Tag Archives: poetry

Celebrating zero

Zero salesI’m celebrating zero this week. I’ve just finished the process of publishing my first ebook (Trojan Moments: Experiences that Ambush). It has zero sales (sounds like a weird thing to celebrate, but I will explain) and zero costs (obvious win there). It’s a poetry collection, so there was never much expectation that it would be big, but celebrating zero? Come on, that’s pathetic.

Why I’m celebrating zero sales

Like a lot of people, I procrastinate, I get depressed, I work a day job. Life happens, and the months and years really roll by. Sometimes I doubt my creativity and I don’t always finish my projects. I’ve been wanting to get this book out in this format since 25 May 2006.

Yeah, you read right, more than ten years. It was first published that Thursday in paperback (a whole other story). In the decade since then I’ve fought a lot of demons and ghosts, but the desire to finish that job wouldn’t die. So yes, I’m embarrassed that it took twelve years, five months, and five days to put a tick in the box but here’s the thing, I did do it. You only get a sales dashboard when you have something to sell, something finished and listed, ready to download.

That’s what that big chunky zero means to me – success. A milestone that haunted and mocked me for over a decade is finally tamed. It sounds so easy, it is such a short sentence ‘publish an ebook’. Three little words, and I’d already written the book!

What it takes to get to zero

You might be curious about what it takes to fulfil that three-word task. Here are some of the tasks it involved:

  • Edit and revise the existing text
  • Create new content (reading group material and a quirky summary of the inspiration)
  • Reformat the revised text in MS Word and then in Scrivener and then in Word and then in Scrivener until I finally had it right
  • Redo the cover, make new covers, test out covers, get contradictory feedback, nearly toss the whole thing out because the cover issue was so painful, remembered this is a hobby and meant to be fun, went back to the original design and moved on with my life.
  • Research the current ebook market and decide on a marketing strategy for the book (quite a similar emotional process to that outlined for the cover)
  • With the strategy “nailed down” (ha!) I researched options for publishing, including evaluating the costs, time and services available and if it would be possible for me to DIY (and how long that might take me)
  • Because I decided to “go wide” (ie publish on more than Kindle Select) I chose an aggregator that would take a single file and publish it to multiple platforms on my behalf. They take a cut of my royalties for this.

*whew*

The file formatted, I went ahead and clicked on that little grey ‘submit’ button. And … nothing happened. Two days later I got an email saying the file was rejected. I fixed that one metadata field and reloaded, resubmit. This time, happy little green notifications started popping up within an hour and it was underway. It took a full week to appear on Amazon (and with the wrong price!) but finally, after years and a learning curve like The Wall, I was here, celebrating zero. Happy dance ensued.

A zero full of potential

Celebrating that zero makes perfect sense when you know a bit of the story to getting there. It is a private pleasure. To the rest of the world it is “so what?” but to any indie published author that first book is a stack of achievements and the zero symbolises accomplishment and a transition into the next level.

Just as with the zero card in tarot (usually The Fool) it heralds the inception of a new beginning. With this act of stepping off my known path and into the unknown future there is potential for the rest of my dreams to begin to come to life too. The nature of the moment is ephemeral. In another week or month that zero may begin to feel like a judgement. One hopes it doesn’t outstay it’s welcome. All it will take to turn that zero into profit (the other key success measure in sales) is just one sale.

When zero turns to one

Everything changes when you can say “Yes I have made money selling my books.” I did that in 2006, hand-selling a poetry book (bless every one of you and thank you) and I will do it again this year.

Want to know my secret? Realistic expectations and zero costs.

Poetry is not hugely popular (unless you’re lovelorn on Instagram) and up until recently few people would admit to it at all. Honestly, you’d think it was the ninth deadly vice or something, but I digress. Realistically, I knew it would be hard to sell copies.

I knew that I couldn’t count on high (or possibly even double-digit) sales in the first three months. But I did want this publication to break even quickly so it could hold it’s head high on my (eventual) backlist. Knowing that made it easy for me to select an approach and services that would keep my costs down.

In the end it cost me nothing to publish the ebook internationally (Here are my costs – pdf ). I’ve listed it at $0.99 and at that price I need to make one sale to make a profit. One sale. Sure, the profit is as low as 29c but hey, the numbers don’t lie and that is cold hard digits into my PayPal account (90 days later). Boom.

