SEARCHING FOR SECRETARIAT

SEARCHING FOR SECRETARIAT- October, 1984

It had been a long day’s drive from Kansas City to Lexington, Kentucky.  I was getting that spaced out feeling from being on the road too long as I headed to my hometown in West Virginia.  Ahead of me I noticed a sign that read Keeneland Race Track.  I knew that Lexington was the heart of thoroughbred racing. But I knew little about the sport other than following the career of Secretariat, the Triple Crown winner.   At that moment, I decided that I had to see the greatest race horse of all time.   I knew that he was a Kentucky horse and wondered if someone at Kenneland could put me on his trail.   It was one of those crazy ideas that never work out, but seem possible when operating in the cloud of a driving haze.

At Keeneland I found a parking space and surveyed the outside of the race track. Then I entered the first entrance I could find.   There were some men milling about and horses being led by grooms. I must have looked perplexed because a man approached me and asked if he could help.  I shook his hand and we introduced ourselves.  He was a trainer and he asked if I was interested in horses. Of course I said yes.   We chatted for a few minutes and then he said he would like to show me around the racetrack, but he had to get some horses ready to race.  I had heard of Kentucky hospitality, but this was a bit much and I wondered if the trainer thought I was someone important in the world of horse racing.  I decided to push my luck, fully expecting him to laugh, and asked him if there was any way that I could see Secretariat.   

He graciously informed me that Secretariat was not kept in Lexington, but at Claiborne Farms in Paris, Kentucky. He also said that it took a reservation months in advance to see the race horse.  Nice try I thought as I shook his hand and thanked him for being so kind to a stranger.   But then that rare moment that you live for happened and he said he knew the lady who worked the guard gate at Claiborne Farms and that he would make a call and try to get me in.  He directed me to Paris, Kentucky and there was no way I was not going to go.   I approached the guard gate at Claiborne Farms fully expecting to get the old Kentucky boot, because the trainer had forgotten to make the call or a zillion other reasons for not letting a stranger in to see the racing legend.

I gave my name to the lady at the gate and explained my situation. To my complete surprise she replied that the trainer had indeed made the call.  She signed me in and then told me to walk up the hill to the barn and a groom would bring out Secretariat.  I had anticipated that if I did get to see the horse it would be with a large tour group, but had not imagined that it would just be me, the horse and the groom.  At the top of the hill I waited a moment in the cool October air and then Secretariat came sauntering out led by a groom.  He was just as I had imagined, big and red and beautiful. I asked the groom if I could take some pictures and he informed me that Big Red liked to have his picture taken so I snapped away.    

I chatted with the groom for a few minutes and then thanked him for taking the time to show me the greatest race horse of all time.  It was a special moment that had turned a boring drive into an unforgettable experience.         

            

THE TRIED AND TRUE WAY TO GET BOOK REVIEWS

The review process has been the most frustrating part of marketing my new novel on Social Media.  The conventional wisdom about contacting Amazon reviewers and established reviewers has proven to be dead  wrong. I wasted many months contacting these reviewers and did not receive a single reply.  Although not a big name author, I am an established one, and receiving no response from over 60 queries was a complete surprise.  That the Social Media Gurus had no clue about this was even more surprising. Here’s hoping the following information will be helpful and save you many months of frustration.   

The number one tool for reviews is Goodreads.  What better place to get established with reader/reviewers than to go where they are.  There are only a few hundred established book reviewers that have millions of books to review, but there are several million readers who would like to be book reviewers. In today’s Social Media context  readers carry more weight than established reviewers because other readers trust them and their message.  So step number one step for getting reviews is to get established on Goodreads.  

Step two is to give your book away on Goodreads.  So far I’ve given away over a hundred books for giveaways and for review copies.  At $15.00 each that is $1.500 and has proven to be worth every penny.  You are not doing your book reviewers a favor by sending them a free book; they are doing you one by agreeing to review it.  Consider that a reviewer spends 5 to 10 hours reading your book and then writing a review.  If you broke down the cost of your book with the return you are getting the reviewer would be making about $1.50 per hour.  Be thankful there are readers willing to review books, and be sure to send them a thank you note. 

