squarebracket-trickster
personal writing chronicle
I'm Kate (she/her). This is a space for me to share my thoughts as I work on my novel. Ask and tag game friendly!pfp picrew by あられメーカー (though I added the square brackets)
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Out of context line tag
I was tagged by @squarebracket-trickster here, thank you for the tag!
Rules: Share an out of context line from your WIP.
From my fantasy thrupple western romance -
"Better, clean my gun." Clara narrowed her eyes at the elf who grinned at her. He leaned forward and stole another kiss before sitting back and began cleaning the gun again.
No pressure tagging: @winterandwords, @oh-no-another-idea, @tephis, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, and leaving an open tag
#hang on#delayed realization#but is... is this an inuendo?#bc if its meant to be#it's deliciously subtle#<3
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Out of context line tag
I was tagged by @squarebracket-trickster here, thank you for the tag!
Rules: Share an out of context line from your WIP.
From my fantasy thrupple western romance -
"Better, clean my gun." Clara narrowed her eyes at the elf who grinned at her. He leaned forward and stole another kiss before sitting back and began cleaning the gun again.
No pressure tagging: @winterandwords, @oh-no-another-idea, @tephis, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, and leaving an open tag
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Ain't nothin' quite like gettin' all the damned way to the end of a 200k first draft and being like "Absolutely nothing can go wrong now, I have this completely under control" and then one impromptu line of dialogue that you ripped straight out of your ass actually being profound somehow and changing the theme of the whole book in the best way but also fundamentally restructuring every event of the ending so now i have to rewrite everything... Yeah, nothin' like it...
#on the one hand#CONGRATS ON 200K AND A FINISHED FIRST DRAFT!!!!#on the other hand#ouch...#hehe sucks to be you
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Just printed the first 100 pages of 🌙 LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE's first act for its final consistency read pre-querying! 😭🎉 We're getting there, slowly but surely...
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The Tomb of Light
Summary: In a country where magic has been outlawed, four strangers are sent on a quest to find the last source and destroy it—but something or someone has other plans for them.
Genre: NA Fantasy
WIP Intro
Chapter One: The Pledge
CW: Violent imagery, mentions of death
WC: 3,507
The bell’s resounding chime summoned him to his retribution.
Adrin’s eyes slid over to the dust-covered window and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He dipped a finger into the jar of flaxseed oil his mother had boiled down for him the night before and brushed some into his hair with more urgency. The reflective glass that hung on his bedroom wall hung slightly crooked, but instead of setting it straight he simply tilted his head to the right. For a guard in training, it would have been more convenient for him to keep a shorter hairstyle, but it would have been yet another thing that made him look like everyone else, and he was already a stranger to himself. If someone had told him long ago that he was to be sworn into the High Guard, he would have thrown his head back and laughed. His father had tried in vain to encourage even a flicker of enthusiasm for the job, but a guard was not who he was meant to be. It was who he needed to become.
With his blonde hair slicked back against his head, he secured a heavy white cape around his shoulders. The city’s crest, a large tree with bare branches, was embroidered on the back with black thread. The roots dangling beneath the tree were in the shape of lightning. Rothar was proud of their violent history, and he would be in defense of it for the rest of his life. He stared back at the downcast face in the foggy glass and bid farewell to the boy who once wished to escape it. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he slouched down the narrow hallway into the kitchen. He slipped through the front door just as his mother’s groggy voice called his name.
Once he was certain she hadn’t followed him outside, he paused at the end of the dirt path, turning to look at the massive oak tree that embraced his house in its shadow. A high-pitched ringing in his ears replaced the sound of the morning breeze. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His sister’s smiling face appeared to him, but was quickly replaced by a look of sheer terror. Her pale skin turned sickly gray and her yellow hair dripped with blood.
He opened his eyes and found himself on his knees at the base of the tree and pressed his ear to the rough bark as if he could hear a heartbeat. His eyes drifted down to the long grass that dampened the knees of his trousers with the morning dew. It was almost impossible to tell someone had been buried there now. With a hand almost as white as the cape he wore, he plucked a meadow violet from the ground and tucked it safely into the cloth bag tied to his waist. He had doomed her the day he joined the High Guard, and in doing so had doomed himself. It seemed only fitting he carried a reminder of where his heart belonged–in the weeds, decaying alongside the only person who truly understood him.
Rothar was struggling to wake, much like himself. Shuttered windows and quiet streets greeted him as he continued further into the city center. The baker, as always, was well into her workday, and as she waved to him from behind her long counter she created a snowstorm over her head. He brought a hand to his left temple and gave her a half-hearted salute. Freshly kneaded loaves rested beneath a damp cloth on the table beside her and he inhaled their comforting scent, letting memories of family dinners and his mother’s exemplary cooking skills quiet the anxious thoughts that plagued him.
