverware, turning over her knife, her spoon, her fork, then starting with the knife again. She could hear Bev speaking to Josh, but she didn't pay attention to their conversation. For all she knew, they were discussing how Josh really should have run away from home long ago, before he reached this point where he found it so necessary to speak the kind of words Angela had always hoped she would never hear from him.

Absolutely brilliant if this were about a woman who learns what's really important in life—or at least demonstrates it to the readers. But this is not that story.

Tab 3: The first page of the chapter "Love Potions" is flagged. All of a sudden this novel about a woman who irrationally decides to abandon her son and husband takes a bizarre turn into romantic comedy territory when Angela interferes with Bev's love potion ceremony. Again, for real? The woman who is the full-time care giver for her ailing mother has time to brew up crazy potions that really work? It feels even more like Mama, the vegetable, must be pushing 100 and Bev has been doing this for decades rather than days. Then the potion actually works and "Tree Man" starts to throw himself at Angela. And I want to vomit.

Tab 4: Angela recounts her wedding day in the narrator's stream of consciousness. Apparently she finds the energy to deal with all the insanity of brides because she wishes she had had some guidance back when she was getting married. But it all comes off as the novelist recounting her own simple wedding and looking down her nose at people who place too much importance on picking out flowers and purchasing a veil. After three pages of this trip down memory lane, I wonder why Angela wants to be a wedding coordinator when she obviously hates weddings so much.


Tab 5: This seems to be the first of many tabs flagging the extreme violence in this novel. In this particular case, Angela debates how to stop Brandy and Trevor, her "nearly-weds," from killing each other and demolishing her office furniture shortly before the two have passionate make-up sex in front of her. At this point, we're on page 182—about a third of the way through the story—and the way the violence is written sounds out of place, out of character, and rather alarming. But it's really nothing compared to what's coming farther down the road.

Tab 6: A hundred pages later, we're now at the end of the scene you posted online to entice readers to purchase your novel. Is it a scene about Bev and Angela and Mama and Angela's husband and his possible mistress and Josh, the son we all forget about? No. It's not about any of those people—the family in this family drama. No, this is the scene where Brandy and Trevor fight about Brandy's behavior at her bachelorette party.  It's one of the few scenes in which those two characters appear. See previously published posts for more explanation on why I would flag this.

Tab 7: Bev retaliated, swung at Angela, socked her in the jaw.

"Stop it, Bev! Stop being a whore!"

Page 360. The violence and bizarre factor have escalated to new heights. We are reading this from Angela's point of view, which means we will have to read it again from Bev's point of view. The sisters have already gotten into a crazy, brawling fist fight after picking berries one morning somewhere between pages 182 and 360. And we had to read about it twice. And both times it felt strange. These are white women in a supposedly upscale suburban neighborhood. And they're punching each other? Like full-on no-hesitation punching each other in the face. The writing doesn't hide how physical their fights are, but it also doesn't revel in the pain or blood or aftermath of trading punches. So, I don't get it. You want to tell us exactly where these punches land, but it's also like it never happened. Never mind that I thought white women of the suburbs leave each other patronizing and passive-aggressive notes. They make snide remarks. One "forgets" to meet the other for coffee. Shit like that. What are these women doing socking each other in the jaw?

Angela and Bev start their own fight club to try to get their unwelcome aunt to feel so uncomfortable she has to leave the house and abandon the ailing sister she's come to check on. After this particular fight, the aunt packs her bags, calls a cab, and leaves. Angela hugs Bev, and they go on with life like nothing happened. Angela doesn't even need to ice her face. Bev goes on a date.

There is one little nugget in there that gives us some hope that you, the writer, are not completely out of touch with how these sisters might actually behave in the real world: For the longest time Bev stood there staring at Angela, looking like she had plenty on her mind. But then she shrugs her shoulders, tells Angela, "Thank you," and runs off to get ready for her date. And the readers who have made it this far into the book are scratching their heads, wondering if they will have to endure this all a second time from Bev's point of view.

