D Is For Dysfunctional

d is for dysfunctionalWattpad asked if they could include my book, D is for Dysfunctional, in their official Literary Fiction list so that’s pretty exciting!

Why don’t we celebrate by doing a little reading? :)  You can read the entire book (FOR FREE!) here: http://bit.ly/1f66Z56

Happy reading, you glittery monkeys, you!  And if you’d like to leave a review, you can do so here or on the story.

Many thanks!!

How to Use Facebook to Promote Your Book

pony tails

Side ponying my way into your hearts.

Step One: Delete your Facebook author’s page.

You right now: “This bitch be tripping!”

Okay, maybe that’s not EXACTLY what you’re thinking, but if it were, I wouldn’t blame you.  We’re all supposed to have very lively, very vibrant pages with a bajillion followers who yearn for our every Facebook move.

Right?

Well, not so much anymore.  If you’ve been paying attention to the way Facebook pages have been decreasing in reach, you’ve probably realized there’s a crucial problem when trying to connect with your readership on the social platform.

So now what?

Facebook Groups and You

Facebook groups.  If I could be addicted to anything other than looking in a mirror, it would be Facebook groups.  Not only have I created my own to promote my work, I also hang out in a few other groups to network with fellow writers and to of course scare people.  Boo!

I highly recommend starting your own Facebook group.  “But that’s why I have a page!” you protest wearing a beautiful glittery scarf you found in the bargain bin at Marshall’s.  Well, not really.  A page is great to update your readers about blog posts, your books, stuff you’ve read and loved on the interwebs, but wouldn’t it be cool if you could create an environment for your DIEHARD FANS who will do everything in their power to spread the word online (and in person) about your writing??

That’s worth way more than a Facebook page like, my friend.

With my group, The EC Readers, I’ve created a tight knit group of promoters who I reward for being a whole bunch of awesome.  It’s much more of a reciprocal relationship instead of me just publishing a bunch of stuff and cluttering up my readers’ newsfeeds.  My Facebook group is about readership, friendship and sharing the perks of my success, because I’m kind of a big believer in karma.  And all I know is that I’ve tried to be as helpful and kind and smiley as I can be all my life and now I’m getting a book published.  So…science.

Make Sure Your Facebook Profile Packs a Punch

Listen, we’re authors here, not businesses.  I mean, don’t get me wrong.  I’m the first in line to tell you to treat your online presence and your entire writing career as a business because dreams only become achievable goals when your head is ripely plucked out of your ass.  And trust me, I only know this because I used to wear my ass like a beautiful, nicely toned helmet.

So in order to connect with readers, why not allow people to follow your personal profile?  Your public posts will be tailored to your audience but you can still publish private posts for family and friends.   Best of both world, right?  Plus, you can even decide whether you’d like your followers to comment on your posts or just hit the “like” button.  Check out how I’ve made my own profile accessible to my readers.

Lastly, I’m a big believer in getting personal with my readers (haha, ew!) so I’d much rather have them feel like a part of my life versus being fed posts through a Facebook page that kind of feels like a wall that’s built between us.  But, hey, that’s just me, the girl who’s been know to wear a nicely toned ass on her head.

SIDE NOTE: Do you know there are people out there who think I’m shy?  Hahahaha!  Ass helmets.

Anyways, let me know what’s working for you Facebook-wise.  Love using a page?  Comment about it.  Think I’m on track with the whole group thing?  Let me know.  Like the idea of ass helmets?  Sing their nicely toned praises.

I’ll Roast You a Ham. Promise.

story about a boy in love

 

This isn’t a real post as much as it is an opportunity to mention two things:

  1. I’m on Wattpad and obsessed with posting my stories there so please follow me, and I’ll roast you a ham.  Can you do that?  Roast a ham?  I’ve never tried.
  2. Oh my God, there’s this thing called iPiccy that makes it horribly easy to make book covers and now I’ve found a new hobby which worries me because I already have a backlog of cats to glitter.

The photo in this post is of a cover I made with iPiccy that belongs to a story I wrote on Wattpad.  Insert mind explosions here.

Anyways, happy vodka day you glittery monkeys!!

Being Ericka Clay: Martin & Adam

Welcome, folks!  Today, two brave readers have stepped up to the plate of being Ericka Clay.  Let’s all hold hands and support them on this journey as a 1,000 glittery fairies kiss them as soon as they wake up.