“Valic! Hey, Valic!” A gruff but friendly voice snapped him out of his melancholic reminiscence.
He spotted the other novice guards lining up just ahead, identical crests emblazoned on the backs of their billowing capes. A short, sandy-haired man with a round belly waved at him. He bit the inside of his cheek and plastered a smile on his face.
“Alright, Milvar?” He quickened his pace to catch up to him. “I thought I was the early one.”
“No one else had to stop and grease their hair, pretty boy.” Milvar landed a solid punch on his arm and grinned at him with crooked teeth. “Maybe give the rest of us a fighting chance with the birds, yeah?”
Adrin gave him a half-smirk. “You strut around here in that uniform and tell anyone who will listen about your pink roses and I assure you, the ladies will find you–but in order to keep that uniform, you might want to actually make it to your pledge.”
He ushered him through the iron gates that lead to the Veritas Compound, a small cluster of buildings that comprised the guard barracks, watchtower, council chambers and school. The barracks, a round tower of pale limestone, was closest to them. A large group had spread out in front, a ring of iron torches placed into the ground around them to stave off the haze of dawn.
The High Guard consisted of nearly a hundred men and women, excluding the novices to be sworn in. They stood together in five neat rows, the highest ranked among them front and center. Each of them wore the same uniform of gray trousers, a long sleeved linen tunic and a black leather breastplate with matching bracers. The sea of white cloaks was bathed in a pale orange glow as the sun rose lazily in the sky. Adrin and his comrades formed their own line facing the others, and he held back a groan as he recognized another familiar face.
If parents were allowed to pick and choose their children based on desirable traits, Lieutenant Rothe would be his father’s pride and joy. The young prodigy had enrolled in guard training at 19, two years before Adrin had finally caved. It had been a year since Adrin and Milvar’s first attempt to join the guard, and they had returned to a version of Rothe even more grating than the last.
The lieutenant’s delicate facial features and dashing smile stole hearts, but his sharp intelligence and natural gift for swordsmanship had seemingly earned him the respect of everyone who knew him. Adrin saw what they ignored. The young lieutenant was gifted, sure, but he was also a vortex of apathy that left destruction in its wake. When he wasn’t barking orders or having his ego stroked by the captain, he lounged around his family’s sizable cabin spending his inheritance on all the spirits and opium he could find. The council turned a blind eye to their cherished guard as he led naive women into his home night after night. They ignored the scent of alcohol that always lingered on his breath and the dilated pupils that swallowed the icy blue irises everyone loved to admire. It was for these reasons, among others, that made it difficult for Adrin to embrace his new role. It sickened him to think of swearing loyalty to such hypocrites. The ceremony was just another sacrifice for the sake of his parent’s happiness and his penance. For Sophie.
A dark-skinned woman wearing a black cape and a blank expression stood beside Rothe. Her impossibly shiny hair was secured in a long braid that wrapped around her head and was pinned in place, highlighting her prominent cheekbones. Her gaze was inscrutable as it swept over the rows and rows of guards, but her voice was welcoming when she spoke.
“Lieutenant Rothe will be swearing you in,” her sickly sweet voice rang out, and the hissing whispers of the eager recruits fell silent at once.
The ebony-haired man straightened at the sound of his name and immediately, the novices stood at attention, hands clasped behind their backs. He sauntered forward, the golden sheath at his hip swaying with each motion. A short young woman with mousy brown hair and a timid demeanor hovered near his elbow, a small wooden chest tucked under her arm. Adrin stared at it with a sense of dread, tasting blood as he chewed the inside of his cheek for the second time that morning.
“Thank you, Captain Hollowar.” Rothe turned to give her a polite nod before addressing them. “Today, you will dedicate yourselves to the protection of Rothar.”
Adrin was surprised that his voice did not waver, and instead echoed with righteous authority.
“You will dedicate yourselves to your fellow guardsmen and the Veritas Council, the guardians of Caledon.” The lieutenant looked out at the novices and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.
He let his words linger for a moment, testing their patience further. At last, he nodded to the brown-haired guard. “The chest, please, Havoc.”
Her face flushed, perhaps at the notion that he had remembered her name. She unhooked the latch and opened the lid before holding it out to him. Inside appeared to be thin silver bands of polished metal. The bands were left partially open with a half inch of space between each end. Rothe lifted one with a single finger and held it aloft, letting it catch the light of the rising sun.