Tab 8: I flagged the first page of the chapter "Pool Party." I clearly remember you being so impressed with the idea of this scorned women sneaking back into her own house to find that her husband has laid out her nightgown on her side of the bed. He sleeps with her nightgown and we are all supposed to be enchanted. I didn't get it back when you originally described it to me, and you said that was because I was too young. As an adult, I think it works even less in the context of the book. But it works for Angela. She is at peace. She drifts off to sleep, spending the whole night in the house where she no longer lives.

The next day Angela becomes a prisoner in this old house of hers, trying not to let the neighbors know she is there and then trying not to let them know she no longer lives there. All the adults from the neighborhood end up in her pool, getting trashed and having a gay old time. One particularly obnoxious character repeatedly snaps plucks her thong bathing suit from between her cheeks. Mostly she is obnoxious because it is so apparent that you wanted us to hate her for being a disgusting bimbo. But I don't really hate her. I hate reading this chapter. I hate that you wrote such a painfully long and ill-conceived chapter.

Tab 9: The last flag is a full-size Post-It. The rest were thin strips I'd cut, but this chapter, "White Trash House," was by far the worst. If Aunt Betty packed her bags and went home on page 360, why am I reading about her again for the first time on page 431. Shoot me. I hate this character. We had plenty of conflict without her, but you're going to make us all read more terribly scripted fights incited by her presence. Meanwhile, we're 60 pages from the end of the entire book and the real problems aren't anywhere near a resolution. You insist on telling this story from two perspectives? Fine. Then at least try to solve some of Angela's problems from the beginning of the book.

Oh my god. I can't even skim this chapter to accurately describe why it is the worst of the worst. But, basically, I have to relive everything that already made me puke earlier in the book. They scream, they fight, they live in some alternate reality. They are completely trashy and don't work to resolve their problems (except to scream and punch each other in the face). Personally, I can't see why Emmett should mend his marriage to Angela or why Mama shouldn't just shrivel up and die from embarrassment. Who would want to know these women?

So, there you go. That's what those Post-It's mean. Soon you'll have your copy back, but it might be another 10 years before you decide to revisit it as a possible money-making venture. By that time I might have located my notes and finished my thesis on why this is the worst novel ever.

A Brief Summary or General Survey of Something

The other day you sent me an unsolicited synopsis. Two actually. Feeling very much in the "Ugh, I seriously have to read this" frame of mind that I'm sure most normal people have when they go to work and attack the slush pile, I feel I gave your old synopsis and your new synopsis a fair read.

The old synopsis starts, "In her first novel," just like the back cover of your other "first" novel. Then it went on for like 89,000 words and I wanted to cry. It was so boring. And strange. You outline what happens to the main character without ever really mentioning any secondary characters or subplots. I had a vague and jumbled picture of the action in my head—and I've read this entire manuscript twice. Luckily, you tossed out that version (except that you emailed it to me) and wrote a new synopsis.

NEWEST SYNOPSIS

[Second Worst Novel Ever] portrays a year in the life of Greta Nueby. Greta is a woman who believes in positive thinking. She writes out a list of resolutions for the new year, including her desire to drink less. She also intends to become a successful screenwriter.

Each chapter of the book represents another month in the life of Greta and is told in both long and short snippets. She wants to be rich, lose weight, and make her husband happy. She quits her job after encountering many problems with her managers and follows the advice of her guru, Lydia. Lydia is convinced Greta can become successful if only she will do things like create a treasure map, meditate, do some visual imaging and other assorted tricks.

Greta’s pals, Andrew and Samantha, are supporting characters. They have their own problems. Andrew is a gay man who can’t find love. Samantha is determined to get her boyfriend to propose to her. Their problems reflect Greta’s own lack of success.

Greta manages to obtain a producer who promises to turn her screenplay into a movie. It looks like success is on the way. After a long summer of no good news and many troubling diary entries, the producer dumps Greta. Now Greta is forced to find another producer and she begins to lose faith in positive thinking.

She faces numerous money problems and plays various games with her credit. Her marriage isn’t going so well. She begins to feel like failure is all she is capable of. Eventually she meets a director who wants to buy her script. Her story ends happily, though she knows positive thinking isn’t for everyone.

I didn't like this one much better. (Apparently I found it more exciting. Or at least that's what I say in the email to you.) I found it less boring and something akin to a school assignment. Again, I didn't feel like you really grasped the story—and this is YOUR story. Shouldn't there be more energy? Don't you want me to be salivating, wondering where those first 50 pages are? I should at least be able to tell that this is a comedy, right?

