New Day, New Look!

While black and blue American lives struggle to be heard above political rhetoric, fanatic Islamic terrorists plot their next wave of blood and hate, and Pacific Islanders (and so many others) cry out against rapidly rising tides, I wanted to take a moment to tell you there really is such a place as Camp Happiness. And the people who live there really are happy. And fun. And REAL. And wonderful. It's hard to cry when you're busy singing, hard to doubt when there's always a smile and a hug at the ready, and impossible to hate when you're surrounded by so much love. I wish there was a way to package this *peace* I'm feeling and send it out to everyone; I suspect we could all use a little Camp Happiness vibe right about now.

All I've got, though, is a new look. And a new name. I can't say I'm sold on the color scheme, yet, but it might grow on me. Regardless, I hope the changes inspire you to poke around more, read more, share more, and - ultimately - love more. No, I don't have a theme here, but I DO write about things most of us care about, like family, music, life, relationships, toddlers, prostitution, NASCAR, and Willie Nelson. I've even mentioned that Kid Rock guy a time or two.

What I'm trying to say is: If you're looking for a little distraction, there are worse places to be. And I'm happy you're here. :)

~ Dawn

Will Write for Beer

Besides the groupie shit I tossed out a few days ago, I haven’t posted in a while, so let’s start with some FAQs, K? Beginning with the obvious: Yes, I’m working on a third book. Yes, it’s historical fiction, set in Malta, circa 1565. No, it’s nowhere near finished. Yes, it’s a prequel (as opposed to a sequel) to my first book, IMMORTAL BONDS. Yes, I plan to make DeSAIN, the villain of the first book, the hero of the third. No, it won’t be anything like CKR (except, maybe, for the orgy scene). No, Kid Rock will NOT appear in the third book, although there is a Joe C. And, no, I’m not rolling in dough. Yet. Why? Let’s just say this gig ain’t as easy as it looks.

Back in ’06 or ’07, I set the sales goal for my second book at “more than Paris Hilton and her dog.” I’ve so far fallen short by a few million units. Granted, Tinkerbell had a better marketing staff. Every time I think about it, though, I’m further disheartened by the fact that I’m actually competing with a dog. And not even a “real” dog, a purse dog! With or without sales reps, you’d think I could outsell a fuckin’ teacup Chihuahua.

Of course, I knew this would happen. One could even say I set myself up. I wrote a book I didn’t want to write, then named it after a guy who’s barely in the book. I used settings like strip clubs and NASCAR races, things that attract an audience not generally known for their literary inclinations, and those who pride themselves on their reading material will instantly – mistakenly – wave it off as an amateur attempt at a groupie how-to. No wonder the dog’s selling better.

Part of the problem is that I have an aversion to asking people to “buy my book.” Okay, it’s a big part. But I’ve said it before: I’d prefer the words speak for me; if people like what I write, they’ll look for more. In my opinion, my limited Facebook (Twitter, Classmates, Google+, LinkedIn…) time is better spent peppering witty and charming comments on friends’ pictures than cramming their news feeds with links to Amazon. They’re easy enough to find. I’m here to entertain, not sell. Don’t see that changing.

Another (rather large, seemingly impassable) hurdle is the book, itself: it’s raunchy. Remember that strip club remark a couple paragraphs back? Though most enjoy it, some are hesitant to admit it. Consequently, not every reader recommends it to someone else. Perched where I am in my career, I depend on word of mouth. Surely, you can see where this “pucker effect” might be a hindrance.

Why is it raunchy? you might ask. Because I wrote it for men who don’t read. (Yeah, that’s an issue, too.) Specifically, I took a long, hard look at my husband, his friends, and my own male friends and acquaintances and asked myself, “What would THEY want to read about?” Answer: Penthouse, fart jokes, binge drinking, and morning wood. Easy enough, right? I’d been monitoring trends in technology and social networking for several years and had noticed more men were communicating, but few exhibited a mastery of the English language. Armed with the knowledge and strong, personal belief that vocabulary improves with reading, I thought it was time to give “the boys” something on their level – or, at least, something that appears that way. Enter Redneck Fiction. Just don’t tell them it’s actually literary-quality shit.

