Tuesday, January 26, 2016

marketing--AGAIN

Here we go again as I fight and struggle to figure out the marketing game! And it is a game. Authors are all in the same boat and it is severely overcrowded!! I'm surprised it hasn't sunk.


Just this week I was informed on a site I belong to that my books don't fit into any genre, and that because of that, Facebook ads won't work for them. This comment was in response to me sharing an ad I'd recently created for one of my coyote books. I appreciate the candor and the criticism, because I don't know much about FB ads and how to do them properly. But on the other hand I still believe I can make a FB ad for each and every one of them, despite their oddity.

I actually love making FB ads almost as much as I enjoy making the little videos I've begun to post. I belong to a site called Animoto, where a complete idiot (me) can make a two minute video to advertise their books. I've tried to use these for FB ads but so far they have not worked well. But I do post them around and put them up on YouTube.

The best thing to do if you're considering FB ads, is to try various images and text and see which ones do the best. You can run them for a couple of days to avoid spending too much money and see what happens. The ads manager on FB will walk you through it and the stock images are full of great possibilities. Just type in what you're  looking for. (i.e.: detective) What I'm still confused about is the audience and what to put in for interests. I read an article that suggested using other books or authors as interests--books that are similar to the one you are trying to sell. I've been trying that, but since mine are in a genre of their own, it's proving difficult. (Hence the comment I mentioned earlier) Also, the suggestion was to avoid using the book's cover since the format is not the right size for ads. Check on the net for information--there is a ton of it out there.

And if, like me, you find yourself becoming discouraged about your sales, steer clear of the sites where people are bragging about their success. Take it all with a grain of salt and move on. Comparisons are odious, as my father used to say.

Lately I've come to the conclusion that I need to find some unique ways to market my books. So far I haven't discovered what these are, but when I do I'll be sure to share!

Thank you for reading and keep on writing!!!!





Monday, January 18, 2016

Sharing or not sharing, that is the question.

Did you ever do something that seemed foolhardy but you had to try? Did you ever tell yourself that whatever happens it's worth everything you risked or paid? Did you also tell yourself that you wouldn't be disappointed no matter what happened?

I think we've all done this at one time or another. And at a certain time in our lives, these things take on another meaning, like, what do we have to lose?

But still the superstitious part of us jumps forward when we decide to share this foolhardy idea, or hint at what we expect from our efforts.

I've learned the hard way that sharing something before it happens can hurt the chances of it happening--like talking about the seed of an idea before it's strong enough to stand in the light on its own. Sharing can diminish it, and make it shrink back to hide in the shadows. Why is this? Some things need to be kept close for a while, in order to protect them. But why, you ask? I have the sense that something happens to them when they're exposed to the collective unconscious, or just the scrutiny that comes form normal everyday people. It isn't their fault. It's what we all do.

Writing fits into this category. We need to be careful about what we reveal. It's hard to give over what you've drawn up from the depths and put onto the page. But when you're finished and satisfied that you've done your best, you can free it into the world and let it find its own way. It is a separate entity at that moment, and has wings of its own.

Writing is difficult and simple, excruciating and exhilarating, frightening and freeing. The process can take the writer to places he or she never dreamed they would go, and into a hell beyond our understanding. And it can raise us into the heavens.

Is this enough philosophical babble for one day? I think so.

Thanks for reading and keep on writing!

Monday, November 23, 2015

Review by Cold Coffee Press for Just Another Desert Sunset!