So, I took the liberty of rewriting your synopsis:

[Second Worst Novel Ever] portrays a year in the life of Greta Neuby, a writer who just wants to be happy. Though she’s never been much of a New Age disciple, Greta uses the advice she gleans from her hairdresser and quits her well-paying corporate job to begin a comical journey of following her True Intention.

While her husband is less than thrilled that Greta will now be thinking positive thoughts full-time to "attract" money, Greta couldn’t be happier. At first. As the months go by and the money begins to run low, Greta finds it harder and harder to believe she can become the successful screenwriter she’s always wanted to be.

When Greta can’t find support at home or in Hollywood, she tries to turn her nay-saying best friends, Samantha and Andrew, into believers. Greta is infectious with her tales of mini-successes and wild antics. Soon everyone is buying expensive new cars and taking chances in romance. But how long can it last?

As Greta begins to run out of tricks to pull with her credit to keep her marriage afloat, she also begins to run out of faith. Does the Universe really want her to be a writer?

I was pretty sure you wouldn't be crazy about the "Does the Universe really want her to be a writer" part because Greta is supposed to be you (minus the whole helpful daughter), but that wasn't your problem.

Hi

The ending you wrote doesn't really tell the ending of the story.  From what I understand, it's important to tell the agent what the ending is.  Here is my new ending, with a slight change.

She faces numerous money problems and plays various games with her credit. Her marriage isn’t going so well. She begins to feel like failure is all she is capable of. Eventually she meets a director who wants to buy her script. Her story ends happily, though she knows positive thinking is positively impossible for all but those with childlike dreams.

Tell me what you think...

Oh, no. You don't think "positive thinking is positively impossible" is really witty, do you? And what are you trying to say about your main character? (Do you have "childlike dreams"?) Who cares if the ending is disclosed—none of what you wrote accurately explains this novel. I think it's incredibly unclear in your synopsis that this is the story of woman who really, really wants to be a make millions of dollars as a writer, so she quits her job, burns through her 401k, compares her work to everything already in theaters, irrationally hates her parents and in-laws, hates children, is wildly envious of everyone else with whom she crosses paths, tries to convert everybody she meets into a positive thinker, suddenly decides she wants to have a baby, and sells her screenplay to a big-time director who knows someone who works with her at TGI Fridays.

You still don't realize I've read this manuscript twice, do you. Yeah, twice. When you first started writing this book, my best friend said there was no way you could do it. And it was true. But the first time I read your "memoir," I was too busy trying to match up reality with your account of reality. The second time, not only was it more obvious to me where you had pulled punches or completely missed your mark, but it was also plain that my friend was right: You can't see what's funny about the whole story. Greta is unlikable and nasty, narcissistic and defensive. While we see that she is an unreliable narrator, you don't. The joke suffers. The most miserable woman in the world is trying to be a ray of positive light. She's going to harness the power of spiritual enlightenment to get rich quick.

It pains me that you are giving this to your writers' group to edit. Seriously? You really want to sell this right now, but you're going to hand it out five pages at a time to a bunch of people who have a common hobby? Maybe I'm all wrong, but these are the same people who have you working on a synopsis. And your synopsis sucks. I guess I should be happy you're going to have anyone at all read it before you give up and send it press on Lulu.

Publicity (and Sales)

Dear Reader,

I was completely heart broken the other day. The author decided she needed to delete the blogs she had created. They were genius and I had not yet made copies of them. How was I ever going to be able to share them with you? Luckily, after some digging, I found a link to a copy someone else had made. Yeah, it's so good *multiple* strangers took notice. I haven't been here in a long time, but, oh boy, what a post we have today...

The author's plan in self-publishing was to sell so many copies on Lulu that Simon & Schuster would take notice and decide they must buy the rights. Like the author's home phone would ring one day and on the other end someone would say, "This is Mr. Schuster. My good friend Oprah just lent me her copy of your novel. We MUST publish it. How does a bagillion dollars sound?"

