My Open Letter to Barnes and Noble

Dear Barnes and Noble,

Why are you having trouble competing with Amazon?  Oh, let me count the ways.  But before I do, this is coming from the heart because I am a Nook User!  I love my Nook but you are making it so hard to continue.  So let's get started on the ways you are not competing.

1) Do you know what I get in my email, every day, from Amazon?  A Kindle Daily Deal. That's right.  Every Day.  To. My. Email.  A book for 0.99 to maybe 2.99, at the most.  Do you know what I get from Barnes and Noble?  An email that says Nook Deals $5 and under. But what is actually in the email?  The latest $12.99 releases!  Seriously?  Is it even remotely possible you aren't aware of this difference?

2) I am a self-published author.  Do you know how easy it is for me to share a link and a few words about my book on Amazon?  With one click.  That's right.  One click and I can share with Twitter, Facebook, or email.  Do you know how I have to share a B&N link?  I have to copy and paste with two different windows open.  Of course I advertise more on Amazon.  And, in case you are dismissing me because I am an indie author, just do the math.  Let's go with a conservative estimate of 10,000 authors selling one book a day at 0.99.  That's nearly 1.5 million dollars a year.  Chump change you say?  Your the ones complaining about losing money.  That's 1.5 million dollars of pure profit.  Just for making a couple of adjustments to your web page.  And, I really believe that is a conservative estimate.  I mean, I sell modestly, but still 3 to 1 Amazon to B&N.

3)  Message boards.  You don't have any message boards on your site, at least that I've noticed.  Do you think you are too high brow for message boards?  Have you been on Amazon?  Ever?  People like them.  We use them.  Get some!

Added 1/26
4) Oops - how could I forget that great Free list on Amazon?  Right there - side by side with the paid bestsellers.  Last time I checked B&N doesn't even have a Free list, let alone one that is with the paid bestsellers.  No you don't make money from the free books but readers come to your site, they try a free book, then come back and buy from that author.  How do you not get that?

I'm sorry to say B&N, but it feels like you are just barely trying to be in the e-book business.  Now you might be separating your Nook and B&N businesses!  Have you lost your minds?  The future is e-books.  Denying it doesn't make it less true.  So don't make me regret the $249 I spend last year on a Nook.  Don't force me to switch back to Kindle (not that I have anything against Kindle, I just don't want to lay out another $200).  Get in the game!!  Hire some people with foresight, with vision!  Stop fighting change.  It's coming and you will be left behind simply because you don't like it.  

Haunted - Flash Fiction

“...so I said why don't you just get a job!” Jodie laughed, her tightly pulled face forming a grimace instead of a smile.

Bob squeezed Mary's hand under the table as she took a another drink of wine. At this rate they would need another bottle for the main course.

“So, were you there when this homeless person asked for a handout?” Mary asked Tom, before taking another sip.

“Oh yeah. What is wrong with these people? Always looking for a handout! I mean, they're just lazy, or drug addicts. Right Bob?” Tom said, looking at Bob across the dinner table.

Bob just smiled, stuffing some salad in his mouth.

“Have you been to that new restaurant, Timer?” Mary said, trying to change the subject.

“No, but I've heard dreadful things...waiters with piercings and long hair, and the..what...what was that?” Jodie asked, looking over Mary's shoulder.

“What?” Mary said, turning to look behind her.

“That glass...on the counter, it just...just moved.”

“Oh Jodie, stop it,” Tom said to his wife. “Ever since she started watching Ghost Hunters she sees things everywhere. That show terrifies her, but she never misses an episode.”

“I saw that glass move!”

“Jodie-”

“You mean,” Mary said, looking at her husband, “Tom didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Jodie said.

Mary leaned in and whispered, “This house is haunted.”

“What!” Jodie gasped, dropping her fork onto her plate.

“Mary, don't,” Bob said.

“I can't believe you didn't tell them,” Mary said.