Cold Coffee Press Book Review for Just Another Desert Sunset by Nikki Broadwell
“There was once a coyote who wanted to become a man, but before he could be granted his wish the shaman asked him for three things.”
Just Another Desert Sunset is a provocative paranormal romance that begs the reader to recognize the fine line between humans and animals in a mystical realm that honors Native Americans traditions and beliefs.
This face paced well written story takes place in Arizona where Author Nikki Broadwell uses the beauty of both sky and land with desert creatures that crawl, area birds fly and furry animals that hunt. Nikki weaves spell binding rituals with humans that are going about their lives unaware of the clash of cultures that exists as a fine line ready to tear the very fabric of time and space.
Well-developed characters live in a modern world that collide with a spiritual world were a coyote leaves his familiar pack in search of a way to become a human man. His deepest desire is to see, hear, feel and make love to Sarah who overwhelms his senses with her fragrances and beauty which brings confusion and longing in his spirit. Shape-shifting is not new to literature, but it is new to coyote when his warm, four footed fury body shifts into a Native American man named Istaga with yellow eyes, long braids and smooth, hairless skin.
I quote a passage where romance bridges instinct. “Coyote woke with a start, staring down at the woman curled up next to him. She looked serene and peaceful, a slight smile curling up the corners of her mouth. He wanted to stay as he was, wanted her to know him as animal as well as man, but it was too soon—too early for her to find out the truth. If she woke now he couldn’t imagine how she would react seeing a wild beast lying next to her. He thought of the night before and how he had longed to turn into his coyote form but had managed to control the urge. How he wished his visions would come to pass—that they could change together from human to animal while they mated. When he moved away she moaned in her sleep, reaching for him, but he was already loping into the underbrush, searching for their breakfast.
When Sara woke, Istaga was gone, nothing left to indicate he’d ever been there. She had a moment of panic, wondering if she’d dreamed the entire scenario, but then she felt the sand in her hair, the sore muscles in her shoulders and hips and smiled to herself. There had been no exchange of the usual endearments between them but somehow the episode felt profound and deeper than any sex she’d ever experienced. Except for the first time with Istaga, she thought to herself, chuckling. Hopefully he had only gone to relieve himself and would be back soon. The thought of him disappearing from her life again was too painful to bear.”
Cold Coffee Press endorses Just Another Desert Sunset by Nikki Broadwell as a delightful paranormal romance that intertwines human and animal nature in its purest form. Nikki currently has 10 books within 4 series, two Kindle Gift sets and a new book coming out early in 2016. We reviewed this book in a Kindle/PDF format. This review was completed on November 23, 2015. For more information please visit http://www.coldcoffeepress.com
Five Star Book Review
Amazon Headline: Human and animal nature in its purest form.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Nanowrimo and Halloween

Nanowrimo is nearly upon us! For those of you who've been thinking about writing a story but haven't gotten to it yet, this is for you. It is also for those who have begun a story and stuck it in a drawer somewhere--bring that sucker out and finish it! And for those who doubt yourselves and don't believe it's possible to write a 50,000 word book in a month, get to work!

You don't even have to join to participate, just do the daily word count! And don't edit! Editing is for later when the month is over.

If you've been reading my last few posts you'll know that I've been doing writing prompts by way of pictures. I have two for you today and they fit with Halloween. One is a sentence, the other is a picture --combine or not, this is your chice. Write on!


If I had only known before I walked through that door. But once my feet had crossed the threshold...




Once my feet had crossed the threshold it was as though something alien had taken hold of my psyche. I couldn't explain it even it I wanted to, that sensation of losing myself. I couldn't think, couldn't do anything but follow the hallway toward the stairs that looked too rickety to hold me. But despite my practical mind screaming NO! I was climbing upward toward a blackness that seemed too dense to be
merely an absence of light. My mind screamed at me to turn around and go back, but my feet kept moving upward, upward until I was inside that darkness, my mind going blank as I was taken beyond what my brain could process--lost in a place that could not exist.

Saturday, October 24, 2015

inspiration? more prompts!

What I felt when I saw that familiar city, the place where the bridge had connected those two land masses, went beyond mere words. I stood on that barren hill trying to wrap my mind around the scene of desolation, but in the end all I could do was stare. I had no more tears for what had happened to our civilization, no more regrets and no hope. We had done this to ourselves and although I had known it was coming it made no difference. What I knew and what I tried to tell others had fallen on deaf ears.


