I have 3 favorite books. They are all different genres, cater to different age groups, and I’ve read each one at least 5 times ( one waaaaaaay more than that- you’ll see why in a minute.) I tend to reread them because they are such central, integral parts of the themes of my life and of what I write about.
As a child, I read The Little Engine That Could probably close to 500 times. When my daughter was born I read it to her an equal number. This is truly -in my humble opinion- the best book EVER about self actualization. Whenever I think I can’t do something in life, whether it be get a book published, or learn a new tech savvy maneuver, I remember that little train, the mountainside, and the end result of his journey, and I KNOW I can do whatever I put my mind to.
The Wizard of Oz was quite simply the perfect book for me to read as a child because I had the same wanderlust and wishes to find my heart’s desire Dorothy had. I never appreciated what I had, and I was frequently on the look out for something better. It was only when I was married with a child of my own did I realize the truth of this statement: there’s no place like home.
So, Gone With The Wind was the first complete romance novel I ever read – and I don’t think it was marketed as such when it was published. But it has everything a true romance reader loves: an amazingly strong, conflicted, beautiful heroine; a rakish, devilish and debonair hero who truly loves the girl; a sweeping cast of characters who live to show the H/H why they should be together, and a plot that continually pulls our main characters apart. Couple that with the heightened emotions of war, poverty and death and you have an historic epic of love and loss. Now, the H/H don’t end with their HEA, but like the last line says, while putting hope in the mind of the reader that they will, “Tomorrow is another day.”
So, each book has the same facets and themes that I love: a strong, central character; an internal need coupled with a struggle for acceptance; a journey or task that needs to be accomplished; a lesson ( or many) learned about self; and an ending where the main character is a better person(or in one case, a better engine!)
This past weekend my darling daughter helped me with a marketing and promotion plan for my current books and the ones being released soon. I will admit, my head was spinning when we were all said and done, but we got a great deal of work finalized and many things updated and changed.
One very vital question she asked me -among the hundreds she did – was “Who is your target audience? Who are you trying to reach to sell your books to?”
My first thought was “Romance readers,” but she quickly convinced me that was too broad an audience for what I write. And she’s correct. There are so many sub-genres of romance fiction that I know I don’t appeal to all of them. I don’t, for instance, write paranormal, werewolf sagas, erotica, or Y.A. I write contemporary romance stories about strong women. Most of the ages of my heroines fall between the 23 and 45 year old age group. I try to write heartfelt, funny, and emotionally wrenching stories that lead to the ultimate H.E.A. that every person wants and desires.
Her response to that was, “That’s your target audience.”
I swear, the best gift God ever blessed me with was this child.
Yesterday, my lovely daughter spent over 5 hours with me developing a marketing plan for my new career and in helping me clean up all my social media sites to make them ( her words): cohesive and consistent.
I am so not cohesive and consistent…in any part of my life!
This wonderful young woman has more knowledge in her left pinky finger about marketing and computers than I will ever be able to retain. And she still has more “stuff” to do today to help me be the best writer/self promotor I can. Seriously, I can’t wait to learn what she teachers me today.
I come to this new career a little later in life than the norm. Okay…WAY later… and there is an entire field and world of things I never dreamed I needed to do to promote myself and my work. I can’t be the only one in my age group who feels this way, at least I hope I’m not. I truly think when kids are born these days they have all this techno know-how wired into their DNA. And as far as the marketing, my daughter throws words and phrases like “SEO” and “Pinpoint Target base” around like I know what they mean. I didn’t, but NOW I do, thanks to her!
She forced me – really forced me- to think of a new brand for my writing. In her words, she felt “Writing about families and everlasting love” was too generic and sounded like a Disney movie. Ego deflation, much? Here’s the new one:
Peggy Jaeger writes about strong women, the families who support them, and the men who can’t live without them.
Yeah, I know. Genius in a sentence.
Take a look at my new Twitter feed @peggy_jaeger and click around this site for all the improvements she helped with. More updates and changes are to follow today.
I thank God everyday he gave me the child of my heart and dreams. And I am so happy she is the woman she is…although she will always be my baby.
A while back I wrote a blog about the pressure of getting the first lines in a novel as good as you possibly can. You want them to be perfect, to engage the reader, to encourage people to buy your book if they are casually thumbing through it in a bookstore. First lines are imperative in selling that book.