“These bracelets will be permanently closed around your wrist after you have been sworn in. It will serve as a reminder to you all that you cannot simply turn your backs on responsibility. This is a role you will have for life.”
It took every ounce of self control that Adrin possessed for him to hold his tongue from unleashing a biting insult. For most of his childhood he had seen his father brandish his own bracelet with great pride, but for Adrin, it was a shackle.
“Guardsman Valic.” His name must have been funny, for Rothe had turned to address him with a sneer. “Is there a problem?”
Adrin swallowed. “No problem, sir.” He straightened his shoulders and focused his eyes on a point somewhere to the left of Rothe’s amused face.
“Good. Let’s move on, then.” He snapped his fingers and Havoc placed a large book bound in black leather into his outstretched hand. “You can start us off. Repeat after me:
I pledge myself to the good of mankind and its quest for advancement.
I pledge myself to the Council and vow to uphold their ways.
I pledge myself to a world without magic and vow to protect the citizens of my city and my country from its corruption for all time.
I pledge myself to Caledon, from now until I die.”
Adrin received his bracelet from Havoc and shuffled resignedly to the blacksmith, who stood by a torch with a pair of tongs. The old man was silent as he snatched the bracelet and held it in the center of the flame. A small line began to form behind him as he watched the metal change from red to orange.
At last it emerged from the fire and the blacksmith snapped his fingers at him. Adrin held out his left wrist and sought out the shredded flesh of his cheek with his tongue as the heated metal came closer. His flesh sizzled and steamed as the iron slid into place. A gloved hand pinched the metal closed, ensuring it wouldn’t budge. He tried to ignore the smell of his own bubbling, burning skin and gave the blacksmith a courteous nod before stepping aside for the next novice.
The sun shone brightly above them now as the newly minted guards flashed their matching bracelets at each other, not one of them seeming to take issue with the permanence of their duty, though there were more than a few stifled yells and carefully disguised tears. Adrin stood apart from the others and waited for Milvar as he examined the red skin and puffy welts on his wrist. He welcomed the pain. It kept him focused.
The novices were granted recreational time to run back home and share their excitement with their families before reporting for their first official day of duty. Adrin slumped back to his house with a gently weeping Milvar, who had invited himself along to partake in breakfast.
“Why didn’t they warn us?” He moaned with a pathetic pout on his bearded face. “Can you die from burns?”
He gave his friend a sympathetic smile. As the son of a cobbler and a teacher, his family lived in South Rothar with the other tradesmen, saving him from the high expectations of the north. Unfortunately, as someone who was also desperate to be one of them, he saw Adrin as the model for an ideal lifestyle. If Adrin had left Rothar years ago as he had planned to, Milvar would have been right there by his side. Instead, his sweet, simple friend went against his own nature and followed him into danger. It seemed that Adrin was destined to destroy lives, not save them.
“Have my mum look at it, you twit. She’ll have something for the pain.” He pushed Milvar to the other side of the path with a low chuckle. “Come on, now.”
The city center was more than awake now, with delectable aromas of smoked meats and warm bread assaulting their noses the moment they stepped through the compound gates. He had to drag Milvar away from the baker, who had moved on from bread to fruit tarts since Adrin had last seen her. Golden brown triangles filled with spiced pears, apples, vibrant cherries and plums had been lined up in eye-catching concentric circles on a large silver tray. The baker sprinkled a handful of sugar into a large mortar and pestle and set to work grinding it into a fine powder. Milvar leaned across the counter towards her.
“You make the whole world sweet, you beautiful lass. Never stop,” he murmured as Adrin grabbed his arm and tugged him away.
Indeed, as Adrin smacked his lips together he could taste the sugar and for a moment the throbbing pain in his wrist vanished–but only for a moment. He kept a firm grip on Milvar as they passed the other shops and released him only when they had turned down the northwest road. Sophie’s tree waved to them with wide hands covered in green leaves that were starting to show spots of yellow. Beneath its outstretched arm was his house, a modest but well-kept cottage of cobblestone with a bright red door and matching shutters. On either side of the dirt path were patches of purple clovers that sprouted through sparse green grass. Milvar picked up the pace, jogging towards the door with purpose.
Inside, his parents were waiting for them at their kitchen table, a faded and cracked squaretop surrounded by mismatched chairs. Plates of fat link sausages shining with grease, slices of malt loaf speckled with dried plums and a half dozen fried eggs covered the table. His stomach grumbled its approval, but his attempts to reach the food were foiled by his father’s large, broad-shouldered body rushing towards him.
“Let me see that!” He grabbed at his left wrist, avoiding the seared skin but still sending a fresh wave of throbbing pain up his arm. “Now you’re just like your old man!” He slapped a thick hand across his back, his own bracelet still encircling his right wrist.