The title doesn’t help, either. On the one hand, I elected to use an acronym for the cover and spine because (a) it was never my intention to capitalize on the Kid Rock name and (b) I didn’t want to discourage non-fans from picking it up. On the other, by not printing the full title on the book, and by using only an acronym in marketing and advertising, I’m not catching the attention of fans and am routinely missing out on the opportunity to reach a fair share of my market. It’s basically a “fucked if you don’t, fucked if you do” scenario.

Why not change the title? Because, given that it seems more accurate to say HE’s chasing ME, I think it’s funny as hell.

Though every coincidence further convinces me I’m doing the right thing, every break that’s come along has been whisked away just as quickly as it appeared, with no progress to show for it. (What was it Garth Brooks said about unanswered prayers?) Then there’s the self-published, Print-On-Demand label that keeps the book off retail shelves. And the industry expectation I wholly disregarded: As a new, breakthrough author, I’m supposed to stick to a genre. My first novel, IMMORTAL BONDS, was paranormal suspense. CKR is contemporary. The next will be historical. Agents and publishers can’t ignore me fast enough.

But there IS hope: BeanPods Press, a small publishing firm created by dear friends Maggie West and David Bean. The first short story I ever published was released earlier this year as a part of their compilation, BIOHAZARD 2012, and they’re bravely taking me on as a permanent author. Their 2013 anthology, FIRST LOVE, will include my second published short story. In a couple months, they’ll be re-releasing IMMORTAL BONDS as an e-book. Next year, we’re looking into offering a collection of my earlier, favorite blog posts and (maybe) an easy-to-follow, illustrated version of “The CKR Diaries.” If I can git ‘r done, they’re hoping to release DeSAIN in 2015.

As for CKR, I might consider re-evaluating my sales goal. Selling millions of copies would be nice, but – at this point – I’d be satisfied if royalties covered my vices and helped me feel like more of an asset around here than a liability. To make that happen, all I need is 200 e-book sales this month. And then, again, next month. And the month after that. And so on. It’s do-able. I’m an award-winning, thought-provoking, genuinely-published author (that’s two novels, six magazine articles, and a short story, for those keeping track), and CHASING KID ROCK is a damn good book! The profanity, alone, will keep me off Oprah’s reading list, but who needs Oprah when I have … well … you, and the handful of others who “get” it. Plus, I have faith in the powers that guided my hand to write the story in the first place that it will get where it needs to go. In the meantime, I’ll keep pecking away at my keyboard and dreaming of the day I get to tell Scott the advance check arrived and he can quit his day job.

Anyone know how to get in touch with Tinkerbell’s marketing staff?

~ Dawn

2012: The Year They Recognize My Genius

My husband says the Golden Age of blogs is gone, that they hit their peak with MySpace and are fading out and away. I think that’s bullshit. There’s still room on the Internet for blogs. You don’t have to look far to see people still write them. Granted half suck, and, sure, the climate and terrain have changed since the MySpace Top 10, but the concept remains the same: I post, you click; you get a free and amusing way to kill a few minutes between Poison videos, I get to dust off my keyboard, spread my wings, and say shit that could get me arrested in at least five countries. Everybody wins! How can something so right be so wrong?

The key is to be interesting and give the reader not just what he wants, but more than he expects. Are you here to laugh? Learn something new? Be surprised? Shocked? Turned on? How ‘bout all the above? I want to lure you deep (down the cleavage, past the belly button) into the world of the written word. I want to touch you where your girlfriend won’t, make you step away from the sound bytes and cartoons, and let me take you places you’d only heard words could go. I want you to get so much out of this blog you need a towel.

To make that happen, I have to (a) know what you want and (b) deliver. Otherwise, my attempts to seduce you will fall as short as that Kardashian chick’s radio career and I’ll be left out here playing with myself. I won’t lie, it might take a little trial and error. Many of us are just getting acquainted. And I’m doing this without a crutch; no theme, no agenda, no topic. When you visit, you’re bound to get an earful (eyeful) of me and my opinions, but, regardless of the subject matter, YOU will forever be the force that drives me. That’s why “Dawn’s Alter Ego” won’t ever be “Dawn’s Wond’rous World of Watercolor Painting”—there’s no sense of surprise in that. Besides, if I felt the urge to talk about sexual harassment, blowjobs (is that one word or two?), public indecency, the Daytona 500, the ungrateful little shitheads* who call me Mom, or Kid Rock, I’m not sure anyone would remember the brush technique we were discussing. I could be wrong.