Not everyone can love a zero

It takes an author to be excited at the prospect of making 29c but that’s how this game plays for little fish like me. There are shoals of sharks ready to tear thousands of dollars out of you if you don’t know how to navigate these waters. You may not believe it, but publishing is a ruthless industry. It isn’t all cups of tea, overdue library notices and polite book clubs. I hope you’ve enjoyed this foray into some of what it took to publish this book and can join me in celebrating zero.

Why not splash out and buy a copy? Trojan Moments is on sale at the celebratory price of 99c in your favourite ebook store during October 2018.  But you know, totally cool if you’re not into it.

Related posts:

  1. Trojan Moments poetry ebook launch Today my first book of poetry Trojan Moments starts popping up in ebook stores. This is a huge milestone for me and to celebrate I’m...
  2. Desire’s dark side Lustful affairs bring consequences. The lovechild of the compulsion to consume is the unwanted bastard offspring Debt. Oh Debt. We are not shy about conceiving you. Australians...
  3. Halftime is not halfway – Six writing lessons from Nanowrimo It is November 15 which means I should be halfway through drafting a novel, and I am, so the world is a shiny, happy place...
  4. We are all in this together There is a team of people who help make these essays happen and it is probably the same for you too, that what you make...

Trojan Moments poetry ebook launch

October launch of Trojan Moments - special deal subscribe before 10 October for a free copy or purchse for only $1 in October.Today my first book of poetry Trojan Moments starts popping up in ebook stores. This is a huge milestone for me and to celebrate I’m making the ebook free for ten days. Yes. You read that right. Don’t need to know any more? Jump to the bottom of the post and subscribe – you’re welcome.

Ebook launch -WOOT!

As far as launches go, this is very low-key, low-budget and low profile. Above all the launch is a celebration about sharing this book. Writers want nothing more than readers (and reviews)! I am giving Trojan Moments away for free for the first ten days of October. Just sign-up for my newsletter (at the bottom of this post) and – whoosh – the interwebs delivers you your own copy. Of course I’d be delighted if you decided to buy a copy – on sale for $1 during all of October 2018 (in November it will revert to the normal price of $4.99). That’s all I’ve got. No wine and cheese (sorry) and no promotional bookmarks. Just the book. Out. Shipped.

Why the what?
(Warning: old person type reminiscence) We live in an amazing age. In another decade, when I first published this book (2006), I had to pay for boxes of physical copies (some of them are still under my desk as I write this). I did hold a launch (with wine and cheese! With promotional bookmarks!) and while it was an exciting day, today feels a bit bigger because my little book is available for sale in the biggest stores in the world, not just in those three physical stores in Sydney (bless them). Plus, I will not stub my toe on unsold copies *ever*again*. That’s something to celebrate too!

Trojan Moments: Experiences that Ambush (poetry)

Poetry is experiencing a renaissance at the moment. “And about time.” Thanks partly to the ubiquity of ebooks, the explosion of smartphones and somehow, Instagram. Huh? Whatever the reason, it must be good for the world* to have more people reading and enjoying poetry. It has been good for me too, to read and enjoy the poetry proliferating. I love it. There’s a freedom to it. Just the inspiration I needed to, to revisit Trojan Moments and put some love into my own contribution.
* Biased opinion, obvs.

From the preface

Right up it’s important to say that these poems aren’t about Troy. It’s just that “Troy” marinated me through to my heart and soaked out of my eyes. It is a monumental story, one shifting from history into myth. Troy. Troy, the most powerful city, secure through a ten year siege.

So these poems are about life. They’re about living along feeling secure or confident and being sideswiped by a terrible or brilliant realisation. It is when those fleeting sensations of clarity force cracks into the walls and suddenly it’s clear that all has changed. Cling all you like to the past, it leaves without you. Those times when love (or lust) sneak up and interrupts a meeting, when joy wanders into an afternoon walk, when the need to tell the truth breaks into a safe agreement… all these ambushes are the core of being alive.

Sitting at the wall

When I went on the trip to Turkey in 2000 (where I took the photo used for the cover) I remember sitting with my back leaning on an old olive tree, wondering what life might have been like for the people who lived there all that time ago. Imagine, the water of the Mediterranean (middle of the earth) lapping close by and while none of the technologies would be the same, heartbreak and hope would be very familiar. The tiredness after a long day, the lure of the horizon, the thrumming of passion all those emotions and more, we share. It was deeply inspiring.