Once your giveaway is over the readers who have shown an interest in your book and marked it as a read will show up on the left side of the Goodreads screen. These are the readers you want to contact. And please note that no lawyer would sit a jury without going through the vetting process and finding jurors they are compatible with, and you shouldn’t either when vetting reviewers.  In other words, don’t send your historical romance to a reader who loves science fiction. And when you check the reviews of readers who have shown an interest in your book, for obvious reasons, don’t send a copy to readers who consistently give one and two star reviews.  And you should also skip the readers who give ratings but will not write a review.    

When you click on the photo of the reader who has shown an interest there will be a send message link where you can send your message.  My contact letter simply states that: I noticed on Goodreads that you have marked by book to read. If I send you a signed, hardcover, first edition copy of the novel, would write a review on Goodreads and on Amazon?  Thank you so much for showing an interest in my book and for considering this proposal. You can check me out on Goodreads and on my website. (Put your  links here.)   Please send me your mailing address if you agree to read and review the novel.   Salutations and signature and you are good to go.

And please keep in mind that regardless of your vetting process you may get zinged with a less than flattering review.  Some reviewers won’t like your style, your views on politics, your handling of sex scenes and so on.  My advice is to accept the bad review as part of the process and go on.  And as difficult as it may be, never ever try to retaliate.  You are not going to change anyone’s mind about your book and it will just make a bad situation worse.  Better to concentrate your energies on getting more 4 and 5 star reviews to offset the bad review.  This review process has worked very well for me and I hope it works as well for you, so good luck on getting those  book  reviews.   

      

    

  

HOW K. U. BASKETBALL MESSED WITH MY MARRIAGE

The first 50 years of our marriage went well, partly because we each had our own areas of interest. Hers were the arts, entertainment and psychology.  Mine were sports, sports and more sports. You might think this would be a source of friction, but other than a few disparaging remarks about my obsession, we respected each other’s passions. Each day began blissfully with her reading the arts and entertainment section of the newspaper while I was lost in the sports pages.  On occasion, I would be coaxed from my sporting lair to attend a concert or a chick flick, but hey, sometimes I had to compromise to keep the peace.  Year after year this marital bliss went on until the unthinkable happened and my world was turned upside down.  At the breakfast table one Sunday morning I started searching through the newspaper.

“Where is the sports section?” I asked frantically. “Did they forget to print it?”

“I’m reading it,” she replied tersely from behind the paper, like she had every right to do so.
For a moment I was stunned into silence. “Why are you reading the sports section? You haven’t read sports in 50 years,” I said, exasperated.
“I know.  I wanted to see if K.U. won the basketball game last night.”
If she had announced that World War Three had started it wouldn’t have been any more shocking.
“You have never been interested in K. U. Basketball,” I challenged, resentful of her treading in my domain.
“I know, but I like the way Bill Self coaches.”
I stared at her dumbfounded.
“How could you possibly know how he coaches?”
“Sometimes I watch the games while I’m doing other things. You have been too absorbed to notice.”

Me? Absorbed by sports?

“You were kind of sneaky about this,” I challenged.
“Don’t be silly.”
“And now you’re hogging the sports section.”
“You’re such a grouch. I’m almost finished.”
“You don’t understand. The sports pages are sacred. I’ll be reading second hand news.”
She shook her head in exasperation and handed them over.
“I think it would be fun to go to a game,” she announced.
For a moment I was too stunned to respond.  
“You’ve had no interest in sports all these years. What gives?”
“It looks like it would be entertaining.”
 “The Pope is easier to see than K.U. basketball tickets are to get.  And it would cost a small fortune,” I said, putting her off to protect my domain.
“You just don’t want me to go.”
She had played the marital trump card and we both knew she had me where it hurt.
“I’ll see what I can do.”

We were sitting at the very top of Allen Fieldhouse. The only thing higher was the Beware of the Phog banner. She didn’t mind in the least, and was totally enthralled with all that was going on below her.
“Isn’t this wonderful!” she exclaimed, enraptured.
“As soon as my nose bleed stops I’ll let you know. We had better watch for pigeons.”
She patted my leg to placate me as she watched the players warming up.        
“Where is he?” she asked
“Where is who?”
“Bill Self.”
“How would I know? I can’t see the court.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“He has this thing he does where he takes a few moments of quiet contemplation before every game.” I explained.
“Oh. I can understand that.”