Adrin forced a painful smile on his face. “I would have preferred a necklace, I think.”
“Well I think you look very official.” His mother called over her shoulder as she stirred a large pot of porridge over the fire. She slid the spoon through the pot’s handle and wiped her hands on the patchwork apron tied around her waist. “Both of you. Let me take a look at those wrists, boys.” She swatted his father on the back and he made way for her.
Milvar stepped further into the cramped room and held out his right arm, his watery blue eyes refusing to look.
She clicked her tongue and held each of their hands up to her face. “Such a brutish ceremony. Sit,” she commanded them, then dashed to the shelves on the far wall. Glass jars containing flowers, herbs and salves stood in rows of six. She tied her silvery hair back with a scrap of fabric from within the pocket of her apron and examined the jars with interest before selecting one filled with what looked like wood shavings.
“Hush, woman,” his father chided, but his expression was soft. “I survived, didn’t I?”
“After days of ceaseless whining.” She retrieved the kettle from the fireplace and brought it to the table. “Adrin, join us please, and stop hovering like a stranger in your own home.”
He pulled out the creaking wooden chair next to Milvar and seated himself in front of a large platter of sausages, lifting one to his mouth with a trembling hand. He tore off a large piece with his front teeth and swallowed it whole, wanting the meal to pass by as quickly as possible. His mother’s pale grey eyes studied him with interest as she sprinkled a few pieces of the shavings in two clay mugs. Steam from the boiling water flushed her cheeks, and she fanned herself with her free hand as she set one down in front of him and Milvar in turn. Milvar leaned forward and sniffed his with narrow eyes.
“Willow bark, for the pain,” she informed them. She claimed the last chair for herself–Sophie’s chair, with painted daisies and sunflowers along the back.
As the men tucked in, she turned her attention to Adrin. He shoveled bite after bite into his mouth, pretending that it was hunger that caused him to ignore her. Heedless of Milvar’s sharp eyes, she tucked a loose strand of Adrin’s hair behind his ear and continued to watch him, only taking a few nibbles from her slice of bread every now and then.
“I’ll put some honey on that burn for you tonight after your shift,” she said, and pushed his tea towards him. “Make sure you stop by too, Milton.”
“Please eat something, Mum,” Adrin urged her, cutting off Milvar’s cry of outrage in response to being addressed by his first name. “There’s no need to worry, I promise.”
“I always worry,” she murmured into her lap.
“Enough of the fussing, Laurel. This is a day to celebrate,” his father mumbled around a mouthful of sausage and egg. He swallowed before adding, “I’m proud of you.” There was another, longer pause. “I know Sophie would be too.”
The negativity that had been eating away at Adrin all morning suddenly burst out. His fork clattered against the table as it slipped from his fingers.
“You know that’s not true,” he hissed.
Milvar, sensing that the time for pleasantries was running short, began to eat at a much faster pace.
“Adrin–” His parents shared a look of concern.
“I apologize, but I’ve had about all that I can stomach.” He pushed away from the table and rose to his feet. “I will meet you at the barracks, Milvar.” He left his tea untouched, letting his anger and guilt drown out the burning bite of metal against skin. The front door closed with a loud bang, sending clouds of dust into the air.
Adrin was surprised to find himself among the last to return to the barracks. He glanced behind him, wondering if Milvar would be willing to sacrifice his rank for another helping of sausages. He did his best to exchange pleasantries with the others while his head fought a futile battle against the dark thoughts raging within. He had never completely meshed with the other novices, or the guards for that matter. Everyone, save for Milvar, looked at him differently in the year since Sophie’s death.
No one had anticipated a death during what was meant to be an innocent night of camaraderie in the woods, and no one could have predicted that their most boisterous recruit would become so somber. He was permitted time to grieve, of course, and Milvar the loyal had waited to pledge with him–but time would never make things right, make him right. The loud clanging of the watchtower bell interrupted his mournful introspection and heads whipped around as if the source of the commotion was right in front of them.
Captain Hollowar exited the barracks alongside the lieutenant. The two of them stalked across the plush green lawn with closed expressions. Their black and white capes whipped back and forth in the wind, and slowed to a flutter as they stopped in front of the group. Hollowar gave them a moment to fall in.
“One of our gatekeepers received a warning today from a traveling merchant.” She brandished a crisp piece of beige parchment. “An old enemy of Rothar has been spotted making arrangements to enter the city.” She cleared her throat. “The woman has been identified as none other than Mara Wilkes.”
All eyes turned to Lieutenant Rothe.
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ToL’s second draft is going great so far.