Women in old timey photo

If you haven’t recently robbed a saloon, you’re probably not Ericka Clay.

MARTIN CONTEREZ

1.  Why do you think Ericka’s ankles are so beautifully delicate? It must be a daily regimen of aloe scrubs and kelp wrappings.

2.  If you were Ericka Clay, how many mirrors would you look into every day? Just one, I would stop and look and then never be able to move from my glorious image. I would just spend the whole day there.

3.  If you could change one thing about Ericka Clay, what would it be?  Be specific so she knows how hard to punch you. Her pinky nail could use a little more polish, I think it’s starting to chip.

4.  If your name was Ericka Clay, what would you do with your life?  (Besides be awesome, of course.) I would work hard at not getting beat up for having a girl’s name.

5.  If you were going to make a statue in honor of Ericka Clay (which you should), what would you make it out of?  A myriad of precious stones to highlight the rainbow of awesomeness that shines from her face. To hold the stones in place I would use finely weaved titanium strands.


Blurb: Martin is the vastly undwhelming author of Hungry Dog’s Lair. He has been glittered by Ericka Clay much to his surprise and even managed to pick up at least one other award. He is currently completing what he hopes will become the worst selling book of all time, The Other Side of Darkness. Unedited chapters of this book may be found on his blog.

Blog: themathmaster.wordpress.com
Google+: https://plus.google.com/+MartinConterez
Twitter:  https://twitter.com/HungryDogsLair

 

ADAM SENDEK

1. Why do you think Ericka’s ankles are so beautifully delicate?  Ericka’s ankles are so beautifully delicate because the pajama pants have a polishing characteristic to them. 

2.  If you were Ericka Clay, how many mirrors would you look into every day?  If I were Ericka Clay I would look in my side view mirror on my bike no less than twenty two times on my way to work, but maybe twenty three too.

3.  If you could change one thing about Ericka Clay, what would it be?  Be specific so she knows how hard to punch you.   If I could change one thing about Ericka Clay, I would probably take the either the ‘C’ or the ‘K’ out of her first name name.

4.  If your name was Ericka Clay, what would you do with your life?  (Besides be awesome, of course.)  If my name was Ericka Clay I would open up a Dave Coulier Stalking Firm.

5.  If you were going to make a statue in honor of Ericka Clay (which you should), what would you make it out of?  If I were going to make a clay statue out of Ericka Clay I would make it.  That was kind of Yoda-like.  That sentence will haunt you all day.


Blurb: Hi there!  I’m a pinhead that writes some pretty stuff once.  And I like beer, fart jokes, and dislike the word ‘moist’.

Blog: www.thechowderhead.com
Facebook: http://on.fb.me/1ndX8g3
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ASendek

 

It Begins With Words

bunny in the grass

Look! A bunny! Because…

Ksenia Anske is kind of my hero.

I’m actually live chatting with her as I type (*SWOON*) because she agreed to do a Happy Hour in our Tipsy Book Club.  And everything she says makes me want to punch the sky and scream: FUCK YEAH!!

You know why?  She does it for her readers.

I know this and I love this.  Every time someone reads a blog post, a poem, my book, I kind of scream like a baby goat.  I do a lot of screaming if you haven’t noticed.

But really, my whole writing existence is based on the eyes scanning my words, my pages.  And that part is easy for me.

What’s not easy, is the actual sitting down and WRITING part that Ksenia masters like the badass ninja she is.

So many things, TOO many things get in the way: leading the Tipsy pack, taking my daughter to dance class, washing dishes, folding laundry, walking the dogs, walking myself, grocery shopping, my social anxiety, my clips of depression, my hair’s too long, too thin, I’m tired, I don’t wanna, I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS!!!!!

But that’s not true.  What’s getting in the way of my writing process is, well, me.

Because when it comes right down to it, those things I THINK get in the way, really make me who I am, and without the beautiful stink of weekly monotony, I wouldn’t be able to appreciate sitting down and lightly hovering the tips of my fingers over the keys.

It begins with words, it begins with embracing the every day.

It begins with that chair, that desk.  Bending your knees, bending the words.

 

I Need To Talk To The Person In Charge Of Changing Humans Into Dogs

Ericka Clay:

Congrats to Meg Lago for winning this week’s #GlitteredByEricka contest with this post because dogs are awesome and so are you!