Ignoring Bob, she turned to Jodie and Tom, “There was a family that lived here thirty years ago. A woman with two children. Her ex was a violent con man and he'd been in jail for a year. But, he had hidden some money in this house and when he got out, he wanted it back. She, of course, didn't believe him and wouldn't let him. Well, he just went crazy! Smashed in the window, killed her and the kids.” Mary paused. “You really never heard about this?”

Tom and Jodie shook their heads.

“Anyway, they say their ghosts still haunt this place, seeking vengeance for their deaths.” Mary leaned back, taking another sip from her glass. “It's all nonsense, of course. Ghosts and what not. Ridiculous!”

“That's not what you said the other night.”

“Oh Bob! They don't care about that stuff!”

“What? What stuff? Tell me!” Jodie demanded.

“It's silly...but...” Mary glanced around the room as if making sure it was really empty before returning her gaze to Jodie. “A noise woke me, in the middle of the night. It was coming from the hallway bathroom.”

“The one here, that I just used?” Jodie whispered.

“Yes. I thought it was the faucet dripping, or maybe the toilet running, so I went down to check. But when I turned on the light, the noise stopped.”

“That's it?” Tom laughed, his protruding belly bumping the table with each breath.

Mary leaned in again, “When I looked in the mirror I saw a woman, instead of my own reflection.”

The color drained from Jodie's face. “That's..that's...terrible!” she said.

“The mother was killed in that bathroom,” Bob said.

“Oh stop it, Bob,” Mary said, throwing her napkin at him. “It was just a trick of the light and a lack of sleep. That's all. There's no such thing as ghosts.”

“But there are! You two must move. A haunting is not something to take ligh- what was that?”

Above them, a faint sound could be heard. “Mamma, Mamma.”

“Who knows. This house is old. There's always a noise somewhere,” Bob said.

“But it's a voice,” Jodie said.

“So you hear it too?” Mary said. “Bob can't hear it.”

Bob shrugged.

“They said the girl, the daughter, was found holding her favorite toy; a talking baby doll.”

“That's it,” Jodie said, standing and throwing the napkin on her plate. “We're leaving.”

“But we haven't even finished the salad yet,” Tom complained.

“I am not spending another minute in this house. And,” Jodie said, turning back to Mary and Bob, “you two need to hire an exorcist or something. We're not coming back here until you do!”

“But...you don't have to come here. We can meet for dinner,” Mary said.

“No. No way! You're tainted with the spirits until...until they are put to rest. I suppose I can't stop you and Tom from seeing each other, Bob, considering Tom's your boss, but...just...stay away as much as you can! Tom,” she said, turning to face him, “now! Let's go.”

Mary and Bob watched through the front window as Jodie and Tom's car peeled out of the driveway and down the street.

“You,” Bob said, “are a genius.”

“Now, now. You deserve some of the credit. If you hadn't overheard Bob telling someone how scared of ghosts Jodie had become since she started watching Ghost Hunters I would never of thought of this.”

“Are you disappointed you didn't get to use the hologram mirror or the faucet of blood?”

“A little,” Mary smiled.

“I think we should have a toast to never having to share another dinner with those insufferable snobs.”

“I'll drink to that,” Mary laughed.

If you liked this story, check out Starved, a book of my flash fiction.  Available at all ebook retailers. 

   

Happy New Year?

Why do I make New Year's resolutions?  I always do, and I never keep them.  Never.  Then I feel bad about not accomplishing my goals.  Even simple ones.  Mine are the same as everyone else's, I suspect.  Eat better, exercise more, be more patient with my kids, finish that project, book, ...fill in the blank.  But I never do.  Not for more than a couple of weeks.  So why do I keep making them?  Some small , optimistic part of me buried under all the cynicism?  And if I don't make any resolutions this year does that mean I have lost all hope?  That this is the best I can do?
Is the real reason I don't keep them because I don't believe I will?  A self fulfilling downward spiral?  Is that just a personality flaw or human nature?

I wish I had some nice happy wrap up to this post, but I don't.  What I would like to know is if any of you actually kept your resolutions last year?  And if so, how?

That being said, if I were going to make resolutions, I would actually only make one:

Be More Disciplined.  It would solve all my 'issues' - eating, exercising, writing, keeping up the house, keeping up with email, interviews, review requests...