 And then on the big screen Bill Self came sauntering out and she began cheering and clapping with the rest of the crowd.  The fieldhouse hushed for the alma mater. She was a K.U. grad and the hail to old K.U line made her swell with pride.  The rock chalk Jayhawk chant followed and she joined in with fervor for good ole K.U.
A few minutes into the game one of the Morris twins was called for a foul and she was fuming.
“Why did they call a foul?” she demanded.
“Elbows to the throat are not allowed,” I replied.
“Oh. It must have been accidental.”
I rolled my eyes.
“By the way, what does in the paint mean?” she asked.
Holy hoops! She was learning the jargon! I explained about the paint.

The game ebbed back and forth as she watched nervously, living and dying with each shot at the basket. Finally, K. U. put the game away and she let out a contented sigh of relief.
“Maybe we should leave early to beat the crowd,” I said, thinking about the trek down from the top of Allen Fieldhouse.
 She looked at me like I had committed a sacrilege.
“No way,” she said firmly. “I want to go down and see the court. We might even get to see the players when they leave the dressing room.”
I knew that I was dreaming and that I would wake up in a cold sweat, safe and secure in my sports domain.  
We watched some of the post game activity and were among the last to leave Allen Fieldhouse.
“I really enjoyed myself,” she said as we stepped out into the wind and rain. “I’m going to watch every game.” 
And there it was, stark and undeniable. One of the foundations of our marriage had crumbled. My domain was now our domain.  Bill Self had turned my wife into a basketball fan.  

TOP WRITING AND PUBLISHING TIPS GLEANED OVER 20 YEARS

1. Purchase a copy of The Elements of Style. It is a timeless instruction by Professor William Strunk Jr. on how not to use needless words.

2.  Before publishing, hire a content editor, a grammar and punctuation editor and a proof reader. Mistakes in the manuscript can be invisible to the writer because they are imprinted on the brain.

3. There is some truth to the theory that waiting at the computer for inspiration is the correct way to go.  However, that inspiration might also be waiting on the golf course or at the movies.

4. Buy a book of baby names.  You will know instantly the name of your character when you read it.

5. Do research and hire the best people to produce a book. It will be judged by the quality as well as the content.

6.  Writing about sex is risky. It should be erotic and exciting without going into too much detail.  

7. There is no rhyme nor reason to book reviews    One of my novels received a tepid review from the book review department of a large metropolitan newspaper.  Later, that same novel won a prestigious literary award named after the longtime book review editor of that newspaper.    

8. Don’t bet the farm on any writing project. Use money you can afford to lose and you will sleep better at night.

9. Trust your instincts.  Twenty years ago the establishment warned me not to self publish because the conventional wisdom was that my novel would not be taken seriously and would not be reviewed.  The establishment was wrong. My novel, Gully Town, received a ton of publicity and rose to number three on the Regional best-seller list.

10. Don’t forget the most important two word question of all before starting a writing project.  Who cares?  If you don’t know the answer then reconsider the project.

11. Writing is like a good wine. It needs to age before being consumed.

12. Be passionate about your writing.  An example of how I almost ended up in jail for the sake of research is detailed in one of my previous blogs: THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING THERE.  

    

TWENTY YEARS AGO - MY FIRST VENTURE INTO SELF PUBLISHING

My journey into self publishing was born out of necessity as well as out of frustration. In 1991 there were no publishers of novels in the six state area where I lived.  My frustration grew as rejection letters kept piling up from major publishers in New York who were emphatic that no one would be interested in a historical novel about Kansas City.  In those days it was a risky venture because no other writer had self published a novel in my area of the country.  The prevailing wisdom was that the novel would not be taken seriously and would definitely not be reviewed. 

However, after working on the novel for 10 years, the thought of it languishing in a dresser drawer would be a sad ending to what I thought was a good book. The plunge into self publishing was daunting because I knew from the beginning that for the novel to be taken seriously the quality would have to be as good as, or better than books put out by major publishers.  And it would be expensive to make that happen.  But in spite of all my reservations I began the process by hiring the best rated editors, typesetter, and book publisher.  

