50 Ways to Lose your Reader

OK, not 50. But I do feel like venting a bit about all the ways that indie authors shoot themselves in the foot. And here are my top three.

I've written before about what will stop me from buying. That was largely packaging issues, though, Cover, blurb, first page, basic competence in the language, and so on. First impressions. Today, I want to talk about content, and some of the ways you can ensure I will never again download anything by you. Even if it's free.

1. Books about murder, pointlessly coupled with food porn. For some reason this always seems to be confectionary and baked goods; it's never Beef Wellington, or Pad Thai or anything. There are so many of these series, and not once have I ever read one that was any good. The one I'm currently reading even has complete recipes at the end of every chapter. For nasty weird American novelty biscuits. I so do not want to read this. Because let's face it, if I were interested in baking, I'd have bought a cook book. Probably one by Nagi Maehashi, because she seriously rocks.

I digress here, but if you buy one cookbook let it be one of hers. It's due to her that I can now make authentic Fried Rice that is as good as, and often better, than you get in a Chinese restaurant. She is a legend.

Be that as it may, a murder mystery is really not the place for recipe after recipe. I feel as if they've been put in just to up the wordccount to justify a higher price for the paperback. There is a reccipe at the end of nearly every chapter, sometimes even two or three, and I suspect the recipe wordcount in this book is higher than the story wordcount. In fact, the story seems like a bit of an afterthought, put in to proved excuses for these rather nasty-looking recipes.

So that's one thing, but it leads me to my next point, which is... 

2. Fiction A La Bandwagon.

Fiction, like everything else, has trends. Fashions come and go in every field of human endeavour. Not just food and clothing, but the big stuff. Architecture. Medicine. Even politics. We're seeing this on the world stage right now, actually. Fascism is making a comeback, almost everywhere. It's disturbing and unpleasant, but it's particularly unappetising in the novel. Honestly, if I read ONE more book about a band of plucky teenagers on a quest to save the world, while meanwhile beneath a mountain an ancient evil stirs, I shall probably throw up my breakfast. That goes double for darkly erotic vampires, hordes of zombies that want to eat your brains, and secret high schools for training witches. Oh, and of course, cupcake bakers who just happen to solve murder after murder. Nearly all of the examples of these things I have seen are in no way original, but appear to be seeking to cash in on the success of people like Rowlings, who actually did do something new. 

There's nothing really wrong, in my view, with having these things in one's work. I wrote about vampires myself in Bloodsucking Bogans, and I even wrote about zombies in my short story Danse Macabre. I don't mean to seem hypocritical here. I won't rule out a book just because it has vampires or zombies. But the question I ask myself is, was the vampire/zombie/dragon/pastry shop/secret school necessary to the story? Or has it been added just to push the story onto one of the current popular trends? Chloe Hammond's Darkly series, and Joseph Picard's Lifehack series are both examples of the former situation, not to mention being both really good reads, but far too many books are just porn, or teenage high school stories or whatever, with a werewolf pack, or vampires or something shoved in. And you can really tell the difference.  

3. The third big no-no for me, and one doesn't see it all that often, is the Soapbox Book. The novel that's been written to push an agenda. Ayn Rand's books are good examples of this. Now I don't mean to diss the activists among us. The late great Sheri Tepper's books nearly always carry a cargo of activism. Her thing was greed, and treading lightly on the earth. Mercedes Lackey, in her lovely Valdemar series, works hard to combat negative stereotypes of same sex relationships. There's nothing wrong with doing this. All novels are, au fond, about people, and good and evil are the parameters within which people interact, and a really good book will in my opinion always be extended at some point into the moral dimension. But Tepper, and Lackey, and others of their ilk, provide a really good story to carry their little cargo of light. A story that has its own presence, its own weight, that could, if necessary, hold its own without the moral content, although I do think that when done well, it enhances a work. Rand, on the other hand, either was unable to write well enough or couldn't be bothered to try, and so her books are a trial to struggle through, even without their often distasteful ideological content.

Terza Rima and All That

And now, for something completely different... a man with two - no, no, not that. Today I want to talk about education, and in particular, something that has an enormous influence on whether educational activities will be successful.