Adrin actually has a friend
Oliver is a full-fledged drunk now
I’m leaving sneaky hints to the villain in TFE
Mara gets to be a real nerd
FOOD
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How to make a romance story:
Braid it.
Each of your characters should have their own lives, wants, desires, etc going on that intersect often. They each have a different plotline of their own going on. THEN you have the romance plotline weaving between their two lives.
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It's still Saturday in my time zone so I'll wish you a happy Story Telling Saturday (STS)!
Inspired by the ask you sent me:
If you were to publish your WIP as a novel, what would it say in the blurb on the back/inside dust jacket flap? (or post to Ao3 with a spoiler-free summary).
hiiii thank you so much for the ask!! not containing spoilers will probably be a little hard lol but here goes nothing...
Maeve met Jace last year by the off chance of winning a contest to get concert tickets. Though she had never heard of him before, she quickly became one of his top fans. When she decides to see him again on his next tour, she can't help but feel connected to him.
The moment Jace laid eyes on her, he knew there was something about Maeve that drew him to her. He wants to be friends with her and get to know her better, and when the chance presents itself, he invites her on tour with him.
As soon as she agrees to join him, she wonders if it's a good idea. With the long time on the road together, her feelings for him seem to gravitate to something more than friends. The more she fights her feelings, the deeper they run.
He's a rockstar, it would never work out... right?
also this will be up on AO3 hopefully the first week of May! I'm waiting for the invite to create an account (which will hopefully come May 3rd) and in the meantime, I'm adding more of Jace's point of view to what I currently have written!
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Two Truths and a Lie
Rules: post a poll with two truths and a lie about an OC and get your followers to vote on which one is a lie
Thanks @elsie-writes for the tag! I’m really struggling on the past few Seven Stations characters but here goes :). Let’s do Ricinus next
Which one do y’all think is the lie?
@kaylinalexanderbooks @rkmoon @mysticstarlightduck want to play?
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#prev tags#completely agree#walking the tideline#sticking your feet in the cold water up to your ankles#making little splashes#but also just the view and vibes#and occasionally seeing a seal or otter or whale or heron#or finding a cartilage vertebrae
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Am I the only writer who doesn't like to listen to music while writing? It seems like everyone else has a collection of playlists to write to. It's weird, because practically every other minute of my life I've got headphones on to listen to something, but not while writing. Maybe it's because I'm a singer, so any song with lyrics I'm tempted to sing along, which is the ultimate distraction. I thought the solution would be classical music. I have a lot of movie and video game soundtracks, but even those are distracting to me.
Music is just so emotionally specific, and if the vibes don't match the scene I'm writing, it throws me off. I feel like I'd spend half my time finding just the right song, then I'd get sick of it because I'm not a fast writer. I also don't really want my favorite songs to become associated with moments of frustrating writer's block forever more. I prefer total silence, but have sometimes settled for white noise videos like "wind in the trees" or "afternoon rainstorm" to drown out more annoying sounds like construction next door. I've thought of getting some really good ear plugs to ensure silence no matter where I am.
Are there any other writers out there who crave pure silence while you're working?
#I have a hard time focusing if I have music in while doing something high braincelled like writing#and it gives me sensory overload so fast#I'll try to write with music and after the first minute I'm like#GET THESE OUT OF MY EARS AHHHH I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE#otherwise I completely tune out the music so there was no point in listening to it in the first place#six hours later when I come slamming out of hyperfocus I'll be like 'oh I had music on this whole time? what even was I listening to?'
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uhhhhh idk if this is exactly what you are looking for... but if, per se, someone happened to be a writeblr looking to name an OC... with a historically accurate medieval English/Old English/Anglo-Norman name (taken from a primary source)...
Ur Fav Online Resources?
i'm doing a form, because i'm looking for online resources. Like for website design, art supplies/tools, graphic design, or just other cool or useful websites. If you've found an interesting website, send it my way through the form! (It's a google form but you don't need an account or to sign in.)
>> click for the google form link <<
i have to say this: please don't send porn sites or sites that could harm my computer... this isn't a challenge or a dare, seriously don't.
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No "other" option. If you don't like multi POV books, please keep scrolling!
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new here but am wondering what your current WIP is about? if you don't feel comfortable I understand!! love your blog btw <3
Omg thank you so much!!
My main WIP right now is WIPVII (placeholder name until I am forced to actually name it).
It is a lower YA (for 13-15 year olds) low/no magic fantasy (takes place in a different world) with a romance subplot.
It's a (high/late) medieval western European-inspired setting, specifically the year 1333 CE in southern England - I try to be somewhat historically accurate because it makes the setting feel a little fresher than leaning on the medieval European stereotypes common to a lot of fantasy. But alas, there is only so much research I am willing to do (and I did take some liberties because, dammit I wanted a masquerade ball).
