The Times, They Are A'Changin'

Bob Dylan didn't have the publishing industry in mind when he wrote that song in 1964, but he could have. In the past five years, the publishing industry has been set on its ear. The entire manner in

which one can publish has evolved in a giant leap and we authors have an abundance of opportunity available. No longer does the Big Six rule from their lofty, impenetrable glass towers. But all this flexibility comes at a price. Authors are now responsible, more than ever, for their own promotion, including blog sites such as this one.

Over the past few years, I have visited more blog sites than I ever knew were out there, causing a serious learning curve about what I wanted my blog to be about. I have given thought to my brand, and what I want people to expect when they come to my site for a visit. At a recent talk on blogging, my message was very simple: be consistent, both with content and with the scheduling of your new posts. People who have read my books will hopefully know that I have a healthy respect for history, that I love sassy contemporaries, and that I try to tie all my plot lines together with a dash of humor. I want my blog to continue to convey that branding message.

I feel the message has been getting muddied of late, so I've instituted some changes. While I still want to feature my fellow authors, I need to limit the amount of time they get and who they are. So, I'm cutting back to only one or two very special guests each month. The rest of the time will be just me, sitting down for a chat with just you. I'm setting up my own blog tours, and my appearances for each book will now appear in a block on the right hand side of this blog. I'll try to provide links to the various sites where I'll have a post, but I usually don't get that information until the day of the post.

Since I was reminded yesterday that I blog a lot about Mary, my puppy-mill rescue dog, I want to share her latest doings. I took her to my sister's on Friday to spend the night and the next day, since I wasn't going to be home much on Saturday. She loves her cousin Harry and, according to my sister, the two of them acted like teenagers at a slumber party. They had pizza delivered at 930, they took every toy out of the toy basket and threw them all over the house, they ran up and down the hallway, barking and growling at each other until 330 in the morning, when they finally fell asleep. And didn't wake up until 11am!

And finally, I'm pleased to announce that, for the entire month of February, all Crimson books published in 2012 and 2013 will be available for $1.99 each. Crimson's Valentine gift to their fans. Go snag some copies. Visit Crimson's site at www.crimsonromance.com to view all the titles available, and head over to my Amazon page at http://www.amazon.com/Becky-Lower/e/B008DTC15C/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_ to load up on any of my books that you've missed. Happy reading in 2014!

Mary's Merry Christmas

I have to admit, this holiday season began all wrong. First, there was the upside-down turkey for the second year in a row. Only this time I couldn't blame my sister entirely, since I was at her house this year, slipping the bird into the oven. Then, I got sick for a couple of weeks with something my doctor proclaimed as the 'creeping crud.' That was her technical term for it. What it did was make me feel miserable, blowing (literally) through boxes of tissue and losing my voice (the horror!). Then came the loss of the mother of one of my dear friends. Not much to celebrate this year, eh?

Not so fast. Take a look at my little dog, Mary, all dolled up for the holiday.

Three or four years ago, she was living a miserable existence as a puppy-mill breed dog. The only times she was picked up at all was to be abused. She still has a fear of being picked up, and can't do normal dog things like jump on the furniture or take a flight of stairs. But her life, compared to what it had been, is one big joy ride now.

So, the moral of this holiday tale is to take happiness wherever you find it. Circumstances may make it not the picture-perfect holiday you had envisioned, but there are bright spots to be found regardless. All you have to do is search for them.

Have a safe and happy Christmas, everyone!

What I Learned About Writing From My Dog

Anyone who has followed my blog for awhile knows I'm big on analogies, and can usually find a way to equate the writing process to taking a hike, pruning your plants, putting together a jigsaw puzzle, and the like. What I didn't expect was for my dog to teach me about writing.

 I rescued my dog, Mary, two years ago. She had been a breed dog in a puppy mill for five years, and was past her prime. For five long years, she had been in a cage and was picked up only to be inseminated, or to have her babies taken from her.

I studied her behavior as she got used to the idea that she was safe and loved, I couldn’t help but compare her journey to mine as a writer. It’s a bit of a stretch, but let me try to explain.

I have a big back yard, but when Mary first arrived, she would explore it only in three-foot circles. She roamed the entire yard, three feet at a time. As beginning writers, we tend to go in circles, too, as we labor to learn our craft. As Mary became more confident, the circles got bigger. Just like a writer with a few contests under her belt. More confidence translates to trying new things, new genres, and new ideas. Our confidence grows each time a great review of our book gets posted on Amazon or Goodreads.

The big break with Mary came when she was introduced to my sister’s dog. Harry taught her typical dog behavior—how to run up and down stairs, how to roll in the grass, how to play with toys. Things Mary was not exposed to in her puppy-mill environment. As authors, our big break comes when we meet and learn from other authors who have been successful.

Today, Mary would rather hang with Harry than with me. She still gets a bit nervous when I want to pick her up, but she goes to her safe place—her bed—and she’s okay with it. She gets to hear all my stories before anyone else does. The day I saw her running around the house with a red pen in her mouth was the day I knew she was the right match for me, since she embodies Gertrude Stein. I’m a better person, and a better writer, for having Mary in my life.

Mary's Alter Ego

Most of you by now know that I have a puppy-mill rescue dog named Mary. She’s been very slow to reveal herself to me—she has trust issues, as you can well imagine. But sometime around the anniversary of the day she came into my life, something clicked between us, and she’s been allowing me to see more and more of what makes her tick.

A few months ago, I made the transition from writer to author when I signed with Crimson Romance. The following weeks were intense and hectic, between setting up a website and other social media, plus all the rounds of edits. Oh yeah, and then there was that pesky day job. I’d find myself sitting in front of my computer for hours on end. Mary often had to use her outside voice to break through the writer’s fog and make me realize it had been four hours since I’d let her outside.

The other day, I was working on my WIP. Finally able to be creative again, I was eager to work, but a bit rusty, since I’d been doing everything but writing for a couple weeks. I’d write a chapter and print it out, curious to see if it became any less sucky when I looked at it in print rather than on the screen. I read through the work out loud, with Mary as my audience. No, if anything, it sucked even more. I balled up the pages one at a time, and tossed them in the direction of the wastebasket. Finally, I got back in the groove, and the next few hours were blissfully spent with my heroine, whom I love dearly, in 1856 St. Louis.

When I finally came back to the present and went looking for Mary, I found a trail of paper in the living room. While I wasn’t looking, she came into my study and grabbed the sheets of my dismal chapter one by one, and shredded them on my rug. I smiled as I realized Mary had torn my work apart, just like an editor would have done. I decided to experiment with something.

I have pens all over my house, since you never know when inspiration will strike. On an almost daily basis, one or more pens will crash to the floor from an overloaded table. If I’m not quick to pick them up, Mary will grab them and start chewing. This time, I intentionally laid three pens on the floor—two with blue ink and one with red. Without hesitation, Mary picked up the red one triumphantly and returned to her blanket with her prize. Which was all the proof I needed. In a former life, Mary was an editor with a publishing house!