It's always been my hobby to take courses. I just love to learn stuff. I've done all manner of things, ranging from a two hour seminar on Shamanic spirituality to a law degree, all in the pursuit of my idea of fun, which many people have told me is perverse, but de gustibus right? Most recently, I discovered Duolingo, and for the last two years my husband and I learned Italian. Now, we often speak it to each other at home, although we're still not very good. I finished the whole Duolingo Italian course, but I'd got the habit, so I decided to resume learning German, so I'm doing that now on Duolingo, and brushing up my long-disused French on the side. My body may crumble as I age, but by God I'm determined I will not go senile.

Anyway, that's all good, but it really isn't terribly demanding, and lately I've started to feel a bit restless and cast about for something a little more challenging, and I came across this site: https://learn.modernstates.org/d2l/login

It seemed to be a bit like Open University, and they offer a number of free courses, so I signed up for English Literature, and I'm into the second unit of it now. And I feel as if I'm seeing double, or something. On the one hand, we have the set textbook, a beautifully written piece of erudition. On the other we have three to five minute lectures in which the tiny amount of content is so dumbed down as to be practically baby talk, and also contains errors of fact, and is delivered in a manner so patronising as to set one's teeth on edge, by a person who is evidently unable to pronounce basic English words. The set readings with each lecture have nothing to do with the lecture content, either. The only thing the lecturer seems to be interested in is the 'exam', which I bet will be multiple choice.

You can apparently apply for some kind of certificate after passing this course, which gets you into an American university, or gives you credit towards one of their degrees, or something. I'm starting to think the whole course may be a scam, aimed only at getting people into courses. Not that there's anything wrong with a prep course. A person's education may have gaps for many reasons, and it's great if there are ways and means for them not to be forced to give up. But I would have thought, for a prep course to be genuine, it would need to have a lot more content than this.

It's possible that my view is just jaded; these two units so far have been all about terminology, so perhaps the course will rev up shortly and be full of great content. And this is really the point I'm trying to make, and not doing a very good job of it today. But it is this - that once you embark on a course, it's better to just press on regardless, unless you find you're completely uninterested in the subject matter or something. 

Back in the days of my golden youth, I shared an apartment with a man who had dropped out of his Computer Science degree in the first semester. He told me about it at some length - because he already worked as a programmer, he said, the first lectures were too boring and elementary to be interesting, so he skipped going for the first three weeks, thinking he'd hop in when it started to be good. But alas! When he went back three weeks later, the course had moved on much faster than expected, and it was all so completely over his head that he couldn't understand a word of it. He was all sad because he had lost his opportunity to get a degree. 

A few months later, he enrolled again. Two years had passed since his first attempt. He talked a lot about his determination not to get caught like that again, and to attend every lecture. Nevertheless, the second week of the course I was surprised to find him at home on a Monday evening. Haven't you got your lecture, I asked him. And with a precious little head toss, he informed me that the material was beneath him, he knew it all and there was no point attending the early lectures. Reminding him of his previous failure, and his resolution, did no good, it never does with these people. Unsurprisingly, the following month, exactly the same thing happened, and he dropped out again. I don't know if he ever succeeded in getting his degree. Probably not; if you can't learn when it is so clear what you did wrong, there's probably no hope for you.

I started a Computer Science degree myself the following year. Seven years later (it was part time), I graduated. I don't suppose I was brainier, or more talented, than my flatmate. But the difference between us was that I went to every lecture. I did all the reading and set work. I handed in assignments on time. I paid attention during tutorials. Yes, sometimes I felt I wasn't getting much out of it - I too worked in the business, and at a rather more impressive level than my flatmate. But if I felt unchallenged in a tutorial, I'd spend the time helping someone who was struggling. Nothing fosters a deep understanding of a subject like helping someone with it. So yes, I didn't work all that hard, but I kept at it and ticked all the boxes. And in the end, I was rewarded. It's been like that with everything I've studied. Some things don't come as easily to me as others, but the old saying is still true - if you build it, they will come. If you build it by sticking with your commitment.