Free launch copy

That’s just part of what went into this book. It was a long time brewing, but now it is ready to share and enjoy. Please get a copy with my compliments during this happy time by simply signing up to my newsletter (by 10 October 2018). The form is just below for you.

So thank you for being part of my journey, and by reading, including me in yours. And if you’ve already read the book and liked it, firstly, you’re a legend and secondly, I’d be really chuffed if you went to your favourite online bookstore and gave it a review. Cheers!

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required


Email Format


Related posts:

  1. Get uncomfortable Sometimes, when things aren’t working, the best thing to do is to get uncomfortable. Start again, this time outside of your existing comfort zone. Let...
  2. We are all in this together There is a team of people who help make these essays happen and it is probably the same for you too, that what you make...
  3. Itchy feet There’s a meme going around along the lines of “imagine living a life you don’t need a holiday from”. That’s an idea with a lot...
  4. Tiny stitches Have you heard that phrase – “a stitch in time saves nine”? It is one of those useful proverbs reminding us to take a little...

I love and hate a sunburnt country

Dorothea MacKellarI have been lucky enough to travel to the other side of the world and visit the ‘home country’ (as it was still being called when I was little). I’d always aspired to this cultural ‘homecoming’  in an unconscious way due to a steady childhood diet of English culture, books, stories, myths, music and television. Badges, foxes and the Queen imbued the world that was valued, but not the world that I inhabited. The world I lived in had bushfires, snakes and Christmas in summers so hot you could burst your skin if you got badly sunburnt. It was confusing.
So I went to England to see the Queen, her Tower, and the Thames. I went to Bath and Stonehenge too as well as Stratford on Avon. It was gorgeous and charming. Every day I was excited to see visit and touch another sacred idea of home. The more I saw, the more I wanted to consume. Tintagel, Cornwall, the Lakes District, Portsmouth, Sussex, Sherwood Forrest all the places and names and stories, I wanted to bring them all to life inside of me, and yet … I was homesick.

I didn’t understand the food, the humour, even the greetings. Oak trees were a revelation to me, but the colours all looked too bright and even soft. It was only in England that I began to truly understand what it is to be Australian, to yearn for a big sky. As is so often the case, a writer had been there before me, and put my feelings so well into their own words.

The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes.
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins,
Strong love of grey-blue distance
Brown streams and soft dim skies
I know but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.

Those are the words of Dorothea Mackellar OBE, the opening stanza of her famous poem. Like me, she was a third generation Australian, grown up with stories of the “home countries” and indeed she wrote this poem while visiting England and feeling homesick (source).

I didn’t know this stanza at the time, but I have often reflected on it since. There are in fact six stunning stanzas to this beautiful poem, which it is not currently in vogue to love, as I unashamedly do. But I also hate it, as I sometimes hate the way our country is so very hard to live with. I’m watching the footage on the television of the State of Victoria burning, and I’m feeling terror flood my body. I can hear the popping of the oils in the gums and smell the heavy smoke rushing ahead of the roaring fire front. I feel for the people fleeing their houses, with pets and livestock if they have the time, treasured photos and documents, or just their lives if the wind makes an unexpected push. Next week it could be our neighbours, or Queensland. People wonder at our humour when the farmers of the west can say, “Not much here to burn since the four years of drought.”

I can’t laugh. Grief overtakes me. Floods may come soon after, or the rains may not come for years yet, as El Nino grows in strength here and sends La Nina to Argentina.

Sometimes I hear city people say “Why do they live there if they know it is a bushfire zone?” and it is a reasonable question for all those millions of Australians who’ve always lived in suburbs or the cities. But not for those who love those ‘far horizons’ that you get in the bush. If you’ve lived in the country, then the odds are that the country lives on in you. We’ve made these nests of humans along the coasts where cyclones and storms might be the seasonal threats and when they pass through the locals shrug and say “It is just part of life, part of living here.” They would never leave either. They love the ‘jewel-sea’. Why does this love hurt? It is love, we all chose to stay – far though we may roam.