When the book was finished I took it around to bookstore managers and left them a free copy of the novel with the proposition that if they liked it they would give me an order.  They did, and the book was stocked in every bookstore in the city.  My strategy for publicity was to leave a copy of the book with two of my favorite newspaper columnists with the same proposition.  If they liked the book they might give me a mention in their column. One of the reporters  wrote about current affairs in Kansas City and the other wrote about business.  Both reporters wrote a story about me and about how much they enjoyed the novel and that led to more articles and then radio and television appearances.    

Although book sales for Gully Town were excellent, and the novel made it to number 3 on the regional best seller list, the greatest satisfaction came in an article about the history of Kansas City in the Kansas City Star.  The reporter printed the cover of three books that were significant in the history of the city: Theodore Dreiser’s An American Tragedy, Elmer Gantry by Sinclair Lewis, and my novel, Gully Town.    And that alone made the self publishing venture worthwhile. 

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING THERE

Edgar Rice Burroughs wrote the Tarzan series without ever seeing Africa, but whenever possible, I try to visit the places I write about. To complete a Civil War scene in my first novel, Gully Town, I waited for the sun to come up on the exact October day the Battle of Westport took place. I wanted to get a feel for what the troops saw the morning before the battle.  And for my novel, Incident at Simms Center, I went to the Chase County Courthouse in Cottonwood Falls, Kansas during a thunderstorm. The climactic scene in the novel takes place on a stormy night, with Herb Tully running up the stairs to the bell tower.  

The hub of my third novel, The Ghost Dancers, was Kansas City’s Union Station. When the station opened it was the second largest train station in the country at 850,000 square feet, with a 95 foot high ceiling, 3 chandeliers weighing 3500 pounds each, and a grand clock with a 6 foot diameter face. In the 1930’s and 1940’s meeting under the clock was a way of life in Kansas City. It would be the meeting place for the characters in my novel.  However, there was no way for me to get into the station. It had been closed for years while litigation went on between the city of Kansas City and the Trizec Corporation about who was responsible for the station’s deteriorating condition. I tried calling the Mayor’s office and also Trizec to get permission to set my scene under the clock, but was told no one could get in, not even the Mayor. All further pleas were forcefully rebuffed.

 A few days later I was lost in the bowels of Union Station holding a lantern. It was very dark and very scary outside the edges of my lantern’s light, and I wondered what I had gotten myself into. After stumbling around in the dark for half an hour, I turned a corner and was attracted by a light shining from above.  I headed up an old stairway feeling very much like a character in a Dicken’s novel to seek out the source of the light. At the top of the stairs, and to my complete amazement, the light was pouring in from the 90 foot high arched windows at the front of the station and had led me into the North Waiting Room.  It was only a short walk to the clock where I wanted to set my scene.  

 The station, even in disrepair, was magnificent and I was spellbound. After spending some time setting my scene under the clock and in the North Waiting Room, it was time to explore. I headed up a stairway at the front of the station and encountered a security guard who was headed down. For a moment we were both too shocked to respond, and then he reached for his gun and I put my hands up in surrender. I began explaining why I was there, trying to put the guard at ease. He was not buying it however, and he called for backup. Two more security guards arrived, and I gave them my best pitch about literary pursuits and why they should let me go.  But they weren’t buying it either, and they called the Kansas City Police Department.

 I was in some serious trouble and wondered about my fate.  After a bit of conversation, the security guards realized they were not dealing with John Dillinger. They relaxed and started asking me questions about the station. We were doing a mini tour when the giant doors at the front of the building banged open and three police officers entered and headed my way. They were immaculately dressed in crisp uniforms and their polished boots clicked off the station floor in military precision. I wondered why I rated an elite unit of the police department. The security guards gathered round to listen. The sergeant in charge put his chest close to mine, and the conversation went like this:

 “Do you know what the penalty is for breaking and entering?” he asked.

I shook my head.
“Are you ready to go downtown?”
I remained silent.
“What is your name?”
I told him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m a writer and I wanted to set a scene under the clock.”
“What have you written?” the sergeant asked skeptically.  
“You probably haven’t heard of it. A novel about Kansas City called, Gully Town.”
The sergeant hesitated and looked me over.
“I read Gully Town and I liked it,” he said.
I let out a deep sigh of relief.

The sergeant wiped his brow and looked around in awe at the magnificence of the station.