Lulu promised world-wide sales (that is how the Information Super Highway works—globally), but this wasn't moving enough copies of the book. In fact, there were no sales whatsoever over the summer. I tried to explain to the author that she needed to create her own fan base. She needed to promote herself. The cheapest way to do that would be to go online and find chat rooms and message boards and befriend people and make some sales. I mean, the topics of her book are divorce and caring for elderly parents. How many forums must there be for those two groups?

She didn't understand, though. First she "played the email game" and then she hijacked her son's Tumblr account. Then she went back to whining to relatives in person.

As it turns out, all this started days before she was supposed to become a grandmother. For those on the up and up, yeah, I was about to give birth for the first time any day and these are the emails she sent me ABOUT HER BOOK SALES...

-- 9/5/09

Hi

I wanted to tell you how I've been trying to sell my book.  What I've been doing is sending out e-mails to addresses I make up on my own.  At first I was just attaching words from the Thesaurus to one of five e-mail companies.  I created over 5,0000 of these messages.  I didn't sell any books.

(I know what you're thinking: It's obvious she spent many years working in legitimate marketing departments.)

I decided to change my plan.  Now I'm sending the e-mails to addresses that begin with a woman/girl's name.  I figure that might mean I'll reach a real female audience. 

I have no idea where my first e-mails went.  I began to wonder, since the addresses were all so strange.  I mean I was sending to places like "artisticgirl@yahoo.com."  Who can say where that e-mail went?

I actually got responses to four of my first e-mails.  Two women sent back an automatic response inviting me to join their sex club.  One woman wrote back and asked me to take her off my list.  The fourth one was the strangest.  Someone wrote back to me and sent me this message:

   没有您的信息,我的生活将乏味；没有您的支持,我的生命缺乏灿烂。谢谢您!

          联系电话

Of course, I don't know Chinese, so I have no idea what this message says.  I assume she also asked me to take her off my list.

So, I've been having fun.  I'm hoping the women's names will get me some buyers.  I don't know how else I can sell this book.

Talk to you soon,

[author]

You can imagine my response here. Something about WHY ARE YOU SPAMMING PEOPLE?

-- 9/6/09

Hi

I have a special web site set up for my e-mail game.  It's not my [real] account.

Why would the site stop working?

One thing I didn't tell you about my e-mail adventure is that when I sent those messages to 5,0000 people or so, I used a subject line that said, "Oprah Winfrey refused to help me."  Then in the letter, I explained that Oprah wouldn't read my book.  When I decided to start with the woman's names instead of thesaurus words, I changed the subject line.  I thought the people who like Oprah might be offended by my subject line. I also thought a lot of people might think that note was a scam.  My new subject line is "Message about love and marriage."  Do you think that's any better?  Do you have any suggestions for a subject line?

I hope you're feeling great.

love,

[author]

Did Oprah have any idea how many unsolicited, unpublished manuscripts she and Harpo would receive after she created a book club? The author knows Oprah isn't a publisher, but she decided to send Oprah and her producers separate copies of the manuscript. Only the producers responded with a form letter stating that they do not look at such material. Needless to say, the author took this personally.

-- 9/8/09

Hi

I've come up with a new idea. First though I think I should say I think you're right.  When people see a note from a stranger, they probably just delete it.  My subject line may do no good at all.

My new idea is to add an excerpt from my novel to my letter.  A guy who came to our writing group and tried to tell us how to land an agent suggested an excerpt is a great way to sell a book.  It lets people get an idea of what kind of story you're writing.

The email then launches into the excerpt. There is no closing. You, dear reader, will get to see the excerpt later in this post. For now, though, I will say I had to write the author to warn her that the use of "nipple" and other such words probably landed all of her brilliant marketing straight in spam and trash folders. I again suggested she create a blog and work on developing an internet personality for herself. Two days later I give birth.

-- 9/17/09

Hi

Thanks for sending the baby pictures.  I hope you'll keep them coming.  He looks adorable.  What a cutey!  I like the one where he's scrunching up his nose.

I'm writing to tell you my woes with the e-mail business.  I signed up on Tumblr like you suggested.  I don't think it will do me any good. Even though several people signed up to follow me after I signed up to follow a couple hundred, only one wrote to me to say he was interested in my book.  So I don't think I will make many sales through Tumblr.