They had been determined to continue with growth above all else, greed for money and riches going beyond any considerations for the environment, people or anything that made any sense. And now we had finally reaped our reward--a barren land that would not sustain life. I took a breath and then another, knowing that even this would be taken from me very soon. Oxygen was the product of the plants and trees and now that they were gone it would be in short supply. Some of the wealthy had thought to protect themselves in domes that supplied them with their needs, but without electricity even these would fail in the end. 

I watched the sky turn purple and then gray, no sun descending into the western horizon tonight. It was like my worst nightmare come true. The end had come in the way of a nuclear bomb that had destroyed all of us, everything. How could we have been so stupid? And yet our country, the one that was supposed to the leader, had set the thing off, in a misguided attempt to stop our enemies. What enemies? We're all in this together now--no separate countries, no boundaries, no religions to fight against. If anyone survived we will have to pool our resources, what little we have. I turned to find a place to spend the night hoping to find one soul to speak with. 

Thanks for reading! Now take a look at this picture and let your imagination run WILD!

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Sisley and writing prompt

What does the painting by Sisley conjure in your soul?

I was walking next to the city wall carrying what I'd managed to glean from the abandoned house down the lane when the snow began. The village disappeared in a flurry of white, my headscarf disappearing with it. In front of me I could barely make out the orange gate that opened into the village proper. I was alone and afraid.

The past year had been a struggle to survive, everything gone in the flash that bore down on us that early evening. Since then we'd lost so many people to disease and starvation. We, the survivors, had buried them as best we could and then dispersed into groups of two or three, some heading out of town to find a way out, others, like myself, finding a hideyhole where I could be safe. Mine was in the basement of an old building that had once housed a family of four--all of them gone now. 

When I saw a figure hurrying my way I backed up against the wall hoping they would simply pass me by, but this time I was not so lucky. Before I could cry out they'd ripped the meagre hunks of stale bread from my hands and thrown me to the gound. I lay there like dead, watching the blood from the cuts on my hands and arms from the rough stone beneath my body pool red against the white. I knew if I didn't rouse myself I would be dead by morning.

What do you see in this picture? Can you begin a story that leads you into the world of your imagination? Go for it! And if you want to post it into the comments, please do so!

Thanks for reading.

Friday, October 16, 2015

#writing prompt/nanowrimo

One of my favorite exercises in English class was when the teacher/professor gave us a sentence and said: 'write for twenty minutes'. What I want to do here is somewhat the same, especially since November is nearly upon us and Nanowrimo! What better way to prepare? But instead of a sentence I'm going to be using photos or pictures to stimulate the creative part of your brain. So here we go:

When I saw the wooden door I knew--it had to be the one. It was old, older than anything I'd seen around these parts. And the color was exactly as she had described, a shade between turquoise and cerulean. It was set deep into the hand chiseled stone surrounding it, as if guarding something secret. I stood there for at least twenty minutes staring at the cracked paint, the rusted handle, thinking about what she'd said. 
"When you find the door all you have to do is step through and everything will be different."
"How different?" I'd asked, my skin prickling.
She'd smiled then, her eyes crinkling, her lovely mouth moving up at the corners, making me want to kiss her. But when I took a step toward her she backed away, her sweet smile turning into a frown. 
"If you trust me you'll do it," she'd said before turning her back and walking into the dusk and shadows. 
"Wait!" I called out. "How will I know it's the right one?"
But she was gone and I was left only with the  echo of my words. 

I put my hand on the rusted latch, apprehension moving through my body. Was I ready for this? How did I know she'd been telling the truth? After all we'd only been friends for a little over six months. What did I really know about her? I pictured her triangular face, the pale amber eyes that seemed to see straight into me. She looked like a pixie or a sprite, as though she might sprout gossamer wings and fly away.

I breathed in and out, picturing her waiting for me on the other side. My heart was racing. At first the latch resisted when I pressed down, as though it wasn't sure I had a right to be here. I pushed inward with my shoulder, feeling the stickiness of age and disuse, hearing the groan of rusty hinges, and then it swung open.

So you get the picture--(no pun intended) Now go for it!