Calculating My Entreatments AKA Book Pricing Headaches...

Polonius' wisdom is rarely out of my head, and this week is no exception. As I tell myself to 'set my entreatments at a higher rate', I'm reminded this doesn't only apply to being firm in my dealings with Hamlet, but could also determine the price at which I set my new book. I should keep my stock high! I should value my worth! But like Ophelia - with an overbearing father and a boyfriend with his own daddy-issues - it's all a bit much to deal with. Yes, that Shakespearian literary ramble is purely so I can share the headachey stress of pricing my own work. You're welcome!

I don’t want to fleece anyone and take the piss. But, I’ve worked hard. The end result costs money to print, and I’d like to think, my time and effort has a value too. (Check me out, getting big headed!) It’s easy to be self-deprecating and to undervalue hard graft and the finished result. But by under-pricing it, I’m effectively saying that I don’t think it’s good enough to cost any more.

This man taught me everything I know about economics.

Besides, it isn’t purely down to what I feel comfortable charging, randomly off the top of my head. There needs to be some sort of business strategy at play. And as I have zero understanding of business and finance, then this could be a problem. I once heard a famous cake-maker and actress talk on Radio Two about her cake prices during the 80s recession. (I know! Who says Radio One is where the cool kids hang out?) She explained she got through the economic madness by putting her prices up. She said it was a policy that kept her solvent when all around her were going bust. I have no idea if she was talking rubbish, or if she’s an economic genius. But what she said stuck with me. Don't under charge. Make sure your costs are covered.

A dramatic interpretation of the
author of my niche sporting paperback,
counting his cash after selling three books.

Then again, there's always the temptation to charge an exorbitant fee. Just to make a bit of cash. I recently saw a self-published paperback priced at £12.99. It was about a niche sporting event so it had no other literary competition. If I wanted to read about the sports match in question, I had to pay the price. I’m always fascinated by other people’s self-publishing. I want to see how they’ve gone about it. Have they had a cover professionally designed? Do they use a formatted template? What’s their imprint name? This one, however, was basic. The cover looked homemade and there were no professional features such as an ISBN or publishing imprint. I’d guess that about £5 of the price was profit. That's a huge amount of money per book to go the author. I’d love it if that weren’t unusual, but it really is. In my experience, it's less than a pound.

In the end I decided that a bit of market research was in order. To help settle on a price for Leeza McAuliffe Has Something To Say, I searched the Waterstones and Amazon websites. I selected pre-orders for paperback releases, aimed at children aged 9-12. It gave me more of an insight. There was still a bit of scope, but it made things clearer. Both sites' prices mostly ranged from £6.99 to £9.99 depending on the size of book. Also -  interestingly - the non-fiction books seemed to cost a little more than the fiction. I never got round to thinking about why that might be.

It only becomes important years
later when you don't want to have to
pay people 13p to buy your book.

Once I had my ball park figure, I took myself off to the Ingram Spark website. (The Print on Demand publishing company I use.) They have an online calculator to work out the author/publisher compensation. It’s a fun or depressing activity, depending on how much you plan to charge. You type in your book’s details such as trim size, page count, whether it’s black and white or colour, and then add the price you want to charge. When I typed in £6.99 in GB pounds and pressed ‘Calculate’ it instantly told me I would lose 13p per book sold. I'm no Martin Lewis, but that didn't seem like a plan. I played around with prices, cursing myself for having written so many pages, and eventually came up with a price that left me in credit. I won’t be out of pocket for each sale, but I (hopefully) won’t be taking the piss by fleecing anyone, either. 

Just in case people need closure
on the vague Hamlet theme I started with.

Aside from all that, the other take-away piece on info I've learnt about pricing, is that ebooks are much more profitable than physical copies. With no printing, paper, and delivery costs, the author gets a bigger percentage of the sale. I never thought I’d encourage people to download my book rather than buy a pick-up-able version, but it makes me several pence better off if they do. Although to keep all bases covered, I would recommend buying both formats, so you don’t miss out. As Polonius would have undoubtedly said, had he not come a cropper behind the arras, 'Always buy Nicky's books in paperback and ebook formats, and tell your friends to do the same.' Classic Polonius. Good times.