It's very easy to sneer at a course. There will always be something for you to criticise, although I do think a major error in the definition of a fundamental term is a bit worrying. Nevertheless, errors do happen, and get overlooked during proofreading and review, as we all know. I myself have learned this the hard way many, many times. So I'll be sticking with the English Literature course, and even if it turns out to be utterly useless, at least I'll still have the textbook, which is fascinating and beautifully written. And perhaps, when I get a little deeper into the course, I'll be pleasantly surprised. Just as one can sneer at practically anything, so too can one learn something from practically anything, and I've already learned how to construct a villanelle and a sestina, and who knows to what wonderful uses I may be able to put this knowledge?

THE SHAME FILES

 I'm too sad and disgusted to write much today, but in this entry of the Shame Files, I am of course referring to Donald Trump's announcement of his plans to invade Gaza and undertake so-called 'ethnic cleansing'. I wish I could say I was surprised, but this is the individual (I am reluctant to say 'man') who advised people to drink bleach during the Covid pandemic. People died as a result of that, just as people have always died when American presidents got too big for their boots. The Vietnam debacle has evidently taught the country nothing.

I don't know what the solution is for America. Their whole country is in such a mess now that it seems to me to be unsalvageable, but if there is any hope for it at all, they need to remove Trump from office. I do not believe this will happen, unless perhaps a happy release takes him to his eternal reward. So, I might as well joke about it, and I'll leave you with this meme with which I cheered myself during the first Trump administration. 

RooRoo Day: A Living Memorial

 

This is RooRoo.

This is RooRoo. He came down off my roof one Friday night, walked into my house and never left. This is the first picture I have of him, taken a few days after he came to live with me. 

I did the right thing, of course. I put up posters, checked all the local notice boards, rang the Lost Dogs and the Lort Smith and the council pound in case anyone was looking for him. I even asked the neighbors. And all the time I was doing that, that whole first weekend, I kept telling myself how I wasn't letting myself bond with him because he obviously belonged to someone. He just didn't look as if he'd been living on the street; he was clean, without fleas, and not at all thin, and he showed no signs of worm infestation. Someone had clearly been taking care of him, until very recently, at least.

On the Sunday night my next door neighbours came home from a weekend away. I asked them if they had a black and white cat and if he was missing. I explained about the cat who'd been living at my house since Friday, and the man came in with me to look at him. Oh yes, that's LeStat, he confidently said. My wife's cat. I picked up RooRoo and handed him over; he didn't seem too thrilled but he didn't resist either. The man left with him. I sat down and cried bitter tears for about three quarters of an hour. Because all of that brave talk about how I wsan't letting myself bond with him had turned out to be just that. Talk.

When I finished crying, I heard a small cry at the front door. When I opened it, there was RooRoo on the doorstep. He shot inside and went to earth in the kitchen cupboards, and he didn't come out for three days. I had to give him his meals in there. God knows how he was going to the lavatory. He must have been coming out when I was at work.

Anyway, I never heard from the neighbours again, so I took RooRoo to the vet for a checkup and registered him as mine. Happy ever after. I did see a cat whom I took for RooRoo a few months later in the street, and he was like enough to fool me, same markings and everything, same unusual face shape, but when I got home there was my RooRoo fast asleep on the sofa. Just one of those resemblances that do occur in neighbourhoods because the cats are related. I think that cat must have been the neighbours' LeStat. 

So there we were. Me and RooRoo. He saw me through so much. And when the day finally came that he had to leave me, I couldn't bury him. I just couldn't put him in the ground. His cremated ashes are in a pewter casket in my bedroom, and there they'll stay.

But a cat as fine as RooRoo, I felt, deserved some kind of memorial, and so I created RooRoo Day. It's not quite a charity - there's no collecting of money or blankets or anything. More of a concept, really. On that day, the 14th of May because that was the day he first came into my life and I always celebrated it as his birthday, I ask you to do one act of kindness for an animal. Any animal. Or, you know, a bird, bee, reptile or whatever. You can do more, of course. But do one, on that day, somewhere between midnight and midnight. People all around the world do this. I like to think of a wave of kindness sweeping around the globe. 

There's a Facebook group you can sign up to if you want. But it's not at all necessary. If you do sign up, you will not get harvested for anything. The group is just there for people to share ideas for their RooRoo Day observance, that's all. You can find it HERE

Please do this for me. For RooRoo. And pass it on.

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