I figure MY blog, MY rules. And rule #1: NO RULES. I embarked on a full-time writing career ten years and two novels ago, armed with the pledge to get more people to read. That means I can’t color within the lines. I have to be better than the next guy, break through the confines of predictable, genre-based fiction, and take readers on the ride of their lives. Believe me, I’ve thought a lot about settling into a topic. Nearly everyone close to me has suggested it. Sticking with a theme would certainly make this blogging shit easier. There’d be no more “What should I write about today?” dilemmas,  and I wouldn’t have to resort to sharing stories about the year I lost smoking coke or the multiple sexual encounters I had in my (lengthy, notorious) slut phase. A good topic, say Writing Tips for the New Writer, would give me an easy target audience, a plethora of material, and endless opportunities to tell people what to do (something a therapist once told me I have a need for). But I’m bored just THINKING about it. If, as the writer, I’M bored, imagine where that leaves YOU.

Short answer: Someone else’s blog.

What you’ve got here, then, is ME. In all my glory. Who’da thunk the eldest daughter of a truck driver – a hillbilly straight out’ the woods of Rochester, Washington – could grow up to be so fuckin’ interesting? (And, honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!) My husband (and probably half the planet) says the Golden Age is dead, but I think he’s wrong. I also think the best bang for your blog buck is right here. Whether you want it clean and quick or slow and thorough, I’m your man…or…well…you know what I mean. I’ll be back eventually with a new post. For now, poke around the site, read a post or two (there’s a shit-load), and get your feet wet. What else did you plan to do? Update your Facebook status (“Got a great deal on shoes! Love my life!”)? Run a Google search for “recipes for stewed prunes”? Trust me, the only person who cares about your shoes is the bitch who saw them first but couldn’t move her fat ass fast enough to beat you to them, and a good soul-cleansing is as beneficial to the system as a nutritious, natural laxative any day of the week.

Oh, one last thing: Don’t be afraid to tell me what you think (where to go, what to do when I get there, etc.). If not here in a comment, send me an email or PM me on Facebook. This is the Internet – it’s INTER-active. It’ll only take a minute, it’ll help me make this a better place, and you’ll have the satisfaction of participating in what might one day be proclaimed the best blog on the World Wide Web. (Don’t laugh: If an actor can be president, a billionaire bimbo can be a best-selling author, and Steve Buscemi can be a leading man, a 47-year-old, stay-at-home redneck fiction writer in South Florida can write a #1 blog. Don’t think so? Feel free to stand back and fuck off.)

Until then, I’ll be right here…playing with myself…and waiting for you. :)

~ Dawn

* P.S. Originally referred to as "the ungrateful little bastards who call me Mom," my children will henceforth be referenced as shitheads - after my daughter insisted they not be called "bastards" any more. ;)

To Blog or Not To Blog ... You Mean There's a Choice?!

Am I back? Sort of. I’m afraid to swear on Facebook and, with MySpace down the shitter, I needed a new forum for the CKR Diaries; the ride’s comin’ to an end – 2012’s around the corner! – and I don’t want y’all to miss out. Plus, I needed a place to blog because, as many of you can guess, my self esteem needs stroking. I’d do it myself, but…it’s not the same. You know how that goes.

If you’ll hang in there, I’ll do my best to post new material periodically between CKR stuff. I’ve gotta say, though, it’s been fun going through these old entries, remembering how messed up the beginning was (as if the middle has been any different). A lot happens in four years…I mean, FIVE years. Shit! Has it been 5 years since I started this damn book? Our daughter’s 17 now! I’ve seen Kid Rock 2 or 3 times since ‘06. Scott and I are heading out next weekend for our 4th Daytona 500. Where does the time go? (Can we blame Obama?)

Before I post anything else, I’d like to welcome those of you who are reading this drivel for the first time. I hope you find yourself comfortable here and learn quickly that your comments are important to me. They feed my soul (some might say my ego, but Mom taught me they’re just jealous) and give me a reason to keep doing this. I consider it a privilege to entertain you – know you are among friends.

I also need to thank (and kiss and hug and do obscene things to) all of you who, back in the day, read the Diaries as it all happened. We’ve been through a lot together. I hope things don’t end badly like last time, when you tossed my shit out the window onto the lawn, gave the dog to that weird neighbor who always scratched himself, and told the police it was me that…oh, oops…that was somebody else. Sorry.

Whoever you are, I hope I made you smile today. :) 

~ Dawn