Have a lovely week, folks.

To Be (veggie) Or Not To Be (veggie)...

According to one of my early readers, my new book Leeza McAuliffe Has Something To Say (coming soon!) is a great advert for vegetarianism. This wasn’t my intention. I made the McAuliffe family vegetarian to show how ten year old Leeza lives with rules imposed by her parents. These are rules that she's started to question and rebel against. This could have taken the form of any ideology, I just happened to make it about meat. 

Even though I'm not a big meat eater, I don’t see myself ever becoming vegetarian. I don’t want to draw a line under an entire group of food one day, and then become overwhelmed by the lure of a bacon butty the next. I want to be free to eat what I want. Sounds reasonable? Except I'm a big fat hypocrite. In other ways I'm not free at all. As a long term Weight Watcher (that’s Wellness that Works to you! LOL) there are loads of foods I won’t eat purely because of their calculated points value. I'm forever weighing up whether I want the tiny slither of cake or the large glass of wine* (both weigh in at 7 points of my daily 23) so consuming whatever I fancy, is not something I'm used to. Whether it's a diet plan or vegetarianism, I guess there’s always something that dictates what we put in our mouths. (#sorrynotsorry)

Ultimately, I have one food rule. If I’m going to eat it, I have to enjoy it. So while I might work hard at ignoring a baked Camembert on a menu because I’m trying to stick to a healthier plan, I definitely won’t choose a walnut balanced on a lettuce leaf as the alternative. I need to ravenously desire everything I eat. Food is pleasure. Pleasure is food. Whether restricted by a dietary intolerance, ideological choice, or limited financial means, the end result has to be food that is enjoyable and tasty. Surely. 

Long time readers of this blog will know, I love Nigella. Her twinkly fairy lights, posh kitchen gadgets, and cheerful filth as she whips up a bowl of pasta tick all my TV cook boxes. But she’s not the only culinary influence I have. Enter Jack Monroe. Author of A Girl Called Jack - where it's suggested one mixes a jar of salmon paste, natural yoghurt and pasta to make the simplest, loveliest salmon pasta sauce - and most recently Cooking on a Bootstrap. Jack’s food is wholesome, hearty and cheap. It’s also, these days, mostly vegetarian. The premise of the recipes is that they're created with supermarket ingredients, from the basic/no frills/cheap as chips range. All for mere pennies. And the results are fit. It's honest to God, properly good food. The ease of being able to knock up a three bean chilli with cheap store cupboard ingredients is a surprising yet heady thrill. Forget the fancy schmantzy gasp of a showstopper Bake Off cake. Creating an eye-wateringly tasty curry with wilting vegetables and a few basic spices, deserves all the applause. At no point am I missing the meat. Yet at no point do I feel like I’ve become vegetarian. I’m just eating lovely food, with the bonus of being fairly healthy as I do it.

A recent report says that we need to massively reduce our meat intake in order to save the planet. (I’m paraphrasing, but not much. It’s fairly drastic in its recommendations.) I don’t like being told what to do. Like Leeza, I tend to rebel against enforced food rules, whether that’s from parents, scientists or government advisors. But the reality is, I’d take a tin of chickpeas sautéd in lemon juice, seasoning and dill, over a sirloin steak any day. Likewise I wouldn't thank you for pork in any format, a chicken drumstick, or a rack of ribs. I'm much more excited by a bowl of shakshuka. It’s just the way I eat now. It isn't how it used to be, and no doubt it'll change again in the future. But here I am. Not a vegetarian but not bothered in the slightest by choosing plant and dairy based meals several times a week. 

Look, let's be honest. I’m probably not going to reduce my meat intake because of this report. But I'll definitely keep eating tasty food that makes me salivate and I'll make sure I enjoy what I eat. The fact that a tin of beans, some veg and a few basic spices can make me do that, is the real thrill. 

Have a lovely week, folks. 