But it’s been said by everyone I know in publishing that the last line of your book is equally as important because that last line sells the next book. It makes the reader want to read more of what you’ve written.
True? I’m a little skeptical. Here’s why.
These are some last lines in novels that have been arbitrarily voted THE BEST LAST LINES in literature according to 10 sites I Googled.
“Tomorrow, I’ll think of some way to get him back. After all, tomorrow is another day.” Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell.
“He loved Big Brother.” 1984, by George Orwell
“Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger
“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.” A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
“A good man is hard to find.” The Complete Stories, Flannery O’Connor
“I’m so glad to be home again.” The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum
The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which. Animal Farm, by George Orwell
It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both. Charlotte’s Web, by E.B. White
The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, by J.K. Rowling
Now, I could have listed a bunch more, but time – and my knowledge of the books – prevented me.
So, for these nine, I’ve read them all. It’s comical to me how George Orwell is listed twice for two books I absolutely hated. The only reason I read them was because it was required in high school lit. I would never have read another of his after the first one if it hadn’t been required; these two last line examples perfect reasons for that.
Now, breaking these down. There’s one romance (although I know it wasn’t called that when it was written, but in my mind, GWTW is the ultimate Civil War romance), three books aimed at children and teens, two sci-fi’s and two literary classics.
Two adult authors for whom I would have bought another book are Margaret Mitchell and L. Frank Baum.
Everyone who knows me knows I lovelovelove Gone With the Wind – movie and book, and The Wizard of Oz – movie and book. I can quote pages of dialogue and exposition for both. And based on the last lines of both books above, I would have run out and bought the next thing each author wrote.
But the others? Not so much.
I did read all the Harry Potters. They were fabulous, but the last lines of the book had nothing to do with wanting to read the rest of the series. I wanted to know what happened to Harry. The line above tells it all and when that book was published, I was done. I haven’t read anything else by Rowling, including anything written under her new pen name Robert Galbraith.
Dickens, although being a master writer, is just too much for me. Now, I happened to like A Tale of Two Cities – the story line, not the execution of it (too verbose!), but I wouldn’t have read something else based on the last lines in the work. If I read anything, it would have been because I liked the story or the way in which it was told.
Now, E.B. White I have read as a child and as an adult and have enjoyed. Charlotte’s Web was my first introduction, and I actually love the last line of the book. Stuart Little, the Trumpet of the Swan, and even his work On Dogs, are all favorites of mine. They are well written, easy to read and interpret, tug at heartstrings and deliver their messages subtlety. You are not whacked over the head with their themes, but you can identify them readily.
I never did get Catcher in the Rye. I actually think – and don’t send me hate mail because of this – it’s just my feeling – the book is hard to get unless you’re a teenage boy. I never connected with the character and most of the plot seemed way too contrived. Has Salinger ever written anything else that came close to this book’s popularity? I don’t know. And believe me, I really don’t care, especially based on that last line.
So, how important is that last line, last sentence, last paragraph, for the reader to want to pick up something else you’ve written? I don’t know about other readers, but for me, it’s the whole story and how it’s told that really makes me want to shell out some cash for another work by the same person. If I’m disappointed in the nuts and bolts of the story, the last line could be the best line ever written and I still wouldn’t read something else by the same author.
I know manymanymany people are going to disagree with me about this and that’s fine. This is still America and we are allowed to– supposed to!- have differences of opinions. I personally just think the entire story is more important in my choosing another book by the same author, the last line be damned.
Today, Author Joanne Guidoccio is my guest. She has new book coming out this week that promises to be a winner! She’s also having a giveaway – read on down to the end for a RAFFLECOPTER chance at an Amazon gift card.
Joanne, I’m so excited to have you here today.
4 More Days!!
Peggy, thanks for participating in the countdown to A Season for Killing Blondes.
I consider protagonist Gilda Greco to be my literary twin. She’s approximately 70 percent of me and shares many of my interests. As non-athletes it took us a while to find a preferred physical activity, but once we discovered yoga, we were hooked.
In my case, it took over three decades of yoga trials…
March 1984
The blonde willow was out of her comfort zone.
As she removed a borrowed parka, four sizes too big for her perfectly toned size zero body, she sighed deeply and tossed her Farrah Fawcett curls. The California yogini was not impressed by winter in March and seven less-than-enthusiastic students in Sudbury, Ontario. She spoke eloquently about her personal journey, and then demonstrated her pretzel-like ability to contort her body in unimaginable poses.