The Devil's Game Featured Today!

The Devil's Game is featured today on The Cheap Kindle Daily - please go check it out - leave a comment!

A look inside Rachel Pendelton's Head!

Ever want to get inside Rachel Pendelton's head (lead character of The Devil's Game)?  Stop by here and read the character interview.

Sample Sunday November 20

This is a sample of Manhunt, the first of two short stories in The Hate:

1

Right now there is a massive manhunt for me. There’s almost no chance I will be found, but just in case, I need to set the record straight. I know you think you know what happened. I mean, it has been all over the news for days. The country in mourning, shocking act of violence, and on and on. But you only know what they told you. But once I tell you everything, tell you the truth, you’ll be thanking me. I’ll be a goddamn hero. Not that anyone will admit it. Doesn’t matter though. I’ll be long gone.

So like any good story, I have to start at the beginning. I know you’d prefer me to just cut to the chase. But there are some things you need to know first.

Bear with me, you’ll be glad you did.

2

First, you should know some things about me.

I hate people. I hate small talk. Trying to find something to talk about with a bunch of strangers I’ll never see again. No thanks.

I like being alone. I’m happy alone. I don’t want to be married and pop out a couple of whiny, germ filled kids. I don’t want anyone around telling me what to do or making me feel bad about what I am doing; i.e. a husband or boyfriend.

If I want to stay up till three in the morning eating double stuff Oreos while watching St. Elmo’s Fire then that’s what I goddamn well am going to do. If I want to lay in bed till noon or not shower for a couple of days, well, you get the idea.

If I feel the need for some companionship i.e. sex, I go pick up a guy at a bar. It’s pretty easy because, in all modesty, I’m hot. Not just attractive. An actual stone cold fox, at least to enough of the population to matter. I can say that because I had nothing to do with it. All genetics. All big blue eyes, full lips, blond, tall, and lean. So sex, no problem. And since I don’t really like people or small talk, I pretty much scope out the bar for an attractive unattached guy and ask if he wants to go to my place. I’ve never been turned down.

No one spends the night. Last thing I need in the morning is some smelly guy with bad breath bothering me for something I had plenty of the night before.

Also, I’m filthy rich. I hadn’t planned on ever working for a living, but who knew I’d find something I enjoy so much. What do I do? I kill people. For money. I know what you’re thinking, but who gives a shit. Not me, that’s for sure. If it makes you feel any better I don’t kill kids, no spouses just because a divorce will cost too much (selfish bastards), but other people.

It’s not hard, partly because of my looks. I can get into a lot of places with no questions asked. And partly because I’m ahead of the curve on intelligence. Not a genius, but pretty damn smart.

Maybe it goes without saying that I don’t have any friends, but I’ll say it anyway. I don’t have any friends. And I don’t mean I don’t have any close friends. I don’t have any. I think it’s because I’m rich and beautiful and that intimidates people.

Or, it’s because I’m a bitch. I don’t care about people’s petty problems, I don’t take shit from anyone, and I don’t tell people what they want to hear.

So, why am I telling you all of this and why do you care? Because, I just killed the President of the United States.

The Hate is available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords for FREE

Sample Sunday November 13

Secrets excerpt:

Chapter 5

I went to the bedroom got a backpack from the closet and threw in enough stuff for a couple of days. Jack and I couldn’t stay here and, these days, even the crappiest hotels required ID and money.

I lay on the floor, stomach down, parallel to my side of the bed, reached under my nightstand, and pressed a hidden release button. The decorative piece on the front popped out and I pulled open the hidden drawer. Of course Jack didn’t know about this. I’d hoped I would never need it. I removed a bundle of cash, some fake ID’s and credit cards, and a small black zippered case. There was also an untraceable gun, but why use it when I had the killers? I put everything back the way it was and returned to the kitchen.

I could see he was in a different position then when I left him. And the knife was teetering on the edge of the counter. God, what a stupid mistake. I was out of practice.

“Oh, so close. It must be killing you that you almost had that knife,” I said, squatting down next to him.