Having no help from Tumblr made me decide to go back to my own e-mail address business.  I sent myself a note with the excerpt you saw to see if Yahoo dumped it into my spam folder.  When I checked my spam folder because it didn't show up in my ordinary mailbox, I was astounded.  I discovered that Yahoo has been sending a ton of "mail failure" letters to my spam box. I have received thousands of rejections in the spam box.  So this means thousands of my e-mails never went to the destinations I typed.

I figure I may be lucky if 20 of the 300 e-mails I send out with each round make it to a real person.  Nevertheless, I plan to keep trying the name game with the e-mails.  That's because when I went to my Lulu site, it said I had over a thousand hits on my book site.  Those people must have come from the e-mails I'm sending out.

I don't know if I've sold any books.  I don't want to look for another month or so.

I am having all kinds of problems with Yahoo.  It gets upset with me for sending out so many e-mails.  It sends me a message that forces me to type in a code before it will tell me if it sent my e-mails.  This slows things down in a big way. 

Sometimes Yahoo does other things, too.  It's very temperamental.  Today it refused to accept the code when I typed it in.  It kept giving me the same error message over and over again, while it demanded I type in a new code.  Obviously, I couldn't send out any e-mails this afternoon.

I've decided to stay away from Yahoo and the e-mail game for the next 36 hours.  I'm going to give Yahoo a chance to cool down and miss me.

Nothing else is new.

love,

[author]

This is getting good, right?

-- 10/2/09

Hi

I am totally bummed out. When I went to check my book on Lulu, it said I had over a thousand  hits.  I figured that meant over a thousand people looked at my book.  I was expecting a lot of them to buy it.

Today I went to check my revenue. I  haven't sold any books since a couple family members bought them last month.  I have only sold a total of 4 books. 

This is bad news.  It appears I am not selling any copies by sending out my e-mails each day. I was sure I was selling something more.  I'm so bummed.

Nothing else new.

love,

[author]

So by this point we give up trying to talk to each other about selling the book. She is determined to use the Girl Scouts' door-to-door method as a model rather than Dooce or other bloggers who sell books. I think she's completely forgotten about her blogs because if she has decided to no longer care about her novel, then obviously all of her blogs have also disappeared.

When I pointed out what I thought was a hilarious testimonial page for a screenwriting teacher, the author suddenly became very concerned about her abandoned blogs. The screenwriting teacher's site quotes the author's very sarcastic feedback about how brilliant he is, but she cannot remember ever taking this man's class. Therefore he must have stolen the comment. What to do, what to do. She began searching for all her blogs.


Now, here for your pleasure is the amazing copy from the author's blogs (all of them because they all used the same text). Behold and wonder how she is not a part of Oprah's Book Club selections...


(I swear to God I didn't change a word of this.)

Hello everyone,

I am a writer. As a writer, I just published my first book on the Lulu publishing site. The title of my book is [title of my book in all caps].

Now I’m a writer who is trying to figure out how to sell my book. I’m afraid Lulu won’t be much help with this. They say they market it worldwide, but I’m not sure how they do that. Readers can download a copy this writer made at Lulu for only $5. If you want to have me e-mail you the first chapter, you can reach me at [email address]@yahoo.com

I am a writer who can give you the synopsis of the book here:

In this first novel, [author] tells a tender, sensitive tale about a dysfunctional family facing a variety of problems. The biggest problem involves the main characters, sisters Angela and Bev. They are taking care of their elderly, bedridden mother. Angela wants Mama moved to a nursing center. Bev wants her to stay at home where she can care for Mama and pursue a passion for positive thinking. The sisters fight about this problem all the time. Set in the posh town of La Greer Park, Angela works as a wedding coordinator. She has problems with her own marriage, since she suspects her husband has cheated and this is what makes her move in with Mama and Bev. Add to this relationships with teenaged children that don’t always please Angela. It’s a novel that will be relished by anyone taking care of an elderly parent, as well as anyone facing divorce. It’s a timely novel with many twists and turns that force a person to think long and hard about the value of marriage and family. This story is told with a unique voice that will be remembered well after the final page is reached. It’s a story that will teach a valuable lesson about love and what we all need to know to be successful at it.

