Indie Publishing and Exclusive Fiction #1
A Glimpse into the First Taylor Jackson Novel in a Decade!
Happy Sunday—and Happy Easter, and Blessed Passover. I spent the past two weeks on a massive, monster project—getting the new Taylor Jackson novel up and running. Let me tell you, indie publishing, done right, is much more than popping a book up online and raking in the page reads. (I sort of wish that was the path I’d chosen instead of my Pinnochio-esque desire to be a “real press.”)
To start, obviously, is Editorial. I have a long-term copyeditor (helloooo, Flis!) who works on every manuscript from both JT and Joss land, and a few excellent beta readers who are never shy in letting me know whether I’ve hit the mark or not. When the book goes to Flis, I then turn to Art, with the incomporable Kim Killion. She understands me, and the cover she gave me for this book is SPECTACULAR. (See below)
When the copyedits and proofreading are done, then it’s time for Formatting. I use Vellum, which is possibly the simplest, most intuitive program I’ve ever worked with. I can generate files for every platform, plus print files for Ingram, hardcover and trade (I like to give you choices.) I do one last pass in the formatting process, and typeset as I go. Vellum lets me use handwriting, text messaging, email fonts seamlessly, making the books look modern and clean.
Once the book’s interior is beautiful, it’s time to get the book up for preorder. Uploading is where the fun begins. If I’m only putting together a single title, it’s not too big a deal - 6 identifiers, 6 upload sites. Metadata is vital. The categories are different on every platform, and some platforms are easier than others. Ingram. Amazon. Google Play. Draft 2 Digital. Kobo. Apple. Nook. Edelweiss.
But…
Because it’s been so long since I’ve had a Taylor novel (10 years!) and I’ve gotten the rights back to a few titles in the series, I needed to build fresh files for So Close the Hand of Death, Where all The Dead Lie, and The Wolves Come at Night. Then I had to update every other book in the series, and do some refreshed formatting and editing. Two Tales has several Taylor titles, short stories, bundles, etc., all of which need updated backmatter and Also By pages. 8 individual books. 6 sites. Digital and print.
You’re getting the idea. This is all before any sort of marketing, too.
I’ve needed to update earlier Two Tales titles for a reeeeeeeallly long time, and I’ve been putting it off because, well, this is a lot of work, and I need to spend my time writing. But every once in a while, this has to happen, and I used the opportunity of Taylor #9 releasing to clean up my indie world.
I hear the question. Why in the world are YOU doing this? Why aren’t you paying someone to do this for you?
That’s a fair question, and I’ll give you an honest answer. To get the right sort of person to do this, you have to pay a LOT of money, and the profit margin disappears before the book releases.
But it’s more than that for me. Obviously, I am a novelist. Writing novels is a marathon, not a sprint. I can’t buckle down for two weeks and write 100,000 words. When you’re a task-oriented person like I am, little wins along the way make the work more fun. As much work as updating a backlist in preparation for releasing a frontlist title is, it’s actually fun, and incredibly satisfying.
So. Who wants to read some Taylor Jackson?
From this point on, exclusive fiction posts will only be available to paid subscribers,( and I hope to have designated “office hours” where I’ll be on the chat available to converse with you.) But to kick off this segment, I thought it only fair to entice the rest of you, if only a little. I give you, THE WOLVES COME AT NIGHT!
A detective on the brink.
An assassin out for revenge.
A desperate mother racing against the clock.
While the high-profile murder of a young country singer turns Nashville inside out, danger lurks in the woods beyond the city’s border. There was a witness to the terrible crime, a college student who stumbled onto the scene. When the girl goes missing, the police don’t know if she’s run for cover or been taken…or if something more sinister is happening.
The truth will shatter Taylor’s career and bring her face to face with a deadly assassin who wants nothing more than to finish what they started.
Taylor Jackson is back. And you’ve never seen her quite like this.
Taylor Jackson #9 - THE WOLVES COME AT NIGHT
Chapter 3
Metropolitan Justice Center
Taylor Jackson hated her new office.
She hated not having a view of her beloved Nashville downtown. She hated not having a view into her Murder Squad bullpen. And she sure as hell hated the always-open-to-anyone door in her current line of sight, labeled with the word that now preceded her name.
Captain.
Better pay, better hours, better benefits.
Desk. Desk. Desk.
She had fought this promotion, begged and pleaded and threatened to quit, and yet here she was, sitting in the shiny new headquarters building, surrounded by stacks of paperwork and trying not to grit her teeth every time her new admin knocked gently on the door frame to remind her of her next meeting. She spent her life in meetings now. Half of them virtual, half of them in person, at an appropriate distance. Such a perfect metaphor for her feelings toward her new gig—she was distanced from everything she used to love about her job.
“Captain?” Knock, knock.
Speak of the devil.
“Commander Huston wants to talk to you. I told her you’d be right up.”
“Thanks, Delila. If you want to leave at lunch, go for it. They’re saying there might be severe weather this afternoon, and schools are closing early. You might as well get home ahead of the kids.”
Delila’s look of gratitude made Taylor feel bad for her earlier uncharitable thoughts toward her admin. “I appreciate it, Captain. I hate this weird tornado weather. You be safe, you hear? Don’t hang out in the sky in your condo watching this one come at you, all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” Taylor said, grabbing her notebook and stretching, little pops breaking out along her spine. “And tomorrow, do me a favor and find me another chair? This one hurts my back.”
“Will do. Thanks, Captain. See you tomorrow.”