The WIP draws inspiration from Shakespeare comedies (Cymbeline, Twelfth Night, The Tempest etc), Alfred Tennyson poems (in particular "The Splendour Falls"), the Robin Hood myth, and fairy tales and medieval epics in general.
[More below the cut]
The blurb:
Two kingdoms long at war have laid down their arms at last, but peace hinges on treaty that can only be sealed by the marriage of the eldest son of the King of Dian to the eldest daughter of the King of Cithidy. But Isolda de Angenet, the princess of Cithidy, has gone missing and she does not want to be found.
In disguise as a peasant boy, Isolde (known as Aldus) accidentally falls in with a ragtag group of bandits - and Henry, a knight with a mysterious past - who have been sent to find the missing princess and deliver her to the outlaw lord Hob. But there is some larger scheme afoot here.
Once more, a Cithian army marches reluctantly toward Dian and Isolde fears the only way to stop it is to return to her old life and join the husband she has never met in Dian. Isolde has forsworn this marriage but unless she can find another way, she fears she will have to choose between her own freedom and peace.
In the meantime, Henry is hiding something and Isolde will find out the truth, hopefully before Henry finds out who she really is.
Some other things about this WIP:
The name: WIPVII is just WIP + the roman numeral for 7 (VII). I refuse to properly name this WIP until I am forced to, so WIPVII is a placeholder name. I have a lot of WIPs so I number them from oldest to newest to keep track of them (this has nothing to do with the order I choose to work on them). This also means, when a WIP doesn't have a name yet, I have a convenient placeholder name ready to go! WIPVII is 7 because it is the 7th WIP I thought up.
Status: I am currently 60% of the way through my 3rd draft.
Word count: draft 2 was 77k and I am expecting draft 3 to be similar (around 82k because I added some description and worldbuilding and the prose is more flowery). I am aiming for 80k, give or take 5k.
WIPVII is meant to be a standalone.
--
The was inspired by the premise:
A princess runs away from an arranged marriage and ends up falling in love with the person she was supposed to marry (neither of them know who the other really is).
-- this is technically a spoiler, but they way the story is written I think most readers will guess the twist looong before it comes. And honestly, I think the story is a lot more fun if you figure it out well in advance. I am a sucker for dramatic irony.
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Obviously ignore this if you want but I saw you mention that you recently got published (congrats!!!) and I had a question. I'm still far out from that, but I know how to write and can research how to publish but I don't know how to market. Not only am I autistic and not charismatic, I want to solely use my pen name and distance my writing from my face because of my professional life. Do you know how to actually get people who might like your book to notice that it exists as an indie author with no previous following? Thank you if you have any advice!
Hello Moshke!
Thank you so much for the congratulations! It's taken longer than I expected but the realisation that I'm published is finally beginning to sink in! It's very surreal ^_^
I honestly don't know if I'm the right person to give advice on marketing as, at the moment, my book's been out just over a month and I feel like I'm stumbling around in the dark, but I wanted to give your ask due consideration and, despite my hesitation, I think I still have some tips that could hopefully help.
The reason I think I might have at least some relevant tidbits is that I'm also writing under a penname and most people don't seem to realise that.
Now, in my case, it's not about privacy it's just that don't like my given name enough to see it on book covers :D So I don't mind talking about it, but marketing your book under a penname isn't that much different to how you would market the book under your legal name.
Tip No. 1
Establish your pen name as a functional pseudonym now. Don't wait until you're ready to publish.
So, this stage was a little backwards for me. I come from the age of internet use where you did not give your real name online, under any circumstances, so I've always used various "online names".
By the time I decided that I was going to use "Arista Holmes" to publish under, anyone who knew me online already knew me as Ari. Even my best friend offline will sometimes call me Ari when we're chatting, so it had become as much an actual nickname as an online pseudonym.
But that's exactly what I'm getting at. I'm not pretending to be "Arista Holmes", I am Ari. A writer in her 30's based in the south east of England. The same way I'm Josie to my mum, or Jo-jo to my Godmother.
Tip No. 2
Don't think about it as marketing your book, but as creating an author "brand".
I'm using "Brand" here in the absence of a better term, because I absolutely hate thinking about this as a "brand", but what I mean is think of your Penname as something people will google search.
In fact, Google search your pen name.
As I mentioned, I'd been using "Arista Holmes" online for a while, and I had accounts all over the place that I didn't necessarily want coming up when people looked up my books.
(I will deny spending my youth on Neopets, it's just TOO embarrassing!)