I can also give you an excerpt here:

When Brandy and Trevor appeared for their next regularly scheduled appointment with Angela, no one said a thing about the way their last visit to Angela’s office had ended. Instead, Angela greeted them with a more cheerful reminder that their big day happened to be less than two weeks away.

“We’re ready,” Brandy said.

“Speak for yourself,” said Trevor.

“Is the carriage all set?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Did they say who the driver will be?”

“I think the name they gave me was Marcia Somebody. Do you mind having a female driver?”

“She minds not having Jason show up at the church.”

“Stop it, Trevor.”

“Why? It’s true. Tell her about your bachelor party.”

“It wasn’t a bachelor party.”

“What would you call it?”

“I’m a girl. Remember? It’s called a bachelorette party.”

“Whatever. The point is I’ll have to get even now. Okay?”

“There’s nothing to get even for.”

“My ass.” He sat forward, braced his hands against the edge of Angela’s desk. “Did you happen to hear what Brandy and her little friends did at this party?”

Angela shook her head, almost too afraid to ask what might have happened. She’d actually seen two weddings bite the dust due to the shenanigans at such supposedly innocent gatherings.

It wasn’t easy explaining to two hundred wedding guests that you’d decided you couldn’t marry a man who enjoyed licking lime Jello off the flesh of a naked woman he’d known less than an hour. Not easy at all. Especially when those guests included your own great-grandparents and two aunts who were the oldest nuns in the city of Milwaukee.

“Brandy and the girls got royally soaked.”

“Like you’ve never been drunk,” Brandy said, as she examined the new paint job on her nails.

“Yeah. Brandy and all her little girlfriends went for a ride. Down Main Street.”

“I wasn’t driving though. We had a designated driver. And all she drank was one glass of wine.”

“They took off their shirts.”

Angela glanced at Brandy, saw her bite her lip to keep her evil little smile from spreading across her perfectly powdered puss.

According to Trevor’s miserable story, which he first heard from his cousin, who happened to be one of the bridesmaids who attended the gathering, taking their shirts off did not mean these girls were riding through town in their Victoria’s Secret’s finest. It meant they were fully exposed. Naked to the night air, arms spread wide, available for inspection.

“There she was, for everyone to see, with her nipples aimed like two happy astronauts—straight at the moon.”

Brandy roared with delight at that comment. “Two happy astronauts! That’s just so Trevor!”

Trevor continued. “And she’s sitting up in this big old convertible, yelling to one and all,‘I’m getting married. Take a look while you can!’”

“I was only kidding,” Brandy said. “Just having some fun. And it only lasted a couple moments, then we put our shirts back on.”

“Yeah. But you took yours off again real soon.”

“Not for very long.”

“Long enough to give Jason the wrong idea.”

Angela gasped. This seemed to get worse by the moment. She’d never heard of a bride inching the envelope quite so far.

“He looked, but he didn’t touch,” Brandy told Trevor.

Trevor sat back in his chair, fixed his eyes on Brandy. “I’ll get even. You wait.”

“I told you, there’s nothing to get even for.”

“My pals are bringing in a stripper straight from D.C. And you know about the women there. I hear she can do more with two little grapes and a pair of high heels to make a man happy than twenty women in string bikinis.”

“She’s allowed to strip, but nothing else,” said Brandy.

“We’ll see.”

“Those are my rules. No touching.”

“What you don’t know, I don’t need to tell. Those are my rules.”

Brandy leaned toward him, almost chin to chin. “No touching her, Trevor.”

“If I’m drunk, I can’t be held responsible.”

“No touching!” Brandy repeated, jabbing two fingers into his chest.

Trevor grabbed her hand, squeezed her fingers till they turned red. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

She yanked her hand free of his, got to her feet, smoothed down the wrinkled, white mini skirt that had become twisted about her thighs. “If you can’t promise no touching, we’re through.”

“Now, Brandy,” Angela tried to interject, but Brandy wasn’t listening.

“I can’t promise anything right now,” Trevor warned Brandy.

“Then consider us divorced.”

“We’re not even married!”

Brandy grabbed her purse from the floor, turned toward the office door.

I am a writer who hopes you like it and might want to buy a copy. I would appreciate any advice on how to sell it.

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