Sunburnt and happy

Australians like to travel, we all have stories to flesh out and names to bring to life in the far distant lands. We are the long-haul hard-core travellers. It is long hours to even our nearest neighbours. Nearly all of us come back here, gratefully, to this place with the contradictions that form us and the skies we miss and the beaches for endless holidays. We boast of our sunburn and deadly animals, much as we work hard to avoid them all at any cost. Sometimes I think the bush ballads are too honest now for our desire to be sophisticated and urbane. I am torn between the unendurable summers and their suffering and the longing I have when I’m gone. I envy Dorothea the clarity of her vision, and the resilience of her spirit in facing a lifetime without air-conditioning!

I’m a long way from resolving my passionate confusion over this country and even my relationship with this poem. I will grieve for our brothers and sisters in Victoria who face such hardship this week, and support them when the times comes to rebuild as we all know and trust that we will do for each other here. Because one thing is always true in Australia, this is not a land tamed by humans, it is not domesticated. Slowly, every generation, it seeps into our souls ever further and we are trained to live with it, we are the ones who must learn her long and secret ways. We are stubborn, but she is eternal. I may well spend many years trying to hear that gum-soft whisperof her love. For now we shall leave the last words to Dorothea (listen to her recite the poem).

An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land –
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand –
Though earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.
Image source.

Related posts:

  1. Celebrating Summer Solstice This weekend is solstice time. For us in the southern hemisphere it is midsummer. The solstice is an astronomical fact, an outcome of the tilt...
  2. Inky Water Inky water gives no ripple as we enter, no need to sink, it is all deep. Here fears show their own faces Breathe despite your...
  3. Ask and accept Our culture venerates heroes. The cult of the individual, of the “self-made man” and “supermom” those who seem to have endless amounts of time and...
  4. Ten years living with ulcerative colitis The sun rose in the east, arced through the sky and set again to the west. The tides of the moon and the wheel of...

The moon follows you home

bloodmoonThe moon follows you home.

It is a dream and you know it is.

You walk with your beloved through a market and fall into a deep, warm pool of water.

Everything you’d been holding was dropped. All that money.

Everything you’d been wearing was washed away. All that jewellery.

Everything you thought dissolved. All those stories of right and wrong.

It is a dream and you know it is.

Someone pulls you out and they love you – even though you don’t recognise them.

It is your beloved. It is another you. The first and final you.

The moon followed you home.

You’re naked and proud, standing tall in shivering skin. Blazing your innocence in the crowded market place.

The you who waited while you were lost, who waited while you sank and then pulled you out, tenderly wraps your new body in a soft blanket.

It is a dream and you know it is.

But the moon had followed you home and you’re consecrated now.

Love always, you’ll never regret it.

The moon follows you home.

It is never just a dream.

Related posts:

  1. Inky Water Inky water gives no ripple as we enter, no need to sink, it is all deep. Here fears show their own faces Breathe despite your...
  2. A spiritual tool for personal growth We’re on the third part of our exploration of the quincunx (here is part one and part two) as a spiritual tool for personal growth. Of...
  3. Ask and accept Our culture venerates heroes. The cult of the individual, of the “self-made man” and “supermom” those who seem to have endless amounts of time and...
  4. Let’s all win lotto I’m just going to put this out there into the universe. I want things to change. I want to be that happy person that smiles...

The Gatsby Sutra

2015-04-03 3[Translation of lectures held over this last week by Zen master Gatsby.]

All life is ancient in origin, all origin is in life. The master of life remembers the origin, source.

Eat when hungry, nap in the breaks, love always.

Respect follows on from compassion. Each has a place. All beings have meaning. Be grateful.

You cannot fail at being you. Release your fear, memories of years past, judgement. Be here now.

Yours is the heart beating meaning into each.moment.

Generosity with tummy rubs brings transcendence within reach.

Take action when action is needed. Listen carefully to the songs that seep in from behind life’s blinds.

All life is a circle that spirals over time.

Drink fresh water and be kind to others.

Change my litter tray*

[* this turned out to be a command rather than the final sutra, but Master Gatsby requested that it remain in place.]

Related posts:

  1. Ask and accept Our culture venerates heroes. The cult of the individual, of the “self-made man” and “supermom” those who seem to have endless amounts of time and...
  2. Be happier Don’t wait to celebrate. It is a long way between birthdays and promotions through the year, those special events often slip by us anyway. Birthdays...
  3. Shit happens You're stuck in a situation where the choices are all bad, where there's no glib 'out of the box' solution, where you can't sweet-talk or...
  4. Relighting your candle Do you feel that your flame is flickering?  This week we’ll take a look at relighting your candle. Here are five simple things you can...