But jokes aside; Google your pen name. See what comes up. Scroll through all 20, 30, 50 pages of google. Some asshole looking for some embarrassing post from your teen years won't stop at page five, and neither should you.
Shut down any accounts you find, or if you want to keep them, change the username to something else. The only non-publishing related account linked to Arista Holmes now is my AO3. I figure it's still writing, so no harm in leaving that one up.
Tip No. 3
Set up social media accounts now; Be as consistent as possible across all platforms.
Now, and I want to put this in big bold letters:
Having accounts on all the socials does not mean you will be active on all of them.
Or use them at all, in fact.
Having accounts on Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, Twitter, Tiktok, Youtube, etc etc etc, just means that if, by some miracle, you make it big and draw in fans you'll also inevitably draw trolls and by making the account with your pen name; it stops them claiming that username and pretending to be you.
It's a form of pre-emptive protection.
On that note; Be consistent across your accounts. Use the same profile picture, use the same header or banner, use the same colour scheme, use the same "About Me/About Author" description, and (as much as possible) use the same username format.
That last one won't be possible on all platforms. Some of them don't like periods/full stops. Some don't like underscores, but try to be as consistent as possible.
For example my account on here is author.a.holmes, most other places I'm aristaholmes. I'd change it, but at this point, I don't want to break all my links.
Tip No. 4
Author Pictures Are Not Required.
I'm adding this point here because I mentioned profile pictures in the previous tip. Author Pictures Are Not Required.
Don't get me wrong, they're often highly encouraged, and I can't deny that they give a humanising effect to the author, but that doesn't mean you actually have to show your face.
I've chosen to put my face on my "About The Author" page in the back of my book, but that's a personal choice. You don't have to add one at all! It's only more recently that I've seen fiction author photos in the back of books.
Until about... 15 years ago? Ish? I wouldn't have expected to see an author photo unless the book was non-fiction.
If you want to add a picture of you, but don't feel comfortable or can't because of real world problems, consider an artist's caricature instead. Go one step further than a pen-name and give yourself a pen-picture! Jenna Moreci uses an artist's interpretation as her profile picture/logo, and Lemony Snicket only had pictures of the back of his head for ages.
If you do decide to commission an artist though, do explain to them that it will be included in your books, that you'll be selling, as they will probably want to add a commercial licence price to the artwork; But if you explain why you're having the caricature done I imagine most artists would be very reasonable about it.
***
That's all my tips for setting up and marketing yourself, as the author, under a pen name... but I can already hear the voices in my head muttering that I've not really touched on how to get people to find you once you've set up the pen name, and the socials, and your website etc.
And it's because I personally think that if you're writing under a pen name you need to establish it as an entity in its own right before beginning to try marketing it.
So, moving on…
Tip No. 5
Find your place on the great, wide, interwebs...
I mentioned I'd been online as Arista Holmes for about 8-10 years prior to deciding to publish under this name, but once I did decide to publish I went and made all my author socials (just like I mentioned in Tip No. 3)
That was in 2020 and it was part experimentation, and part letting people find me. I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep up with multiple social media's, and I also knew I didn't WANT to, so I made the socials and I started posting on each platform and figuring out which platforms I liked. Which ones were easy to use, and which ones got me the most engagement with other people.
For me, this turned out to be Tumblr and Instagram. Twitter and Facebook are like graveyards for me, and Tiktok is only a little better, but your mileage may vary.
I cross post consistently with Tumblr, Instagram, because those are the places I get the most engagement... but I also maintain a blog on my website and any big pieces of news (such as asking for ARC readers, or publishing my book) gets posted across ALL platforms because, well, I live in hope that one day my tiktok will go viral lol.
But honestly, the multiple socials literally eat up so much of the time I could spend writing; I highly recommend picking two, three at most, and focusing on them.
But what do you post? I can almost hear you yelling <3
Tip No. 6
How to market when you're shy/introverted/not-charismatic/or any other thing you feel is holding you back.
You're going to want to throw something at me but lean on your strengths. It sounds so simple, and I know it's not, I'm sorry, but here's what I mean by that.
When I was still experimenting with all the socials to find the ones I liked, I stumbled across an image. I want to say it was here on tumblr but, honestly, I don't remember and at the time I was neck deep in every marketing and promotional blog or article I could find trying to figure this shit out.
It was called "The Periodic Table of Content Marketing".
I don't know why this helped me wrap my head around marketing, but it did.
I read over each of the types of marketing and I started getting idea's.
Ebooks... I'd heard about people doing reader magnets for newsletter lists.
Interviews... I've seen authors on podcasts. I'd seen people on tumblr interviewing their characters. I could do that.