“You know Mr. Schultz,” he said. “I haven’t been in here since I was a kid. My dad used to bring me here all the time.”
And that’s when I knew he was more interested in the station than in me. His two companions were mesmerized by the station and had already headed to the North Waiting Room to look around.
“Are you going to thank me for getting you in here?”I asked.
“Don’t push your luck,” he muttered.
We began talking about the history of the station, and after a few minutes we got more comfortable with each other and began telling stories about Union Station.  I was now giving a tour to three security guards and three police officers when those big doors swung open again and in marched a man dressed in a suit. He headed for us and the three police officers greeted him. I asked him who he was, and he replied that he was a police observer, and he joined our group. I suspected that he was there to observe the station, and wondered if the entire police force was going to show up.

 We started a discussion about the Union Station Massacre. The officers wanted to know the route that federal agents had taken as they escorted the notorious criminal, Frank Nash, to a waiting car in the front parking lot.  From there they would head to the penitentiary in Leavenworth, where Frank had escaped years before.  But out in the parking lot, Vern Miller, Adam Richitti, and Pretty Boy Floyd waited to ambush the officers and free Frank. In the ensuing gun battle, four agents and Frank Nash were killed. We were deep into the discussion when the station doors banged open again and the Trizec executives marched in. I knew my moment of truth had arrived.  Law enforcement left me like I had the plague and went to confer with Trizec. 

They huddled in a corner of the station with glances in my direction. I suspected they were weighing the benefits of my arrest against the possibility of some bad publicity for jailing me for trying to research a Kansas City landmark. The conference lasted long enough to make me sweat, and then one of the executives marched over and stuck out his hand. I shook it. He told me that I was not going to be prosecuted, but that I was never to do it again. I now knew how Frank Nash must have felt surrounded by police officers and I wanted no part of a jail cell. I shook hands with all of the officers and they escorted me out of the building.

The next day a story appeared in the Kansas City Star about the escapade and how the power of the station brought us all together.  The article summed it up very well and I was glad the story had a happy ending.  A few years later the station opened and was once again an important hub in the Kansas City scene.  A photo of the station is at the top right hand corner of my website: www.gpschultz.com   

  

    

             

 

    

FEEDING THE DIGITAL DEMON

The voice on the line said it was sooo easy to download a book to a digital distributor.  All I had to do was follow the Smashwords formatting directions and it would be a breeze.  What the voice didn’t say was that the directions looked like a five page physics test. Not one to turn down a challenge, I immediately called a formatting expert and hired her to do the job. If I’ve learned anything in 20 years in the book business, it is that easy and computer are oxymoron’s when used in the same sentence.  I sent my novels to a formatting expert in a Word document and when she finished the formatting they were downloaded with ease.    

But not so fast! The next digital distributor, the one named after a South American river, didn’t want the novels downloaded in a Word document, they wanted them in an HTML file. I’m sure that’s because any hint of uniformity in the digital world would not allow us to steam in frustration at our computers.  However, without too much trouble, the novels were converted to an HTML file and are now bobbing in the digital river.

The next stop was Google EBooks, and you guessed it. They didn’t want the novels downloaded in Word or HTML; they wanted them in a PDF file. What fun! And for good measure, just to wipe the smirk off my face, they didn’t want the books downloaded with their titles, they wanted them downloaded with their ISBN numbers. And just for me, mister computer klutz, they wanted a signed statement confirming that I am the owner of my own ISBN numbers. Do they think we make this stuff up, or is it just a lot of fun watching us jump through their digital hoops?   

The next call was to Lightning Source, the print on demand distributor. This would be easy because I had my electronic files and my electronic cover. I was way ahead of the digital game.  But just in case, I called ahead to talk to a representative, who immediately deflated me with the one question that filled me with dread. “How good are your computer skills? We have our own specifications that you have to meet before downloading into our system.”  Gee… what a surprise! I asked if they had someone who could do this for me, but alas they did not.  I spent the rest of that afternoon trying to figure out if I wanted to proceed or slit my wrists.      

My suggestion for the digital book world would be to come up with one, easy, universal downloading system for ebooks and for print on demand. The current system seems bizarre for an industry that was innovative enough to create the Kindle and the Nook. And in so doing, the mind they save just might be  my own.