Inky Water

dolphins at night

Inky water gives no ripple as we enter,
no need to sink, it is all deep.
Here fears show their own faces
Breathe despite your worry you cannot drown.

This is you, stripped of illusions,
revealed in the shadow’s world.
This is your eternal womb, your own mystery.

Come, join me in the search.
Break the satin surface of this blood-hot reservoir.
There are no tourists here,
we are all seeking the fullness of union.

No light from the other side penetrate.
You must make friends with echoes,
be guided by reflections
Embrace private riddles, brambles and thorns.
Sway in generous currents of eternal grace and beauty.

This juicy place is the source.
We are molten and reformed to wake anew.

 

Image source.

Related posts:

  1. Tears’ fragile path to freedom There’s a common assumption that freedom equals happiness in a simplified “we all lived happily ever after” kindof way. Just in case you’re not sure, that...
  2. Eclipse gravity The reason it is valuable to share this is because you and I can both look at the facts of the natural world and see...
  3. Ask and accept Our culture venerates heroes. The cult of the individual, of the “self-made man” and “supermom” those who seem to have endless amounts of time and...
  4. Ten years living with ulcerative colitis The sun rose in the east, arced through the sky and set again to the west. The tides of the moon and the wheel of...

Sometimes a stumble

Our brave face outward.
Fierce, focussed on horizons and plans of epic proportions,
ready to stride forward, forging success.

Oh but even you are human,
perhaps you stumble. Can you forgive
the foot, the stone, the day?

Pause in the eternal moment here,
between the trip and the echo,
where you explode and reform.
Are you ego, emotion or empathy?

Sometimes a stumble is the biggest challenge of all.

Related posts:

  1. Poetry on Twitter is Tweetery Twitter’s hard limit on characters is a temptation too delicious to ignore. What a marvellous space to evoke a mood or relationship in. I’m surprised...
  2. Inky Water Inky water gives no ripple as we enter, no need to sink, it is all deep. Here fears show their own faces Breathe despite your...
  3. The Gatsby Sutra [Translation of lectures held over this last week by Zen master Gatsby.] All life is ancient in origin, all origin is in life. The master...
  4. The moon follows you home The moon follows you home. It is a dream and you know it is. You walk with your beloved through a market and fall into...

Poetry on Twitter is Tweetery

Tweetery

Twitter’s hard limit on characters is a temptation too delicious to ignore.
What a marvellous space to evoke a mood or relationship in.
I’m surprised it isn’t more of a popular pursuit to craft poetry inside Twitter.

Tweetery
To me (and of course to many others) it is our digital age’s haiku. A widely accessible and understood form that is shared, public and ephemeral. I think of it as Tweetry, “poetry in tweets”. I saw that it is called micropoetry. Really? No poet came up with that name, I can assure you. Twihaiku too, but too direct a link to haiku I think (and it sounds like something rude that is being used as code behind your back). No thanks. I like my perhaps daggy Tweetery, and I know I’m late to the party too, but that’s how I roll.
I’m the slow anything movement.

I dabble. I’m experimenting. It is a little pleasure. I know I’m not great at it, but sometimes, gee sometimes that single little tweet reminds me of my own love and puts a tiny little poetry back into my step and that can be enough.

Here is my January 2014 tweetery for your non-Twitter based pleasure (I’m @orbitaltorch).

Jan 5
Your night sky softly waits for a cool calm to return.
Bring the fire of your heart for a torch.

Jan 18
Tin roof cooling in the night, tick ticking against crickets singing, My heart calling too All calling Into the dark

Jan 21
Master sets a test.
I take it every day
pencil scratching, heart pounding.
Do I pass!?
He won’t say, just
“Start again, stop trying”.

Jan 26
Imagine there’s room in you for all hopes, all courage, all loves.
Imagine that potential is in you now.
That is your heart.

So there you are.
I’m still learning, always anyway, and about line breaks.
Do you like it? Let me know what you think.

Related posts:

  1. Sometimes a stumble Our brave face outward. Fierce, focussed on horizons and plans of epic proportions, ready to stride forward, forging success. Oh but even you are human, perhaps...