Trends... What are popular tropes if not trends of the moment?
And I suddenly realised that this silly little graph was all the different types of marketing I could do, broken down simply, and laid out neatly, and I could pick and choose not only the bits I was comfortable doing, but the bits that I was confident with.
I'm never going to put my face on a tiktok video and lipsync to popular songs, but I could write a 12,000 words short story prequel to my series and make it exclusive to newsletter subscribers.
That was something I could do, because it leaned on my strengths; My writing.
Because I haven't said it yet, but two years ago I'd have described myself very similarly to you.
I'm not charismatic. While I'm not autistic, I am painfully introverted. I have severe social anxiety. I'm not funny, I can't talk with strangers casually or easily. Talking about my book more than once a week feels like I'm bragging or being pushy... But I can write.
So I started looking for opportunities to share my writing, and let it... not speak for itself, but let my words draw in the audience. It still took a bit of pushing on my part, I would look for tag games where the user had left an "Open Tag" and I'd hop on those and share some words.
This is part of the reason Tumblr is one of my favourite places to network with writers and readers, because the tag games let me share and tease content without having to push through my social anxiety all that hard.
It's a slower, organic, audience growth but it's definitely my preference.
The content I shared on here, produced to play tag games, I quickly realised that I could copy it onto a pretty image in canva, and share it on instagram easier than I could condense a paragraph into the twitter character limit, or make it look appealing on Facebook's janky system.
And the more writing I shared, the more people commented and followed. And the more they commented and followed, the easier it was to talk to them. And then I started getting asks. That was nerve wracking and sometimes they'll still sit there a couple of months before I can make myself answer them.
(Sorry Sleepy and Avra, if you're reading this! I'll reply soon, I promise!)
Have I gone off topic here? I kind of feel like I have but also... not really.
If you feel like your writing is your strength, lean on it. Let it do the heavy lifting for you. Show your hand with your words.
By the time I set up my mailing list and offered 'Whatever Happened To Madeline Hail?' for free, I got 12 people to sign up straight away. I don't know if that's a lot, but it was at least eight more than I was expecting.
When my book launched, I received 14 reviews, and sold 20 copies the first month. Again, I don't know if this is a lot, but it was a whole hecking lot more than I'd hoped for.
I don't know if I'm good at marketing, and maybe someone will reblog and reply to this with better advice, or tear apart what I've said, and if they do great! I really hope it helps you or someone else down the reblog chain because, as I said at the start, I'm really just stumbling around in the dark and hoping I somehow get it all to work out lol
But I do just have one more piece of advice, that isn't really my advice...
Tip No. 7
Fake it until you make it.
You're a writer. The beauty of the internet is that we have time to stop, and think about the words we're writing in response to someone.
I'm a shy, introvert, who doesn't know when to shut up when she gets started talking about writing (Or at least that's what it looks like based on the length of this post...)
But 99% of people I speak to online don't know I'm an introvert. They don't know that after sending an email I have to go back to bed for a few hours to recover my energy, or that I can't answer a phone without feeling nauseous for the rest of the day and it's because when I'm online I'm Arista Holmes, and I can write my responses in the same way I write my characters.
I'm not saying I'm not being me, I am, but I'm also being given the time and space to be the confident me I want to be, rather than the nervous wreck I actually am.
Write your socials, and market your book, as the you that you’d write if you were dropped into one of your own books.
Fake it until you make it.
Handy Resource List For Marketing:
Periodic Table of Content Marketing
Jenna Moreci's Youtube - I take her writing advice with a huge chunk of salt, but her marketing advice is top notch.
Bethany Atazedah Youtube - Co-wrote a Marketing For Authors Non-fiction series, but a lot of her youtube videos contain good, free, advice too.
Self-Publishing With Dale - If you want to market effectively, keeping on top of the current trends and changes in the market is important. Self Publishing with Dale is the best way I've found to do that; He really has his fingers on the pulse of the Self Publishing Market, and even if you're not publishing yet, checking out some of his videos can teach you loads about what to do, but more importantly, what NOT to do.
Michael Anderle's 20Bookto50k system - I didn't mention it as a tip but the BEST form of marketing a book is to write the next book. Michael Anderle talks about his theory that is you have 20 books published, your backlist of royalty income should net you around $50k a year. The hour and a half talk changed my whole marketing outlook and is why I'm focussed on a slow grown, more organically sourced, audience rather thank paid advertising.
Abbie Emmons Youtube - I'm not sure I should include Abbie in a list of marketing resources as she's often more about the writing side of the craft, but her videos have been invaluable to me, so she's just worth checking out in general.
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