*I teased you with an implied dilemma with which I grapple regularly. Let me give you the gift of closure. It is ALWAYS the wine.

Doctor...Who?

I know. It only took me 
fifty-five years to want to watch.

The big news for all Whovians, is that two episodes into series eleven, I am now one of you. I am a Doctor Who fan. Thank you for welcoming me to your gang. The phrase, 'better late than never,' springs to mind. Obviously the thrill of a whiff of equality got me on board. But aside from ideology, the BBC trailers that teased the build up to Jodie Whittaker's Doctor debut, made the whole shebang look jolly and fun. It was easy to join in. And so I have. 

For anyone who has to google Whovians,
which is definitely not something
I had to do, now that I am one of them.

Now that the world hasn't imploded because of a female Doctor Who, it leaves me time to ponder the issues it raises. So after much thought, here's what I've come up with. Ready? Brace yourself. You see, I think I’d like to be a doctor. Yeah, I said it. A doctor. Not a medical 'blood and gore' doctor, but an ‘I’ve studied a bit and I’m super duper clever’ doctor. Because you see, I’d really like the title of Dr. 

That’s it, as far as academic ambition goes. I’d like to be Dr. N. Bond. I don't care what my specialism would be, I just want the title. I love the gender neutralness of it all. I like that Dr has gravitas. I like that it tells you very little about me apart from the fact you might mistakenly believe I could administer the Heimlich Manoeuvre under pressure. Other than those basic things, it doesn’t give much away.

My own title – Ms – was a no brainer when I started using it. I was getting married, and wasn't changing my name. Staying Miss wasn’t accurate and switching to Mrs was weird in that context. So Ms was obvious. I liked that it didn’t imply married or unmarried like Miss and Mrs did. Obviously, over the years I’ve come to realise that Ms implies all sorts of things to other people. Whenever I’m asked – usually for the basis of admin – if it’s Miss or Mrs, and I say, ‘Actually it’s Ms’, there are a variety of responses. Mostly, people assume I'm gay. Or there was once the classic, ‘You look too young to be divorced’, many years ago. This week I had the following exchange with someone fixing my windscreen.

Him: Is it Miss or Mrs?

Me: It’s Ms

Him: Fair enough. Initial?

Me: N

Him: Last name?

Me: Bond

Him: Don’t worry, love. Even James Bond wasn’t married.

There's quite a bit to unpack there. And I can’t even be arsed to bother. It's just another weird assumption because of a title – one I liked (and indeed still do) because it avoided linking my status to a man. How much simpler it is for men. It’s Mr for their whole entire lives. How lovely. How marvellous that men don’t have weeks of bureaucratic admin the second the literal honeymoon period is over. Changing names and titles is a ballache. Men have got it sussed. 

All this pondering reminded me of some advice I read about getting published. Unknown male names do better on the slush pile than unknown female ones. Mad, isn't it. You'd think the days of George Eliot and Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell were long over. Apparently not.* For a while, I considered having my own pen name. Nothing massively different. The idea of doing a JK Rowling and being an NL Bond crossed my mind. I liked that it was gender-neutral. I liked that it didn't bring preconceptions with it, and let the manuscript speak for itself. In the end, I didn't bother. It felt like a step too far. My actual name for realsies is gender neutral when you think about it. (Except when you type Nicky into this 'How Popular Is My Name' search box, it's referred to solely as a boy's name. Interesting.) Taking the extra step of reverting to initials or a fictional identity didn't feel like me. I liked my name. I didn't want to change it.** 

Good. Because I have a LOT of questions.

Yet for all that, the idea of being Dr. N. Bond is still appealing. I would even be happy with Dr. Nicky Bond now we have evidence that Nicky confounds assumption (I do like it's ambiguity!) Sadly I just don't think I have the time or the academic ability to whip up a quick thesis just so I get to prance about with a fancy new title. Once again, my apathy towards academia is standing in the way of my dreams. Or something. And now I’ve rambled away, I’ll get back to working out the pressing issues of the day. What actually is a sonic screwdriver? Why does the Doctor have two hearts? And why haven't there been any dodgy robots jerkily threatening to exterminate everyone? I don't feel I can claim true Whovian membership until I have these basic matters sorted.

Have a lovely week, folks.


* Let's not ignore intersectionality here. Not only do male names have more positive experiences, 'white-sounding' names are viewed more favourably too. Unconscious bias, or blatant discrimination? It's everywhere.

**At a recent wedding, just two of the nine letters in my name were correctly written on the seating plan. (The N and I if you’re interested.) But hey, I got drunk and danced all night. So, upsides.

Deadline, Schmeadline...

A couple of years ago, I read an article about publishing. It explained there were strategic times in the year that specific genres of book were released. (Self-Help comes out in January. Beach reads are July/August. That kind of thing.) I've searched the internet long and hard to find the article, but to no avail. Instead, let me rehash what my vague memory can cobble together. Sorry for pissing all over the Harvard referencing system. As cited words go, this isn't ideal. 

SpongeBob's self-help
book came out in January.

I got one big take away from the article. The optimum Christmas market for booksellers is early Autumn. And one date stuck in my mind. October 4th. I don't know if that was in relation to that particular year, or it's an annual date that publishers mark in big red letters on their calendars. But October 4th was the date mentioned as being THE date for new books to be released. I noted it down. I worked my timeline around it. I plotted out the work to do, into the space between then and now. My plan, two years ago, was that my next book would come out on October 4th 2018.

And readers, it ALMOST did.

This is defo not me.

Look I'll admit, working for yourself and setting your own deadlines is a double-edged sword. On the one hand it's lovely to make it all up as you go along. Choosing to have a day off for the sniffles is marvellous. Staying in bed on day two of my period is sooooo good. Setting a deadline for myself two years down the line is a lovely indulgence. But on the other hand, without a stressed-out line management structure on my back demanding results, it's far too easy to slip into laziness. Self-discipline becomes all the more important. If I don't take myself seriously, literally no one else will. So deadlines become even more essential when no one is relying on me. I'M relying on me. So I have to do my best.

And I really did try my best. Circumstances beyond my control have meant that October 4th has been and gone, without my new book troubling the Amazon algorithms. It's really really close, but it's not there yet. And for a while this bothered me. I'd had the date in my head for so long that it felt gutting to see it pass without toasting myself with champagne, holding the book in my hand, and feeling smugly pleased with my efforts. But then I got a grip. Some people have real problems. I mean, honestly. Boo hoo, poor me? Nah. Not a good look. So I focused on the positives instead.

A dramatic reconstruction
of a family member giving me edits.

First of all, I've have the time to get a lot more feedback, pre-publication. As well as volunteers from my immediate family, I've had two sisters-in-law read it. They're from different regions of the country, and spotted phrasings and conceptual assumptions that my siblings and parents hadn't thought twice about. I've also been able to get some children to read the pre-publication draft. This feels hugely important. If it's aimed at 8+, it's all very well my adult family members liking it, but they're really not the demographic I'm aiming for. Having more time has meant I can fit in more editing. Never a bad thing.

I now have time to whip everyone
 into this level of hysteria and anticipation.

Secondly, in missing the Christmas build up, I can plan a longer period of 'ramping up excitement'. I think that's the technical term. Experts seem to suggest a six-month window of pre-publication promotion is necessary. With my first book it was six weeks. With my next it will be nearer the advised time. I'm now aiming for the end of February/start of March. It's not ideal in terms of the genre schedule, but it gives me lots of time to waffle on and spread the word. I'll be able to promote the date it's available, urge pre-orders, promote it via the various websites I'm part of, and drop adverts at regular intervals in the build up. In theory, I should have been doing that since the Summer, if I was truly going to be effective at an October publication. So maybe it's all worked out for the best. Now I can do this thing properly.

I'm a chapter in, but so
 far, it's a keeper. DID
YOU SPOT MY JOKE??

What I do know, is that with every book I learn more about how things are done. And I am sure I've only scratched the surface. In the meantime, I can keep busy with reading some of the books I bought that DID come out on October 4th. I've got Graham Norton's A Keeper, John Niven's Kill 'Em All, and Liane Moriarty's Nine Perfect Strangers. I'd have NO time to be smugly downing champagne if I'd been published alongside them. There's far too much to read!

Have a lovely week, folks.

Creative Juices and Last Night's Pasta...

It's ten past nine in the morning. I got out of bed thirty minutes ago, and I'm sitting in my kitchen. I'm wearing the pyjamas I slept in, and I can see remnants of last night's tea dried on the leg. I'll be spending the next six hours in here. Me and my laptop, with regular cups of tea. By this afternoon, I'll have done writing, editing, and preparation for the book that is due soon. I'll also have looked into space a lot, done the Guardian crossword, and forced myself away from Twitter at regular intervals. Then I'll get round to sorting some basic personal hygiene. 

Sorry. No gratuitous 
pasta sauce shot here.

Is this what writing is to other people? Is this scene - stained pyjama trousers and all - replicated in kitchens around the world, as short stories, novels, scripts and academic papers are created? Perhaps. I don't think I've outlined a unique scenario. Everyone has their routine but I don't think mine is massively at odds with those that consider themselves writers. Sometimes I vary my day, and get myself washed and dressed first thing (controversial) before taking myself off to Costa. But that's only when I know I'm going to be disturbed at home. Most of the time, this is as good as it gets. 

Sometimes I think the media has led us to believe it's different. When writers are depicted in TV and film, they are not usually shown wearing pyjamas. They've also had a wash. When they do appear dishevelled and messy, it's in a creative, artistic way. It's not in a pasta-sauce-on-their-thigh way. So, let's take a look at the depiction of writers and authors in the media. They are dotted about, wherever you look. What can we learn from these fictional characters? Is there a consistent writer 'look' that can be deemed as standard? And can they inspire me to clean up my act? Without further ado, let's examine the evidence.

Carrie Bradshaw - Sex and the City
If Sex and the City is to be taken as gospel, I'm really missing out on the quirky designer clothes, boozy lunches and EXCESSIVE SEX that Carrie and chums told us was standard for a writer. Maybe it's only columnists that get to sprawl on a bed in casual yet chic leisure wear, typing a sentence or two, whilst romping around New York being sassily (and financially) carefree. Maybe that's where I'm going wrong. I'll get on to the local paper immediately.

PL Travers - Saving Mr. Banks
This is more like it. Repressed, uptight and snippy. I can do that. Emma Thompson's portrayal of the author of Mary Poppins is a work of art. It's difficult to dislike her as the story unfolds, despite the fact that she's awkward and obstructive in the creation of Disney's film of the same name. Unfortunately, it's hard to glean writing wisdom from Saving Mr. Banks as it takes place long after Travers' books have been written. Instead, it provides the blue print on how to behave when a major movie studio is adapting your novel. So when Dreamworks get in touch about Carry the Beautiful, I'll know exactly what to do. 

Kevin Dolenz - St. Elmo's Fire
Ahhh, Andrew McCarthy. Ahhh St. Elmo's Fire. My favourite Brat Packer in my favourite Brat Pack movie. It doesn't get any better. McCarthy plays Kevin, a writer for a newspaper. He is young, gloomy yet idealistic, and frustrated in his attempts to be the next great American novelist. His post-college angst at having to suck it up and be an adult now, is either endearing or self-indulgent, depending on your stance. But he smokes a lot, drinks a lot and feels generally miserable because he fancies his mate's girlfriend. As for life lessons, I think I'm too old to get much from him. I do like a wine or seven of a weekend, but I CBA with existential angst and pining after Ally Sheedy. I've too much on.

Jesse - Before Sunset
Ethan Hawke's character in the Before Trilogy, is the perfect study of how life choices shape us as we age. In the first film, Before Sunrise, he spends an unexpected day (and night) with Celine, a woman he meets on a train. In the second film - Before Sunset - he's in Paris on a book tour, promoting the book he wrote about that encounter, nine years before. So, we are led to believe that in those nine years, Jesse has pondered and processed his night of top bantz with Celine, completed a first draft, edited, rewritten and shaped a final manuscript, found an agent, got a publisher, sold some copies, then - and this is where I'm struggling to buy it - sold enough copies from one book that an international book tour is planned and he is whisked off to Paris to read and sign in a cute little bookshop. Whaaa? Obviously, this is all so he can bump into Celine again, so I get that it's a plot necessity. But still, I struggle with it - and make no mistake, I think the Before Trilogy is PERFECT. As for lessons to take from it, I'm into the seventh year of my writing career. I've got one book out there, and another one on the way. PARIS, I AM READY WHEN YOU ARE.

Paul Sheldon - Misery
Disclaimer: I've never seen Misery all the way through. Mainly because creepy, scary stuff isn't for me, and the bits I've seen were OH so creepy. But I've got the gist. Kathy Bates' Annie is an obsessed fan/serial killer who holds captive James Caan's Paul, becoming more violent and torturous after disagreeing with the ending of his new novel. My only experience of this is when my next door neighbour took me to task for a major plot twist (THE major plot twist) in Carry the Beautiful. She was incensed with what happened to one of the characters. Unlike Annie, however, she did not lock me in a room, get me addicted to pain medication and cut off my body parts. At least she hasn't yet. Instead we had a conversation at her Dad's birthday party, where she laughingly berated me for making the stuff that happened, happen, and where I explained that I was convinced the book had a happy ending even if it was ambiguous. And then we did a barn dance. (That was the nature of the birthday party, not just me and my neighbour being random.)

Liz Lemon - 30 Rock
Now THIS is what we're talking about. Liz Lemon: a fictional head writer of a fictional writers' room of a fictional late night comedy programme. Still following? Excellent. On we go. Liz Lemon is one of the few fictional writers who show the distinct lack of glamour when writing as a job. She would definitely have yesterday's pasta sauce on her leg. She'd have last week's. The satisfying thing about Liz Lemon is that Tina Fey - the actress who portrays her - is more than qualified in depicting the real life world of a writer. What with her being a real life writer herself, creating the show that Liz Lemon appears in, and having Head Writer of SNL on her CV. If we're going to look for reliable examples of a writer's life, I think this one has chops. Take away the confines of a the 23 minute sitcom structure, and the portrayal of Lemon is hugely realistic. She's always on a deadline, always tired, she eats junk, and she doesn't have time to switch off and forget work. This is exactly it. Plus, she spills.

Jessica Fletcher  - Murder She Wrote
No roundup of fictional writers would be complete without Jessica Fletcher making an appearance. That woman is the BOSS. She sits at her kitchen table, types away on her type writer (later series show her move to a computer) and regularly drops phrases into the convo like 'I must get these changes to my editor'. Jessica Fletcher's backstory is that she started writing after the death of her husband. It's a nice set up. It means that - atypically for a sixty-something female TV character in 1984 - she is shown to have purpose, an income, and a brain. It makes perfect sense for her to use her down time to obsess about the weird death at the lumber yard. I have no idea if there was a weird death at the lumber yard, but it sounds like the kind of thing that Murder She Wrote would have. In terms of nuggets of knowledge, I'm not sure I can glean much more than general inspiration. I love that as older role models go, Angela Lansbury's Fletcher is not unattainably glamourous, but nor is she frumpy and miserable. She's loving life, cycling around Cabot Cove, and writing her arse off - over thirty books in twelve years! She's churning them out. How she finds the time to cook suppers for Seth and humour Amos Tupper quite as politely as she does, is anyone's guess. A true writing legend.

So there we have it. Who did I miss? What other fictional writers are inspiring us on a daily basis? Is anyone else reading this in their Dolmio-ed PJs? As for me, I'm clearly not solving enough crimes, being riddled with twenty-something angst, or rekindling nine-year old sparks from a catch-up with my soul mate. With none of that going on, I should be much better at keeping on top of my hygiene levels. 

Have a lovely week, folks.