“You got your information. Just give me the knife,” he said.

“Why would I do that?” I asked smiling. “So you can come back and finish the job?”

I wonder what his last thought was before I shot him between the eyes.

Chapter 6

The hard part of killing someone? No, it's not the actual killing. It's the cleanup. What a mess. Cleanup had never been part of my job, but now there was no choice. Luckily the rug had soaked up most of the blood and mess. He rolled up nicely in it. Like a pig in a blanket. Just a little blood on the floor, and on my clothes.

The sound of the doorbell startled me.

Startled by a doorbell? Man, I was out of practice.

What now?

Careful not to be seen by anyone who might be looking in the glass surrounding the door, I went into the second bedroom and looked out the window. In front of the house was a black and white cop car.

“Shit,” I whispered. The doorbell rang again.

“Just a minute.”

I ran to the kitchen and looked around. Blood on the floor and a dead body rolled up in a rug. No way to talk myself out of this one. But I had an idea. I stripped off my clothes and piled them on the rug.

I ran to the door and opened it a crack, just enough for them to see I was naked. “Yes?”

These two guys were good. They didn’t show any reaction, though the short one was suddenly very interested in something on his fingernail. “Sorry to bother you Ma’am, we had a call about possible shots fired. Can we come in?”

“Shots?” The surprise was real. Someone heard that and called the police. This was a better neighborhood than I thought.

“Oh, uh, sure. Could you just give me a second to grab some clothes? I had a little accident in the kitchen.”

“Sure,” the tall one nodded.

I closed the door and ran down the hall. Lucky for me Jack cared about the decor of the house and had a runner in the breakfast nook that matched the kitchen rug. I rolled the runner up tight and stuffed it into the end of the rug that was facing out. It wasn’t perfect, but on quick inspection, it would look like a large rolled up rug.

I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a jar of jelly.

Grape! And a plastic bottle. Why didn't I like strawberry? This is really not my day.

I dumped the jelly over the blood on the floor and smeared it around a little. I took a clear glass from the shelf, wrapped it in a towel, and tapped it with a rolling pin, then sprinkled the pieces around the jelly and the open end of the rug. After grabbing my bathrobe from the laundry room I returned to the door.

“Come on in,” I smiled.

“What’s your name, miss?” The tall one asked as they entered.

“Gwen. Gwen Michaels.”

“Did you hear any shots, Ms. Michaels?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I haven’t been home very long though,” I said, walking down the hall. They followed. “Just long enough to drop the jelly,” I laughed.

“Anyone else here?”

“No, my husband's not home yet,” I said.

“Just you and your husband live here? No one staying with you?”

“No, just us.” Shit. I saw some drops of blood in the hall. How did I miss that?

“Oh crap,” I said grabbing my finger then a towel from the counter. I find people like it less, subconsciously or not, when women swear. I don’t typically clean up my language for anyone, but I did have a dead body on the floor.

“What?” they both had their hands on their guns.

I wrapped the towel around my hand. “I must’ve cut my finger on the glass,” I said pointing to the drops of blood in the hall.

They looked, but weren’t very interested. “Mind if we look around?” the tall one again.

“Not at all.”

To their credit, they didn’t leave me alone. For all they knew I was a crazy lady with a gun. The short one stayed in the kitchen with me while I rinsed imaginary blood from my hand, while the tall one took his time looking around the living room. When he was done he nodded to the short one and he went to check out the bedrooms. They weren’t casual and they weren’t talking, so neither did I. Forcing small talk is a great way to say something stupid. Something that would make them suspicious.

Then again, wouldn’t a normal person express some curiosity? Wouldn’t they try to get some more information out of the cops? I wasn’t sure so I stayed quiet.

“Sorry to have bothered you,” the short one finally said when they finished looking around.

“No problem. Better safe then sorry, I always say.” God, could I sound like a bigger idiot? “Could you lock the door behind you?”

I tiptoed to the window in the bedroom and peeked out.

After they drove away, I double checked the door lock and breathed a sigh of relief.  

Secrets is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords