Just to prove I don't think about writing books or selling them all the time, I'm going to tell you about a wedding I attended last weekend.
Remember my blog about going to a bridal shower in October for my husband's niece. Last Saturday afternoon, the 14th, was the wedding. This was at St. Paul Methodist Church in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. A beautiful, old church in the round with a cornerstone dated 1913.
However, the understated, lovely wedding ceremony took place in the chapel. It was a ceremony that reminded me of yesteryears with simple, not too expensive planning. No attendants and only family from both sides to witness the event. The bride was absolutely gorgeous in her bridal gown, holding a bouquet of red roses and the groom very handsome in his tuxedo. Though the bride planned 99% of the wedding and reception, by the groom's own admission, these two are well grounded young people who wanted to keep the ceremony simple.
The reception was for friends as well as family and a tribute to how popular the newlyweds are by how crowded the room was. The food was delicious. The four flavored multa tiered square cake was decorative as well as flavors for everyone. I hear there was one tier of lemon. By the time I got to the cake table the lemon cake was gone.
The reception was held on Mt. Vernon Road in a rustic area. A man went out in the parking lot for a breath of fresh air and swears he saw a five point buck meandering between the cars. Deer are thick everywhere in the area, but he was the only eye witness to a hunter's dream of a five point buck.
Our celebration with the newlyweds didn't stop with the reception. Since we were going to be in Cedar Rapids for a book signing the next day at Lemstone Christian Bookstore, we were invited to the couple's for a soup supper and the wedding gift opening.
It's nice to see the groom feels right at home as a member of this family, but then he has had five years to let us get use to him. He likes to tease, and I hear he can be a joker. I too like to tease so we should get along fine.
As we were putting on our coats to leave Sunday evening, I said I had gotten used to having two free suppers in a row on the newlyweds. What time was supper on Monday? The groom said he would set a bucket on the outside by the door. I would be expected to make a donation before I entered. I told him I knew meals on him was a good thing that was too good to last.
We look forward to seeing this busy couple on holidays and any time in between they want to visit.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
After The Book Signing
Book Signing
Sunday was a good day for me as an author. What's better than a book signing in a bookstore, sitting with three other authors. I feel like I have much I need to know about being an author and I always learn from conversations with other writers and book buyers. Since my topic - Alzheimer's - is a heavy one I always hope that I helped a caregiver or someone struggling with the prospect of dementia in their future.
There were four of us with stacks of books in front of us. Kent Stock, Marion, Iowa, the coach from "The Final Season" fame has written a book along the same lines titled "Heading For Home". Karen Roth, Austin Texas, has a new, sequel, fictional book titled "My Portion Forever". Her first book is "Found On 16th Avenue" which is set in Czech Village in Cedar Rapids, Iowa where she grew up. A doctor, Mary Ann Nelson has a book on child care and one on Elder Care. My books were about Alzheimer's - "Open A Window - Alzheimer's Caregiver Handbook" ISBN 1438244991 and "Hello Alzheimer's Good Bye Dad - A Daughter's Journal" ISBN 1438278276
On one end of the table, Karen Roth had a built in following because she grew up in Czech Village. You may remember that is the area hit by the flood in 2008. Old friends and relatives, along with customers who had her first book, lined up to greet her and buy books so she could sign them.
On the other end, Kent Stock had customers who remembered the Norway baseball team as I did or were sports fans. I bought one of Kent's books because I am remember those exciting days in Norway. (Besides I wanted his autograph). I could get the signed book on his website but that wasn't the same as in person. And I told him I might not ever get to see him again. He said now that I said that we would probably run into each other several times. I said, "Hopefully at another book signing." I'm ready.
Next to me on the other side was Dr. Nelson. She seemed interested in my books and my foundation for writing such books. I'm always willing to explain my years of working with people who had Alzheimer's and some of what I was taught by my experiences.
Three customers stood nearby discussing what they liked to read. I over heard one lady say she read all the Amish books she could find. When Mary Ann Nelson asked me what else I had written I was telling her about my two Amish books. I heard the customer expel an OH! As if she was thinking there is more books that might interest her. With so much going on around me, I'm hoping she picked up one of my business cards and plans to follow up on my books.
Between customers the four of us authors had a few moments to learn about each other and our books and writing and publishing experiences. We exchanged websites so here are the ones you should check out if you like to help out Iowa authors.
Kent Stock - www.kentstock.com
Karen Roth - www.karenrothbooks.com
Fay Risner - www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com
Dr. Nelson doesn't have a website for her books but you can ask for them at Lemstone Christian Bookstore in Collins Plaza, Cedar Rapids, Iowa and I'm sure many other places. The large, hard cover books are full of educational information designed to help.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Me -- Interesting?
I now have the information about the other authors that will be with me at the Nov. 15th book signing at the Lemstone Christian Bookstore in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. This week I visited the store to talk to the owner about the book signing. While I was there I found out what I needed to know to report accurately about the authors. Kent Stock, Marion, Ia, from "The Final Season" fame has written "Heading For Home." His story about being a successful coach, teacher and business man. Karen Roth, San Antonio, Texas and formally from Cedar Rapids, Ia has her second book out. "My Portion Forever". Her first book is "Found On 16th Avenue". She writes about growing up in Czech Village in Cedar Rapids which last year was in the devastating flood.
When I can get the Internet to cooperate with me, I'm back writing blogs on a new monitor the size of a small television instead of the very small, ten year old screen I was using. I can't believe what a difference screen size makes when I'm staring at it for a long period of time. Not that there is that much wrong with my eyesight as long as I wear my glasses. The fact is I'm feeling great, busy and full of purpose. It took a visit with a young neighbor girl to get me thinking about the generational gap between her and me and to bring this gap into prospective.
When I answered the phone one evening recently, I had to ask the caller to repeat her name. I want you to know I'm not hard of hearing. I'd heard right the first time, but I was too surprised to believe I had. It was the fourteen year old neighbor who lives in seeing distance of my home.
It seemed over night I watched her change from baby to toddler to an energetic child to a bashful preteen that didn't speak when she came with her father to visit. Now a teenager, she was still very quiet this summer with a look on her face that said she would run for home if we spoke to her.
Her father described her as his Tomboy. Her attire was a shirt and jeans. Dresses were for a rare occasion. Most likely an occasion deemed appropriate by her mother. She went with her father to the barn to help with chores until she was old enough to do them on her own. Her love of animals led to her taking care of a flock of sheep and a horse. She worked with a lamb so she could enter the sheep exhibits at the county fair.
Out of the blue, she called me and got right to the point. "I have to write a story about someone for English Lit. I want to interview you for the story."
Not comprehending why she would call me for her assignment, I said, "Okay, but why me?"
"Because I think you're interesting," she said.
I must admit I was baffled by that statement. We set up a time for her to come late one afternoon after school on a day between cheerleading practice and a football game. In walked a young woman who over the summer had grown a foot taller than me. Her long, dark blonde hair was styled. She had on makeup. Best of all, she was smiling as if she was happy to see me. Her father had told us a few weeks earlier he had lost his Tomboy. He was having trouble adjusting to the fact since the change happened suddenly. Now I saw first hand what he meant.
We sat at the dining room table so she could spread out the contents of the folder she carried. First thing she said in a very direct manner, "I can make the interview short and write three pages. That won't get me an A." As she shuffled through her papers to get organized, she continued, "If I talk to you longer and write 5 pages, that would get me an A. I would rather get the A. It's up to you how much you want to tell me. The teacher said not to talk too much if you would rather I didn't stay long."
I told her she could take all the time she needed. Why would I want to rush her when I finally had her talking to me. I wanted to get to know her. I said I would do my best to answer her questions, but I warned her she might have to spice up her story. I was pretty sure I wasn't interesting enough to get her that A. I offered to go over the story so we could do just that, spice it up. I could even proof read it for her while I was at it to make sure she got the A. She said she couldn't let me do that. The teacher told the students to bring the stories to her so she could give them pointers on making the stories better before they turned the final product in.
"So where do we start?" I asked.
"From the moment you were born."
"That is going back a long ways. We may need a lot of time," I warned her.
Reading from a list of questions, birth was the first question the teacher had furnished to help the students with this story telling process. The girl wasn't sure how some of the questions applied to me, but I encouraged her to ask me anyway. Once I elaborated enough that I unwittingly answered the next question.
I fear I was born in a much earlier generation than the teacher. Maybe she thought the students would pick someone more her age to interview instead of someone who could have been the girl's grandmother. I came by that impression when I was asked the question, "How did the arts and craft movement play a part in my life or did it?"
Through my mind scrolled my childhood years in the Missouri Ozarks. Nothing about my early life was an arts and craft experience, but I was determined to give her an answer. Once in awhile we went to a western movie on a Saturday night in a vacant lot next to Schell City's car repair garage. As for crafts, my family was in to crafts, but the main objective for being crafty was to make money. My father built flower baskets, with a log cabin look, from twigs. My mother made crape paper roses she dipped in paraffin. Back in the fifties, we didn't have plastic or silk flowers. My younger brother and my part of this work was after supper. Mom gave us boxes of Kleenex in different colors. We folded a couple Kleenexes in accordion folds and wrapped a wire around the middle. The ends with the fold had to be cut off, then we carefully pulled each fragile layer of tissue paper to the middle. When we were done, we had a carnation. The flowers were arranged in a bouquet in the log cabin baskets and sold to neighbors for Memorial Day decorations to take to the cemeteries. Any basket left we spent the day delivering to cemeteries for our relatives. This story was noted. Maybe she could figure out a way to work it in.
Two hours and several pages of notes later, the girl gave me the last question. The time had passed fast for her and me as well. Since we never had really had a conversation I doubt she was prepared for how much I can elaborate on a subject when given the chance. However, she left happy with her interview and eager to turn it into a story. I asked her to let me know if she got that A.
According to her father, who came over recently to tell me after a talk with his daughter, she had been nervous about talking to me. By the time we finished, she was excited to relate to her parents all the experiences I had shared with her. Her father says she is very impressed with me. That is a two way street. What were the things she found most interesting about my life? It wasn't that I write books and have been a CNA. What impressed her was the fact that I can vegetables we raise. She had me show her my pressure cooker and explain the process. The other thing was that I have for years did my own vet work as much as possible for my flock of sheep and goats. Though she takes care of sheep, she had never thought about giving shots or helping during a difficult birthing and all their food comes from the grocery store. Wow! I could do all that. Not what I would call interesting. These are things I have done for years. Just part of life as a person who lives in the country.
It didn't matter that she wasn't impressed when I said I was an author. I found this bashful Tomboy had turned into a polite, articulate, caring and lovely young woman. I told her to come back and visit any time she wanted, and I hope she does. Maybe I can get her to help me can green beans.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Nov. 15 Book Signing Lemstone Christian Bookstore, Cedar Rapids, Ia.
Book Signing Announcement
On November 15, Keystone author Fay Risner has been invited to a book signing at Lemstone Christian Bookstore located in Collins Plaza Mall across from Linndale Mall in Cedar Rapids, Iowa from one to three p.m. Risner will talk about the two books the store sells for her - "Open A Window - Alzheimer's Caregiver Handbook" and "Hello Alzheimer's Good Bye Dad" the story of her father Bill Bullock's struggle with Alzheimer's.
I'm excited to be invited to this book signing at the Lemstone Christian Bookstore. The owners have been planning this event for months. The main hitch was trying to set a date that three authors could commit to.
Other authors at the book signing will be Kent Stock from the movie "The Final Season" the story about Norway, Iowa's baseball team and Karen Ross from Texas with her newly released book about growing up in Czech Village in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Sorry that I don't have the name of either of their books, but will share those titles next week along with my story about meeting these authors.
I'd been forewarned for months that a book signing was coming soon, but a week's notice has me rushing to plan my portion of the event. First I am very glad to have email. I alerted friends and family.
With such a short notice coming in on Saturday, I don't expect much publicity to be done. I know the local weekly paper has a Monday noon deadline. Monday morning was going to be a busy morning for me between a dental visit and errands. I don't own a cell phone which might surprise most people. That means while I was driving I couldn't call the newspaper. That's why I emailed my book signing article in to the office on Sunday. Also, I emailed a daily newspaper at the county seat.
Next, I made up a flyer to put up on every bulletin board in the area. That will catch people going to the bank, telephone office, post office, library or the local nursing home.
I plan on arriving at the bookstore early Sunday with a copy of each book. The bookstore has a supply, but I want customers to be able to see my books while they are speaking to me. "Hello Alzheimer's Good Bye Dad" has a 1947 picture of my parents on the cover. The customers that will gravitate toward me are ones who are facing Alzheimer's with a family member, or they fear the disease is in their future. What better way to sell a book than to come face to face with someone who was a caregiver (me) and see first hand what a healthy, youthful man (my dad) looked like before he fell victim to the disease. Plus, I share some of my family's experiences that are in the book.
To pick up the book "Open A Window" and hold it long enough to read the reviews on the back doesn't explain stories within that tells of the battles people faced with Alzheimer's. I can convey that verbally in person much better. I just sold both these books to a dental tech. She read a potion of "Open A Window" before my last visit. She told me what she read made her cry because it reminded her of her grandmother's struggle. Holding the book doesn't make a customer feel emotions or empathy. Reading about the people in my book does that. In order to learn more about Alzheimer's disease and understand what happens to people who have it, you have to buy the book and read it.
I'll let you know next week about my book signing.
On November 15, Keystone author Fay Risner has been invited to a book signing at Lemstone Christian Bookstore located in Collins Plaza Mall across from Linndale Mall in Cedar Rapids, Iowa from one to three p.m. Risner will talk about the two books the store sells for her - "Open A Window - Alzheimer's Caregiver Handbook" and "Hello Alzheimer's Good Bye Dad" the story of her father Bill Bullock's struggle with Alzheimer's.
I'm excited to be invited to this book signing at the Lemstone Christian Bookstore. The owners have been planning this event for months. The main hitch was trying to set a date that three authors could commit to.
Other authors at the book signing will be Kent Stock from the movie "The Final Season" the story about Norway, Iowa's baseball team and Karen Ross from Texas with her newly released book about growing up in Czech Village in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Sorry that I don't have the name of either of their books, but will share those titles next week along with my story about meeting these authors.
I'd been forewarned for months that a book signing was coming soon, but a week's notice has me rushing to plan my portion of the event. First I am very glad to have email. I alerted friends and family.
With such a short notice coming in on Saturday, I don't expect much publicity to be done. I know the local weekly paper has a Monday noon deadline. Monday morning was going to be a busy morning for me between a dental visit and errands. I don't own a cell phone which might surprise most people. That means while I was driving I couldn't call the newspaper. That's why I emailed my book signing article in to the office on Sunday. Also, I emailed a daily newspaper at the county seat.
Next, I made up a flyer to put up on every bulletin board in the area. That will catch people going to the bank, telephone office, post office, library or the local nursing home.
I plan on arriving at the bookstore early Sunday with a copy of each book. The bookstore has a supply, but I want customers to be able to see my books while they are speaking to me. "Hello Alzheimer's Good Bye Dad" has a 1947 picture of my parents on the cover. The customers that will gravitate toward me are ones who are facing Alzheimer's with a family member, or they fear the disease is in their future. What better way to sell a book than to come face to face with someone who was a caregiver (me) and see first hand what a healthy, youthful man (my dad) looked like before he fell victim to the disease. Plus, I share some of my family's experiences that are in the book.
To pick up the book "Open A Window" and hold it long enough to read the reviews on the back doesn't explain stories within that tells of the battles people faced with Alzheimer's. I can convey that verbally in person much better. I just sold both these books to a dental tech. She read a potion of "Open A Window" before my last visit. She told me what she read made her cry because it reminded her of her grandmother's struggle. Holding the book doesn't make a customer feel emotions or empathy. Reading about the people in my book does that. In order to learn more about Alzheimer's disease and understand what happens to people who have it, you have to buy the book and read it.
I'll let you know next week about my book signing.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Happy Halloween
Happy Halloween
Here is an excerpt from A Teapot, Ghosts, Bats & More ISBN 1438233698
Jacob's Spirit
Ellen Carter stopped rocking. She tilted her head toward the window and asked, "Jack, what's that noise?"
"What noise?" Jack mumbled, keeping his eyes glued to the television.
Ellen frowned at her husband. All stretched out with his legs crossed at the ankles, his only movement was an occasional downward wiggle of one big toe stuck out of a hole in his rockford sock.
"Sh! That noise -- listen!" Ellen hissed, walking to the window. "Something's banging outside." Cupping her hands around her face to shut out the ceiling light's glare, she leaned against the pane. Looking beneath a row of sparkling icicles on the house eve, she strained to see through the darkness beyond the back yard to the barn.
"See anything?" Jack tried to divide his concentration between Perry Mason and Ellen.
"Nothing. It's pitch black out there." Ellen backed away from the drafty window and
settled back into her rocker.
"The wind's strong tonight. Probably a loose barn board flapping. Or one of us forgot to hook a barn door at chore time." Jack gave Ellen an accusatory look. "I'll look around while I'm checking the sheep. It's my turn, isn't it?"
"You know very well it's your turn." Ellen chose to ignore the twinkle in Jack's eyes.
Bundled up in his winter garb, Jack reached for the flashlight on the shelf above the coat pegs, then braced himself for a blast of cold air when he opened the door.
Ellen rushed back to the window and cupped her hands around her eyes. She pressed her nose against the glass. Holding her breath to keep from fogging up the pane, she waited for a signal from Jack. He always flicked the light switch twice if he needed help penning up a ewe.
In a few minutes, the barn lights went off. Jack projected his flashlight's beam over the front of the barn. As he crossed the back yard, lacy snowflakes floated through the bobbing shaft of light.
"That was quick. It's snowing, huh? Weren't any new lambs? What was banging?" Ellen took the flashlight and placed it on the shelf.
Slipping free of his parka, Jack hung it on the empty peg. "In answer to your 40 questions, no new lambs. Yes, it's beginning to snow, and no I didn't find anything wrong. The noise stopped when I got to the barn."
The rhythmic noises continued all night. Ellen couldn't sleep for listening to the disturbing sounds. Slipping from under the quilts, she wrinkled her nose when her toes touched the cold floor.
Tiptoeing to the window, she scanned the back yard. Everything seemed to be all right. She shivered from the cold radiating off the window and decided to go back to bed. Whatever
was making that noises would still be there in the morning. No sense losing sleep over it.
However, January turned into February, and the banging remained undetected. One evening unable to concentrate, Ellen slammed her book shut, and dropped it onto her lap. "I wish that incessant racket would stop."
Jack tried to suppress a grin. "We'll find out what that banging is one of these days. Who knows," he teased, "maybe it's a ghost repairing the barn. Gosh dang, I hope he's doing a good job, putting in such long hours and working in the dark besides."
"Very funny," snapped Ellen. Why did Jack have to bring up ghosts? Leaning her head back against her rocker, she closed her eyes and pictured a transparent spirit with a hammer in his hand, striking a nail until it sank into a board.
That night Ellen dreaded taking her turn to check the sheep. Since Jack mentioned a ghost, she couldn't shake the feeling someone was hiding in the barn.
Suddenly, springs of hay flitted down in front of her face. A prickly sensation crept across Ellen's scalp. She aimed the flashlight beam at a small crack in the loft floor. It reflected off two glaring eyes.
"Who's there?" Ellen called.
She backed away. The unblinking eyes continued to stare at her.
Darting to the hallway, Ellen flipped on the hayloft light and climbed the ladder. Walking to the edge of the stack, Ellen looked down at the fingers of light, filtering through the loose hay
from the room below She pointed the flashlight at the floor, but the small beam created too many shadows. She slipped over the side to take a look.
Finding toeholds between the bales, she climbed down. When her toes touched the floor, Ellen felt a soft lump under her foot. She let her weight down, thinking the lump was hay. A piercing squall shattered the quiet, and needle sharp pains stabbed through Ellen's ankle. Frightened, she screamed, lost her grip on the flashlight and scrambled back up the bales. Behind her, loose dry hay rustled as a cat skittered in the opposite direction. Ashen faced, Ellen sat down to catch her breath. Sighing deeply, she made her way to the ladder.
"What you doing up in the loft this time of night?"
"Jack, don't sneak up on me!" Ellen snapped, missing the last step and staggering when her feet touched the floor.
Jack leaned against the doorway, waiting for her explanation.
"If you must know, I saw eyes watching me through a crack in the loft floor. I wanted to find out who it was," snapped Ellen.
The corners of Jack's mouth twitched. "Who was it?"
"Just a cat," Ellen replied curtly, looking at the floor to avoid Jack's twinkling eyes and trying to ignore the pain in her ankle. It wouldn't do to tell Jack she stepped on the cat, looking for his ghost.
One sleepless night in May, Ellen finally slipped out of bed. Maybe a cup of warm milk would help her sleep. When she passed the open, living room window, a blast of air bellowed
the curtains out in front of her. She stopped, gathered the panels in her hands and parted them to look outside. It dawned on her that she hadn't heard the banging all day.
The barn yard glowed, lit by a full moon. Suddenly a movement in front of the barn caught Ellen's attention. She knelt in front of the window to study the scene. Sitting on the ground, a small boy dressed in a blue, chambray shirt and faded, blue overalls had his left leg twisted under him in an awkward way. Beside him lay a straw hat with the crown flattened and a claw hammer. As if drawn together like a magnet to metal their eyes met. The pained
expression on his face tugged at Ellen's heart. His lips moved wordlessly, begging her for help.
Overwhelmed by the painful look on the boy's face, Ellen felt the distance close between them. Turning the curtains loose, she reached out a hand to him, and felt the cold, unyielding window screen bite into her fingertips. A breeze struck suddenly with whirlwind force swirling the curtains around Ellen's face, blocking her view. Quickly, she rose to her feet.
"Wake up, Jack! Come to the barn yard quick," she shouted, running to the door.
Beneath the flutter of her nightgown, her bare feet flew over the lawn. When the barn yard came into view, she stopped abruptly. The boy was gone.
"Where's the fire?" Jack puffed, rushing around the house. He hopped on one bare foot then the other, zipping his jeans as he hobbled along.
"There's no fire. I saw a little boy sitting in front of the barn," said Ellen.
"A boy? Did you recognize him? What'd he be doing out here this time of night?" Jack combed his fingers through his hair, trying to clear his sleep muddled mind.
"I don't know why he was out here, but he was hurt. I didn't know him. He was dressed funny like people dressed years ago, and he had a smashed straw hat and a claw hammer beside him."
"A smashed hat -- a claw hammer -- a boy dressed funny? You saw all this out here in the dark from the house? Are you sure you weren't sleepwalking and dreamed all that?" Jack sounded concerned.
Ellen shrugged her shoulders. That surely isn't how it happened, she thought, walking through the gate to inspect the spot.
"Here's his hammer." Ellen handed it to Jack. "Look at that old, scarred, wooden handle." Now she was convinced that she had seen the boy. "Maybe we should look around for
him. He couldn't have gotten far with a broken leg."
Jack glanced at the hammer. "This was in the barn when we moved here. You must have used it and didn't put it back. You're always leaving my tools lay around."
He's right about me using his tools and forgetting to put them back sometimes, conceded Ellen to herself, but I've never used this hammer. Clearly, Jack hadn't appreciated being woke up abruptly in the middle of the night to go on her wild ghost chase.
"Let's go back to bed," declared Ellen, feeling foolish. Not talking about it might be easier than trying to convince Jack. The best she could hope for was that he would forget this night ever happened, and just maybe since the banging had stopped, she might be able to forget, too.
Two weeks later, Ellen was down on her knees pulling weeds from the marigolds when she heard gravel crunch under a slow moving car.
"Hello," called a lady, in a sleek, black pantsuit. She rushed around the car to help her passenger, a frail lady, supported by a cane. With the driver holding a protective hand on her elbow, they walked toward Ellen.
"Would you mind if we looked around?" The younger woman asked. "This farm used to be Mom's home years ago."
"No I don't mind," said Ellen. She led the way behind the house to give the ladies a full view of the farm.
"How things have changed." Astonishment filled the older lady's voice as she recalled the way the farm looked in her youth. "The small outbuildings are gone that were over that way. " The old lady pointed at the barn, "My brother, Jacob, fell off that barn and died."
"How did that happen?" asked Ellen.
"He was helping roof the barn and lost his balance. Slid off and broke his leg when he hit the ground right over there," she said. "A bone poked through the skin, and caused gangrene." She pointed a crooked finger at the maple trees along the far edge of the pasture. "We buried him out yonder somewhere."
A couple years before, Ellen buried her border collie under those trees. She vowed she wasn't going to dig there anymore now that she knew a human being was buried there. Then an image of the boy in pain flashed through her mind. "What time of year did that accident happen?"
"Early May." The old woman's eyes clouded over at long ago, put away memories, coming to the surface.
"Mom, how old was Jacob?" asked her daughter.
"He turned eleven in January and thought he was growed. He needled Pa about helping roof the barn until Pa gave in."
Ellen digested that information, then asked, "Which leg did Jacob break?"
"The left one. Daughter, we better go. Thanks for letting me look around." Barely able to contain her excitement, Ellen ran to the feed shed to tell Jack what she heard. "Guess what happened?" she panted.
"The hogs got out again while I was gone after the feed," Jack said, concentrating on unloading the sacks from the pickup.
"No, I had visitors."
"What did they want?" Jack lifted a sack onto his shoulder and returned to the shed.
"The older lady told me an amazing story."
"That right." Jack reached for another sack.
"Years ago, she said her brother, Jacob, got killed when he fell off the barn roof," explained Ellen.
"Really?" Jack, hearing excitement in Ellen's voice, stopped to look at her.
"Really, and get this. He turned eleven in January and fell off the barn in May."
"So?"
"Don't you see? The banging started in January and ended in May. The lady said Jacob broke his left leg. Remember the boy I saw that night. His left leg was twisted under him. Don't you think that's quite a coincidence?"
"I might if you hadn't been sleepwalking. I don't believe that some spook named Jacob lives in our barn." Jack threw another sack on his shoulder.
"He doesn't live in our barn exactly. Don't you see, he just wants to finish the roofing job he didn't get done before he fell and died," Ellen said, exasperated by Jack's attitude.
"Yeah. Sure."
"Well, I happen to think Jacob could have returned. You haven't found out any other reason for the banging, have you?"
"Nope. Want to help me unload feed?"
"No way! I have to start lunch." Jack wasn't going to believe her. She might as well drop the subject and retreat to the house before he put her to work.
That evening, the Carters had just settled down in the living room when the banging started up again.
"Oh no, Jacob's back," Ellen blurted out.
"I don't know about that overactive imagination of yours. I'm going to find out what that banging is right now." Exasperated by what he thought was Ellen's twisted logic,
Jack said, "I'm going to prove you wrong before you tell the neighbors our barn's haunted.
"Go ahead. I'll let you meet Jacob this time," said Ellen, smugly.
Not long after Jack left, the hammering sounded faster and louder. Growing apprehensive, Ellen couldn't stand the suspense. She went to find her husband.
When she went into the barn, she couldn't believe her eyes. Jack, on his knees, was nailing a piece of tin over a hole with the old hammer. "You're doing the hammering?"
"That rat hole has been the problem all along," declared Jack.
"The rats made the banging noise?" squeaked Ellen.
"No, silly, the sheep," declared Jack.
"Sure it was the sheep," bristled Ellen.
"See that hole I patched? It went into the corn bin on the other side of this wall," Jack explained. "The sheep tapped the wall with their hooves, and corn fell out of the hole. Each time they heard us enter the barn, they stopped and waited for us to feed them."
"Okay, you win," said Ellen. "Let's go back to the house?"
Feeling defeated, Ellen trailed behind Jack. She paused a minute and turned to study the barn's roof, then looked at the spot where she saw Jacob. How could she have imagination him?
Jack needed a logical explanation for the banging. Wouldn't he groan if she suggested that Jacob might return every year from January to May to work on the barn roof? Then again maybe she better keep that notion to herself before Jack decided to have her committed.
"Come on, slow poke. What's that imagination of yours cooking up now?" Jack taunted.
Wanting the last word, Ellen past him, then replied, "Now that we know Jacob's resting in the pasture, I wondered which tree I should plant flowers by for him. Oh, you'll need to buy hog panels to keep the sheep out so they won't eat the flowers. Maybe you should fix one panel so we can open it to mow the grass."
Ellen smiled at the soft groan she heard behind her.
Here is an excerpt from A Teapot, Ghosts, Bats & More ISBN 1438233698
Jacob's Spirit
Ellen Carter stopped rocking. She tilted her head toward the window and asked, "Jack, what's that noise?"
"What noise?" Jack mumbled, keeping his eyes glued to the television.
Ellen frowned at her husband. All stretched out with his legs crossed at the ankles, his only movement was an occasional downward wiggle of one big toe stuck out of a hole in his rockford sock.
"Sh! That noise -- listen!" Ellen hissed, walking to the window. "Something's banging outside." Cupping her hands around her face to shut out the ceiling light's glare, she leaned against the pane. Looking beneath a row of sparkling icicles on the house eve, she strained to see through the darkness beyond the back yard to the barn.
"See anything?" Jack tried to divide his concentration between Perry Mason and Ellen.
"Nothing. It's pitch black out there." Ellen backed away from the drafty window and
settled back into her rocker.
"The wind's strong tonight. Probably a loose barn board flapping. Or one of us forgot to hook a barn door at chore time." Jack gave Ellen an accusatory look. "I'll look around while I'm checking the sheep. It's my turn, isn't it?"
"You know very well it's your turn." Ellen chose to ignore the twinkle in Jack's eyes.
Bundled up in his winter garb, Jack reached for the flashlight on the shelf above the coat pegs, then braced himself for a blast of cold air when he opened the door.
Ellen rushed back to the window and cupped her hands around her eyes. She pressed her nose against the glass. Holding her breath to keep from fogging up the pane, she waited for a signal from Jack. He always flicked the light switch twice if he needed help penning up a ewe.
In a few minutes, the barn lights went off. Jack projected his flashlight's beam over the front of the barn. As he crossed the back yard, lacy snowflakes floated through the bobbing shaft of light.
"That was quick. It's snowing, huh? Weren't any new lambs? What was banging?" Ellen took the flashlight and placed it on the shelf.
Slipping free of his parka, Jack hung it on the empty peg. "In answer to your 40 questions, no new lambs. Yes, it's beginning to snow, and no I didn't find anything wrong. The noise stopped when I got to the barn."
The rhythmic noises continued all night. Ellen couldn't sleep for listening to the disturbing sounds. Slipping from under the quilts, she wrinkled her nose when her toes touched the cold floor.
Tiptoeing to the window, she scanned the back yard. Everything seemed to be all right. She shivered from the cold radiating off the window and decided to go back to bed. Whatever
was making that noises would still be there in the morning. No sense losing sleep over it.
However, January turned into February, and the banging remained undetected. One evening unable to concentrate, Ellen slammed her book shut, and dropped it onto her lap. "I wish that incessant racket would stop."
Jack tried to suppress a grin. "We'll find out what that banging is one of these days. Who knows," he teased, "maybe it's a ghost repairing the barn. Gosh dang, I hope he's doing a good job, putting in such long hours and working in the dark besides."
"Very funny," snapped Ellen. Why did Jack have to bring up ghosts? Leaning her head back against her rocker, she closed her eyes and pictured a transparent spirit with a hammer in his hand, striking a nail until it sank into a board.
That night Ellen dreaded taking her turn to check the sheep. Since Jack mentioned a ghost, she couldn't shake the feeling someone was hiding in the barn.
Suddenly, springs of hay flitted down in front of her face. A prickly sensation crept across Ellen's scalp. She aimed the flashlight beam at a small crack in the loft floor. It reflected off two glaring eyes.
"Who's there?" Ellen called.
She backed away. The unblinking eyes continued to stare at her.
Darting to the hallway, Ellen flipped on the hayloft light and climbed the ladder. Walking to the edge of the stack, Ellen looked down at the fingers of light, filtering through the loose hay
from the room below She pointed the flashlight at the floor, but the small beam created too many shadows. She slipped over the side to take a look.
Finding toeholds between the bales, she climbed down. When her toes touched the floor, Ellen felt a soft lump under her foot. She let her weight down, thinking the lump was hay. A piercing squall shattered the quiet, and needle sharp pains stabbed through Ellen's ankle. Frightened, she screamed, lost her grip on the flashlight and scrambled back up the bales. Behind her, loose dry hay rustled as a cat skittered in the opposite direction. Ashen faced, Ellen sat down to catch her breath. Sighing deeply, she made her way to the ladder.
"What you doing up in the loft this time of night?"
"Jack, don't sneak up on me!" Ellen snapped, missing the last step and staggering when her feet touched the floor.
Jack leaned against the doorway, waiting for her explanation.
"If you must know, I saw eyes watching me through a crack in the loft floor. I wanted to find out who it was," snapped Ellen.
The corners of Jack's mouth twitched. "Who was it?"
"Just a cat," Ellen replied curtly, looking at the floor to avoid Jack's twinkling eyes and trying to ignore the pain in her ankle. It wouldn't do to tell Jack she stepped on the cat, looking for his ghost.
One sleepless night in May, Ellen finally slipped out of bed. Maybe a cup of warm milk would help her sleep. When she passed the open, living room window, a blast of air bellowed
the curtains out in front of her. She stopped, gathered the panels in her hands and parted them to look outside. It dawned on her that she hadn't heard the banging all day.
The barn yard glowed, lit by a full moon. Suddenly a movement in front of the barn caught Ellen's attention. She knelt in front of the window to study the scene. Sitting on the ground, a small boy dressed in a blue, chambray shirt and faded, blue overalls had his left leg twisted under him in an awkward way. Beside him lay a straw hat with the crown flattened and a claw hammer. As if drawn together like a magnet to metal their eyes met. The pained
expression on his face tugged at Ellen's heart. His lips moved wordlessly, begging her for help.
Overwhelmed by the painful look on the boy's face, Ellen felt the distance close between them. Turning the curtains loose, she reached out a hand to him, and felt the cold, unyielding window screen bite into her fingertips. A breeze struck suddenly with whirlwind force swirling the curtains around Ellen's face, blocking her view. Quickly, she rose to her feet.
"Wake up, Jack! Come to the barn yard quick," she shouted, running to the door.
Beneath the flutter of her nightgown, her bare feet flew over the lawn. When the barn yard came into view, she stopped abruptly. The boy was gone.
"Where's the fire?" Jack puffed, rushing around the house. He hopped on one bare foot then the other, zipping his jeans as he hobbled along.
"There's no fire. I saw a little boy sitting in front of the barn," said Ellen.
"A boy? Did you recognize him? What'd he be doing out here this time of night?" Jack combed his fingers through his hair, trying to clear his sleep muddled mind.
"I don't know why he was out here, but he was hurt. I didn't know him. He was dressed funny like people dressed years ago, and he had a smashed straw hat and a claw hammer beside him."
"A smashed hat -- a claw hammer -- a boy dressed funny? You saw all this out here in the dark from the house? Are you sure you weren't sleepwalking and dreamed all that?" Jack sounded concerned.
Ellen shrugged her shoulders. That surely isn't how it happened, she thought, walking through the gate to inspect the spot.
"Here's his hammer." Ellen handed it to Jack. "Look at that old, scarred, wooden handle." Now she was convinced that she had seen the boy. "Maybe we should look around for
him. He couldn't have gotten far with a broken leg."
Jack glanced at the hammer. "This was in the barn when we moved here. You must have used it and didn't put it back. You're always leaving my tools lay around."
He's right about me using his tools and forgetting to put them back sometimes, conceded Ellen to herself, but I've never used this hammer. Clearly, Jack hadn't appreciated being woke up abruptly in the middle of the night to go on her wild ghost chase.
"Let's go back to bed," declared Ellen, feeling foolish. Not talking about it might be easier than trying to convince Jack. The best she could hope for was that he would forget this night ever happened, and just maybe since the banging had stopped, she might be able to forget, too.
Two weeks later, Ellen was down on her knees pulling weeds from the marigolds when she heard gravel crunch under a slow moving car.
"Hello," called a lady, in a sleek, black pantsuit. She rushed around the car to help her passenger, a frail lady, supported by a cane. With the driver holding a protective hand on her elbow, they walked toward Ellen.
"Would you mind if we looked around?" The younger woman asked. "This farm used to be Mom's home years ago."
"No I don't mind," said Ellen. She led the way behind the house to give the ladies a full view of the farm.
"How things have changed." Astonishment filled the older lady's voice as she recalled the way the farm looked in her youth. "The small outbuildings are gone that were over that way. " The old lady pointed at the barn, "My brother, Jacob, fell off that barn and died."
"How did that happen?" asked Ellen.
"He was helping roof the barn and lost his balance. Slid off and broke his leg when he hit the ground right over there," she said. "A bone poked through the skin, and caused gangrene." She pointed a crooked finger at the maple trees along the far edge of the pasture. "We buried him out yonder somewhere."
A couple years before, Ellen buried her border collie under those trees. She vowed she wasn't going to dig there anymore now that she knew a human being was buried there. Then an image of the boy in pain flashed through her mind. "What time of year did that accident happen?"
"Early May." The old woman's eyes clouded over at long ago, put away memories, coming to the surface.
"Mom, how old was Jacob?" asked her daughter.
"He turned eleven in January and thought he was growed. He needled Pa about helping roof the barn until Pa gave in."
Ellen digested that information, then asked, "Which leg did Jacob break?"
"The left one. Daughter, we better go. Thanks for letting me look around." Barely able to contain her excitement, Ellen ran to the feed shed to tell Jack what she heard. "Guess what happened?" she panted.
"The hogs got out again while I was gone after the feed," Jack said, concentrating on unloading the sacks from the pickup.
"No, I had visitors."
"What did they want?" Jack lifted a sack onto his shoulder and returned to the shed.
"The older lady told me an amazing story."
"That right." Jack reached for another sack.
"Years ago, she said her brother, Jacob, got killed when he fell off the barn roof," explained Ellen.
"Really?" Jack, hearing excitement in Ellen's voice, stopped to look at her.
"Really, and get this. He turned eleven in January and fell off the barn in May."
"So?"
"Don't you see? The banging started in January and ended in May. The lady said Jacob broke his left leg. Remember the boy I saw that night. His left leg was twisted under him. Don't you think that's quite a coincidence?"
"I might if you hadn't been sleepwalking. I don't believe that some spook named Jacob lives in our barn." Jack threw another sack on his shoulder.
"He doesn't live in our barn exactly. Don't you see, he just wants to finish the roofing job he didn't get done before he fell and died," Ellen said, exasperated by Jack's attitude.
"Yeah. Sure."
"Well, I happen to think Jacob could have returned. You haven't found out any other reason for the banging, have you?"
"Nope. Want to help me unload feed?"
"No way! I have to start lunch." Jack wasn't going to believe her. She might as well drop the subject and retreat to the house before he put her to work.
That evening, the Carters had just settled down in the living room when the banging started up again.
"Oh no, Jacob's back," Ellen blurted out.
"I don't know about that overactive imagination of yours. I'm going to find out what that banging is right now." Exasperated by what he thought was Ellen's twisted logic,
Jack said, "I'm going to prove you wrong before you tell the neighbors our barn's haunted.
"Go ahead. I'll let you meet Jacob this time," said Ellen, smugly.
Not long after Jack left, the hammering sounded faster and louder. Growing apprehensive, Ellen couldn't stand the suspense. She went to find her husband.
When she went into the barn, she couldn't believe her eyes. Jack, on his knees, was nailing a piece of tin over a hole with the old hammer. "You're doing the hammering?"
"That rat hole has been the problem all along," declared Jack.
"The rats made the banging noise?" squeaked Ellen.
"No, silly, the sheep," declared Jack.
"Sure it was the sheep," bristled Ellen.
"See that hole I patched? It went into the corn bin on the other side of this wall," Jack explained. "The sheep tapped the wall with their hooves, and corn fell out of the hole. Each time they heard us enter the barn, they stopped and waited for us to feed them."
"Okay, you win," said Ellen. "Let's go back to the house?"
Feeling defeated, Ellen trailed behind Jack. She paused a minute and turned to study the barn's roof, then looked at the spot where she saw Jacob. How could she have imagination him?
Jack needed a logical explanation for the banging. Wouldn't he groan if she suggested that Jacob might return every year from January to May to work on the barn roof? Then again maybe she better keep that notion to herself before Jack decided to have her committed.
"Come on, slow poke. What's that imagination of yours cooking up now?" Jack taunted.
Wanting the last word, Ellen past him, then replied, "Now that we know Jacob's resting in the pasture, I wondered which tree I should plant flowers by for him. Oh, you'll need to buy hog panels to keep the sheep out so they won't eat the flowers. Maybe you should fix one panel so we can open it to mow the grass."
Ellen smiled at the soft groan she heard behind her.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Things That Go Bump In The Night
Now that my online bookstore, Booksbyfay Book Store, ( www.booksbyfaystore.weebly.com) is up and running, I have found out everything is in working order. I made a book sale. Now I need to get busy and advertise, advertise, advertise.
I proudly tell you my farm house was built in 1899. I've lived here eighteen years in November. My husband and I knew this home and the surrounding land was for us the minute the real estate agent showed it to us.
With Halloween coming up I am reminded as with most homes as old as ours, there has to be quite a history if our house could talk and maybe even a few deaths within these walls. Once in awhile in the dark of night, the groans of this old house settling could easily be mistaken for someone sharing this abode with us. There's what sounds like soft patter of bare feet, step by step, coming up the stairs in the middle of the night, putting a creaking pressure on the old steps The sound of one of the bedroom doors opening or closing can be quite loud because the doors tend to stick. We've gotten used to the noises and our wild imaginations. One of us usually whispers, "Spooks."
I love a ghost story now and then. The stories from the area of haunted homes and cemeteries that are believed to be true are fun to read. Do I believe everything I read? No. Am I going to some haunted cemetery in the middle of the night to prove someone wrong? Definitely not!
"A Teapot, Ghosts, Bats & More" ISBN 1438233698 is a collection of short stories I wrote for contests. Actually, I have written three short story books filled with contest entries that won from second to sixth place. When I was dividing the stories up into categories, I found I had written quite a few spooky stories.
Take for instant, the story about the ghost in the Iowa barn, Jacob's Spirit. That came about because on a summer day years ago when we lived in the trailer house by my parents, two women stopped and talked to my son. They wanted to see this place the older woman had called home. Of course, many of the outbuildings she remembered had been gone along time as well as a grove of walnut trees in the pasture. The old barn, she remembered well, was the reason for a younger brother's death around 1900. He was helping roof the barn, fell off, broke a leg and died of blood poisoning. He was buried at the back of the pasture, but the lady wasn't sure of the exact spot. Perhaps, the parents had thought to start a family cemetery, but years later they retired and turned the farm over to a son. With the passing of time, whatever they used for a marker disappeared, and no one remembered about the grave. How my story plays out is what happened to my husband and I one winter when we had some mischievous sheep. Can't tell you anymore without giving the plot away. Wait until Thursday and I will put "Jacob's Spirit" on my blog for Halloween.
I proudly tell you my farm house was built in 1899. I've lived here eighteen years in November. My husband and I knew this home and the surrounding land was for us the minute the real estate agent showed it to us.
With Halloween coming up I am reminded as with most homes as old as ours, there has to be quite a history if our house could talk and maybe even a few deaths within these walls. Once in awhile in the dark of night, the groans of this old house settling could easily be mistaken for someone sharing this abode with us. There's what sounds like soft patter of bare feet, step by step, coming up the stairs in the middle of the night, putting a creaking pressure on the old steps The sound of one of the bedroom doors opening or closing can be quite loud because the doors tend to stick. We've gotten used to the noises and our wild imaginations. One of us usually whispers, "Spooks."
I love a ghost story now and then. The stories from the area of haunted homes and cemeteries that are believed to be true are fun to read. Do I believe everything I read? No. Am I going to some haunted cemetery in the middle of the night to prove someone wrong? Definitely not!
"A Teapot, Ghosts, Bats & More" ISBN 1438233698 is a collection of short stories I wrote for contests. Actually, I have written three short story books filled with contest entries that won from second to sixth place. When I was dividing the stories up into categories, I found I had written quite a few spooky stories.
Take for instant, the story about the ghost in the Iowa barn, Jacob's Spirit. That came about because on a summer day years ago when we lived in the trailer house by my parents, two women stopped and talked to my son. They wanted to see this place the older woman had called home. Of course, many of the outbuildings she remembered had been gone along time as well as a grove of walnut trees in the pasture. The old barn, she remembered well, was the reason for a younger brother's death around 1900. He was helping roof the barn, fell off, broke a leg and died of blood poisoning. He was buried at the back of the pasture, but the lady wasn't sure of the exact spot. Perhaps, the parents had thought to start a family cemetery, but years later they retired and turned the farm over to a son. With the passing of time, whatever they used for a marker disappeared, and no one remembered about the grave. How my story plays out is what happened to my husband and I one winter when we had some mischievous sheep. Can't tell you anymore without giving the plot away. Wait until Thursday and I will put "Jacob's Spirit" on my blog for Halloween.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
International Book Sales
The last few days must be our burst of Indian summer. When the days like today turn cold and rainy it makes me appreciate those few warmer, sunny days. I spent one of those days cleaning off my flower beds. From year to year, I save my flower seed to use the next spring so the flower beds are the last yard work I do. Early on I potted every flower that wouldn't make it through the winter and brought them inside. They are happily enjoying the indoor warmth in the south window upstairs.
I always hate to see the colors in my yard go from bright yellows, oranges, purple, and pinks to brown. Right now I have old fashion (Aunt Ethel) asters, a few hardy pansies and petunias trying to hang on. Many of my perennials have been given to me from a member of the family. I inherited being a flower lover. Just not the green thumb that goes with it. I don't usually think about where I collected my start of flowers until someone takes a tour in the spring. This spring when a friend was visiting, I stopped to explain my asters came from Aunt Ethel Risner in Arkansas, my peonies by the clothes line poles were my mother's plus her fern peony and white lilies with purple dots. An 80 year old Christmas Cactus that comes in during the winter belonged to a friend of my mother's in Missouri. One large peony dates back to 1924 from my father's parents yard in Montevallo, Missouri. His father set the a whole row out, and Dad brought a start to Iowa with us in 1961. The pussy willow, almond bush, old fashion roses and coriospis came from my mother in law. The day lilies came from friend, Gladys. My three small walnut trees and two persimmon trees are from Uncle Frandell Risner's fall crops in Arkansas a few years back. That is just the top of the list of trees, flowers and bushes I have planted on our land. Some plants I actually bought myself. The ones, that started out as gifts, are now part of my heritage and will long be remember on my family tree.
Now I have to tell you about going international on ebay with book sales. My first attempt at using ebay was to auction off things. I was never very successful with that. When I self published my books I decided to try selling one of them in "fixed price" on ebay. "Christmas Traditions" ISBN 0982459513 has been selling there for a year now. When I published "A Promise Is A Promise" ISBN 0982459505 this summer, I wanted to try selling that book on ebay. First though, I emailed all the buyers of my first book to see if I could interest them in buying Promise from me without going through ebay. I did sell about half of my buyers a book. Made me more profit. Now that those buyers know that Promise is a series, they have gotten back to me to ask that I hurry up and get book two done
I've always put in an inventory of all my books and contact information with all my sales. The amount of the introductory fee is so small, I have considered this a good way to advertise. I can tell by the hit counter how many take a look at my books. In my ebay, I can see how many are watching my books sell. Some day I shall venture forth with a few more books to see if I can attract more buyers, but right now what attracts attention is the Amish books not my name as the author.
This last week I sold a book to a lady in Onterio Canada. That in itself was a thrill, but now I am opened up to sell all around the world. Since I have the first of both books on www.authonomy.com , I had a couple of writers from England interested in buying my books. Perhaps, they might find my books on ebay in their country and give them a try. Getting known takes time so I just have to be patient and see what happens next. I'll keep you posted.
I always hate to see the colors in my yard go from bright yellows, oranges, purple, and pinks to brown. Right now I have old fashion (Aunt Ethel) asters, a few hardy pansies and petunias trying to hang on. Many of my perennials have been given to me from a member of the family. I inherited being a flower lover. Just not the green thumb that goes with it. I don't usually think about where I collected my start of flowers until someone takes a tour in the spring. This spring when a friend was visiting, I stopped to explain my asters came from Aunt Ethel Risner in Arkansas, my peonies by the clothes line poles were my mother's plus her fern peony and white lilies with purple dots. An 80 year old Christmas Cactus that comes in during the winter belonged to a friend of my mother's in Missouri. One large peony dates back to 1924 from my father's parents yard in Montevallo, Missouri. His father set the a whole row out, and Dad brought a start to Iowa with us in 1961. The pussy willow, almond bush, old fashion roses and coriospis came from my mother in law. The day lilies came from friend, Gladys. My three small walnut trees and two persimmon trees are from Uncle Frandell Risner's fall crops in Arkansas a few years back. That is just the top of the list of trees, flowers and bushes I have planted on our land. Some plants I actually bought myself. The ones, that started out as gifts, are now part of my heritage and will long be remember on my family tree.
Now I have to tell you about going international on ebay with book sales. My first attempt at using ebay was to auction off things. I was never very successful with that. When I self published my books I decided to try selling one of them in "fixed price" on ebay. "Christmas Traditions" ISBN 0982459513 has been selling there for a year now. When I published "A Promise Is A Promise" ISBN 0982459505 this summer, I wanted to try selling that book on ebay. First though, I emailed all the buyers of my first book to see if I could interest them in buying Promise from me without going through ebay. I did sell about half of my buyers a book. Made me more profit. Now that those buyers know that Promise is a series, they have gotten back to me to ask that I hurry up and get book two done
I've always put in an inventory of all my books and contact information with all my sales. The amount of the introductory fee is so small, I have considered this a good way to advertise. I can tell by the hit counter how many take a look at my books. In my ebay, I can see how many are watching my books sell. Some day I shall venture forth with a few more books to see if I can attract more buyers, but right now what attracts attention is the Amish books not my name as the author.
This last week I sold a book to a lady in Onterio Canada. That in itself was a thrill, but now I am opened up to sell all around the world. Since I have the first of both books on www.authonomy.com , I had a couple of writers from England interested in buying my books. Perhaps, they might find my books on ebay in their country and give them a try. Getting known takes time so I just have to be patient and see what happens next. I'll keep you posted.
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