Impressed and intimidated, we dreaded the short lesson that would follow.
She did not consider our beginner status. Instead, she continued with her favorite poses, and we struggled to follow.
Within minutes, I developed a tickle in my throat and started coughing uncontrollably. I quietly left the room and closed the door behind me. I had a drink of water, but my cough still persisted. I assumed the walls were soundproof, but I was wrong. I found out later that my loud and persistent bark was heard throughout the remainder of the short yoga session. When I re-entered the room, I received several looks of concern and pity. As for the blonde willow…she had transformed into a blonde oak.
Fast forward twenty years.
After sharing the usual advice about portion control, exercise and stress management, my oncologist urged me to take up yoga. Memories of the blonde willow/oak still lingered and I tried not to show my frustration. But my oncologist persisted and I agreed to give yoga another try.
I bought the clothes—sleek, black yoga pants from Roots and several Life is Good t-shirts—and signed up for a weekly yoga class with a very charming (and highly recommended) instructor. He gave each of us individual attention during the first class. At the beginning of the second class, he distributed business cards and chatted about his multiple sideline businesses. By the third class, the other students were writing checks for his wonder products. I was not impressed and did not return.
A few months later, I heard about a new yoga instructor who was offering classes in her own home. When I called, she assured me the course was geared for complete beginners with no previous experience. She sounded surprised when I asked if she had a sideline business and stressed that yoga was her main focus.
Reassured, I showed up and was pleased to see only two students in the room. Within a few minutes, an active and poorly trained Boston terrier joined the class. She eyed me with interest: I was the new girl, fresh meat. The dog spent a lot of time circling and sniffing me throughout the hour-long class. As for what happened during Downward Dog…I shall leave that to your imagination.
Three yoga trials. Three strikes. Yoga was out.
All that changed during the second summer after retirement.
I had just picked up Wayne Dyer’s latest book, Excuses Begone! and read the entire book in two sitting. I was drawn to his suggestion for practicing yoga and imagined myself having a conversation with the motivational guru.
“You must give it another try, Joanne. I’ve been practicing ninety minutes every day for the past four years and I’ve noticed a lot of positive changes. I got rid of all those aches and pains I inherited from three decades of running and tennis.”
“That’s wonderful, but I can’t see myself doing yoga every day. For one thing, I would have to take lessons. I don’t like following DVDs or books.”
“Take a few lessons. What’s the big deal?”
“I’ve tried that before.” I gave him a brief summary of my three yoga trials.
He shook his head. “You have to give yoga an honest thirty-day trial.”
“Thirty days!” I couldn’t imagine lasting that long. “Do you know how expensive that will be?”
He repeated, “Give yoga an honest thirty-day trial.” He added, with twinkle in his eye, “You’ll feel better and you may just stop making so many excuses.”He pointed to the cover of his book.
I was skeptical, but I had to admit he was right. I had not given yoga a fair trial, and I had a tendency to make excuses. I decided to wait until the fall and then investigate the different yoga studios in town.
A few days later, the following ad appeared in a local paper:
Unlimited Yoga during the months of July and August for $160
I imagined Wayne Dyer laughing and whispering, “The universe has spoken. No more excuses.”
I planned to attend three classes a week and see how I felt by the end of the summer.
I was hooked after the first week.
The classes were small and the instructors were able to work with me on an individual basis. I test-drove all the instructors and then zeroed in on my favourites: Amy, the social worker from Newfoundland who had completed her training in India; Claudia, the young mother who offered a structured class that appealed to my left brain tendencies; and Lisa, the quintessential (and kind) willow.
It was reassuring to discover that all my body parts were working and reporting faithfully for yoga duty. I felt myself growing healthier and stronger with each stretch, breath and positive thought. And I didn’t feel pressured or frustrated when I struggled with a pose. I kept repeating Lisa’s mantra: A yoga pose is a journey, not a destination.
I still have my personal challenges, but I am less reactive and more inclined to let things go. Instead, I gravitate toward that beautiful place where I can step out of time and leave all my concerns behind.
Namaste
A Season for Killing Blondes
Hours before the opening of her career counseling practice, Gilda Greco discovers the dead body of golden girl Carrie Ann Godfrey, neatly arranged in the dumpster outside her office. Gilda’s life and budding career are stalled as Detective Carlo Fantin, her former high school crush, conducts the investigation.
When three more dead blondes turn up all brutally strangled and deposited near Gilda’s favorite haunts, she is pegged as a prime suspect for the murders. Frustrated by Carlo’s chilly detective persona and the mean girl antics of Carrie Ann’s meddling relatives, Gilda decides to launch her own investigation. She discovers a gaggle of suspects, among them a yoga instructor in need of anger management training, a lecherous photographer, and fourteen ex-boyfriends.
As the puzzle pieces fall into place, shocking revelations emerge, forcing Gilda to confront the envy and deceit she has long overlooked.
In high school, Joanne dabbled in poetry, but it would be over three decades before she entertained the idea of writing as a career. She listened to her practical Italian side and earned degrees in mathematics and education. She experienced many fulfilling moments as she watched her students develop an appreciation (and sometimes, love) of mathematics. Later, she obtained a post-graduate diploma as a career development practitioner and put that skill set to use in the co-operative education classroom. She welcomed this opportunity to help her students experience personal growth and acquire career direction through their placements.
In 2008, she took advantage of early retirement and decided to launch a second career that would tap into her creative side and utilize her well-honed organizational skills. Slowly, a writing practice emerged. Her articles and book reviews were published in newspapers, magazines, and online. When she tried her hand at fiction, she made reinvention a recurring theme in her novels and short stories. A member of Sisters in Crime, Crime Writers of Canada, and Romance Writers of America, Joanne writes paranormal romance, cozy mysteries, and inspirational literature from her home base of Guelph, Ontario.
Where to find Joanne…
Website: http://joanneguidoccio.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/joanneguidoccio
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorjoanneguidoccio
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/joanneguidoccio
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/jguidoccio/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7277706.Joanne_Guidoccio
Most of you know I retired from my job of almost 20 years in April of this year to devote myself full-time to writing. I wanted to give you a little view into what my daily schedule now looks like. This is what I did on wednesday:
Wrote:
2 blog entires for my own website to be held in storage until needed
3 blog entries for sites I will be visiting soon
Edited:
final edits in a novella to be published next february
final edits in the third MacQuire Women series book, First Impressions, release date sometime later this year
final edits in current WIP ( writing work in progress)
Updated my website; continued Twitter marketing campaign for current book giveaway; answered “reader”emails, emailed my amazing Editor to discuss edits mentioned above.
Sent in two blog entries/release promos to websites I will be visiting this week and next
Registered for the New Jersey RWA chapter conference in October
This was all before 2 p.m., mind you – sometimes it pays to have chronic insomnia.
When my fingers got tired from typing, I did the stuff that needed to be done: grocery shopped, went to the bank, went to the recycling center to drop off, well, recyclables, went to Target, Michaels Craft store and Hallmark ( numerous graduations this month!) I did three loads of laundry, ironed, vacuumed and painted.
This is retirement?? I should go back to work, it was less exhausting!
I recently visited the Roses of Prose blog-site (http://bit.ly/1Rq2ph8) and talked about how Fall has been a big factor in my romance novels. It’s the season I love the most because of the beautiful changing patchworks of colors, the cool crispness in the air, and the notion the world is slowing down, getting ready to rest and hibernate for the winter months ( much like I do!) I love the symbolism of falling in love in the Fall. It just feels good to me. This got me thinking: what do the other seasons represent to writers?
Would the Legend of Sleepy Hollow been as good a read if it had taken place in the summer? I don’t think so. The symbolism of the darkening and shortening days, and the cold, harsh descriptions of the dying foliage add to the utter creepiness of the story of the Headless Horseman. It wouldn’t have the same effect on the reader if took place during an 85 degree day at the beach.
Does the children’s book How the Grinch Stole July 4th make any sense? No, it’s How The Grinch Stole Christmas, which takes place in the winter with it’s cold, frigid air – much the same as the Grinch’s tiny heart, and the joyous spirit of the season helping him to find his love and kindness again. It wouldn’t feel the same if the Whos were giving out firecrackers instead of Christmas gifts. That’s just wrong.
Think of other stories where a specific season was highlighted. Would the story have been as good or rewarding if the season had been switched? And in your own writing. Do you favor a season more than others? If so, why. What does that time of the year bring to your story that enhances it?
I’d really be interested in hearing responses to these questions,so please, feel free to comment and pass the link on to other you think might be interested.
Peggy Jaeger, Author 