Taylor opened her phone to the Nashville Severe Weather Twitter feed to see what was in store for the afternoon. With luck, she could have her chat with Huston and then head out herself. She supposed that was one perk of the new job: she could work from home on the ridiculous mounds of paperwork and do many of her meetings on the computer just as easily as here. And she’d have a view of the incoming weather, as Delila warned against. The condo she and her fiancé, John Baldwin, had bought during the first summer of the pandemic was on the forty-fourth floor. She dug that she could watch the storms blow in, but tornados weren’t her favorite. Their building had been only blocks away from the monster that tore through Nashville just a few days before the earliest lockdowns began.
According to the local meteorology gurus, the line of severe weather would be passing through between 2:00 and 3:00 p.m. It was 11:00 now. She had time.
Taylor rose from the wildly uncomfortable fancy modern chair with a small groan and headed down the hall to Huston’s office.
Commander Joan Huston was busy umm-hmming someone on the phone and gestured for Taylor to hold on a moment. Happy to wait, she rested a shoulder against the jamb and crossed her feet at the ankles. Huston had the better view: the city at a distance. Nashville’s copious new skyscrapers rose like beanstalks into the sky, and the edges of the Batman Building were blue in the gray haze.
“Hey hey, if it ain’t the Cap.” Taylor looked down the hall to see Detective Marcus Wade and newly minted Lieutenant Lincoln Ross hurrying down the hall toward her. Her mood lightened immediately.
“Y’all are a sight for sore eyes. What’s up?”
Marcus gave her a high five; Lincoln, a fist bump.
“Murder and chaos, as always. What’s up with you? You look like you’ve been tearing out your hair.”
Taylor whipped her hair out of its ponytail and smoothed it before piling the whole mess on her head and anchoring it with a rubber band, noticing ruefully that it was an actual rubber band, snatched from her desk drawer in an earlier moment of duress. “You spend the morning digging through requisitions and see how slick you look. Though you’re getting a taste of that now, aren’t you, Linc?”
“Yeah, but I always look slick.” Lincoln gave her a gap-toothed grin. She’d long thought he was a dead ringer for the singer Lenny Kravitz. All he needed was a nose ring and some cool tattoos. He was dressed casually today in a black half-zip sweater over a white button-down, sleeves pushed up, and a pair of black jeans. Marcus, too, looked well-put-together though casual—dark jeans, blue button-down, cowboy boots, his thick brown hair flopping over his forehead.
Taylor, in her uniform, expected of all the brass, felt a pang of jealousy. “How’s Flynn?”
Lincoln’s smile got even bigger. Lincoln had adopted Flynn last year after the boy’s mother, the wife of a fallen officer, was killed. “Getting bigger every day. That kid’s eating me out of house and home. He’s getting good grades, too. He’s smart, like his momma was. Marcus saw him last weekend. You and Baldwin should come over soon, we can grill and you can see for yourself.”
The sense of isolation widened around her. They used to be a tight-knit unit, in each other’s business and lives constantly. Now, she had to catch up with them in hallways.
“He’s a cute kid,” Marcus agreed. “Oh, speaking of, have you talked to Renn this week?”
Renn McKenzie was the fourth of their former team. She’d been reluctantly paired with him and ended up welcoming him into their circle. He was a fine detective and a good man.
“I haven’t,” she said. “What’s up?”
Marcus blushed immediately. “Oh, you gotta call. I’ll let him tell you.”
A light sparked in Taylor. “Tell me the baby is happening.”
“I am sworn to secrecy. Call him.” Though while he spoke, he grinned and nodded.
“That’s a bright bit of news. I love babies.”
“So long as they aren’t your own,” both men said in unison.
“So long as they aren’t my own.”
Lincoln cocked his head. “You know, you really should rethink that. You and Baldwin would make really pretty babies.”
“A—sexist. B—why does everyone keep telling me that? C—we aren’t even married yet, and you’ve already got me knocked up. One step at a time, boys. One step at a time. And when we do get married, it’s going to be quiet, and we aren’t going to tell anyone. Elope Central. And then maybe—and I say maaaybe—” She let it drag on a moment for effect, enjoying how their eyes lit up. “A hamster.”
While they guffawed, she shuddered at the memory of her own interrupted nuptials. Taylor had come inches from marrying John Baldwin in a traditional, elaborate, tons-of-guests church affair, but was kidnapped by a psycho on the way to the altar.
But that was years in the past, and now, she was actually ready again, if one can ever be ready to make such a life-altering change, especially when you’ve been alone for so long. They’d do it on a beach somewhere. Someplace no one knew about but her best friend, Samantha Owens, and Sam’s fiancé, Xander Whitfield, the two people she would not marry without. Vows in private, a huge party back home once the deed was done.
Her friend from New Scotland Yard, Memphis Highsmith, had offered his castle estate in Scotland, with him and his wife, Evan, as witnesses, but Taylor had demurred. As glorious as the home seat of the Viscount Dulsie was, she still had too many bad memories of her time there.
“Y’all quit jawing and get in here,” Huston yelled.
They shuffled in, the guys letting Taylor go first.
(And…scene)
I don't see a price for the subscription. Since I'm retired I'm afraid I question all things I don't really need, although this might be what I need! LOL!
Oh, I hear you. The publishing isn't the problem. The marketing is (for me). 🫣It never ends. Most writers (except a few lucky ones) have to wear many hats. The writer. The publisher. The marketing expert. The social media expert. The publicist. 💗📚