If you’d like to be as awesome as Meg (and me…duh) then join the fun every Friday in the EC Readers FB group!

Originally posted on Half and Half:

I went out with my roommates last night and drank too much wine.  Story of my life.

Earlier this morning, I watched this video to help cure my hangover and take my mind off the fact that I have to sit in a rolly chair for the next eight hours and stare at my computer screen.

And then I realized… I’m so jealous of dogs.

Forget girls with nice hair, girls who can plow through three bacon cheeseburgers and not gain a pound, girls who have their dream job before age twenty-five, girls (and boys) with independently wealthy families that get to exclusively shop at Whole Foods. Forget all of them.

I want to be a dog.

Aside from the fact that they get to know one another by smelling butts, being a dog is pretty awesome.  I guess I could also do without the whole eating bark flavored…

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Ksenia Anske is Coming to the Tipsy Book Club!

Ericka Clay:

I’m making this happen over at the Tipsy Book Club. Who wants to join me in screaming like a little girl?

Originally posted on Tipsy Lit:

Ksenia Anske

JOIN US FOR HAPPY HOUR!


So have you heard the news? Ksenia Anske just released her novel Rosehead and she’ll be taking over our Tipsy Book Club to talk about it!

WHEN:Wednesday, April 16th at 12:00 PM EST

Be sure to join our Tipsy Book Club to chat one-on-one with Ksenia during our very first Happy Hour!

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The Most Outlandish Tale About Anxiety and Depression Ever Told

Wait wait, the story doesn’t start here!  This is a blog hop, people!  Click HERE to start from the beginning.

Baby

Photo credit: HDFynnon Flickr

The dreams come and they’re all okay, except the last one, the one with the baby.  I’m in a grocery store and the grocery store’s too hot, too flourescent.  I’ve forgotten to wear a bra again.

And I know this is a dream, and I’m drawing real life like a needle in a vein because of that one time in sixth grade when I forgot the sports bra my mother laid out for me which is a rather unfortunate occurrence when you’re the point guard on your basketball team.  Thank bejeebus for that undershirt.

So right, the baby.  It’s one of those sticky, beautiful babies and its mouth is packed with something crummy.  Something like Cheerios and the mother’s back is turned to me, small thighs, beautiful hair.  I’m sure she has a lot of friends, a lot of money, a lot of something that’s missing in my well whenever I dip a cup and it comes up dry.

And the baby’s head is attached to the mother’s shoulder, bodyless, wide-eyed and when that baby looks at me, it says the words that make up the braided fear in my core:

“You’ll never be like her.”

I want to wake up.

Click HERE to continue the story.

 

Being Ericka Clay: Jessica & Tim

A girl and her fanny pack

How is this not a statue yet???

Welcome, folks!  Today, two brave readers have stepped up to the plate of being Ericka Clay.  Let’s all hold hands and support them on this journey as they don these extremely delicate ankles for the first time.

JESSICA SITA

1.Why do you think Ericka’s ankles are so beautifully delicate?  I personally think she was a ballerina in a past life. I mean, she’s a very tiny person and probably has this secret vice of smoking like a choo-choo train.  Because all writers smoke. This is truth. Also, she already admitted to making up some sort of zombie style ballet dancing with her daughter, Ava. This is her past life seeping through.

2.If you were Ericka Clay, how many mirrors would you look into every day?  Only one is needed. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all.” And she’s already killed that bitch Snow White so we all know who that mirror is going to answer with.

3.If you could change one thing about Ericka Clay, what would it be?  Be specific so she knows how hard to punch you.  I’d like to see her eat a hamburger with cheddar cheese and bacon. And none of that veggie burger crap. I’m not saying she is too skinny or anything (I mean, have you SEEN her in jorts?!), I’m saying the whole gluten-free, vegan thing makes me want to punch her (lovingly) in the mouth.

4.If your name was Ericka Clay, what would you do with your life?  (Besides be awesome, of course.)  Honestly, I can’t associate anything other than writing with the venerable name of Ericka Clay.  So I’d probably spend my days at coffee houses wearing scarves in sweltering heat with “I am writing a novel” tattooed across my forehead.

5.If you were going to make a statue in honor of Ericka Clay (which you should), what would you make it out of?  The souls of forgotten poems.


Blurb: Jessica Sita is an author and poet living in Oklahoma with her husband and two dogs. Recently, she published her first chapbook of poems, Outcry, which is available on Lulu.com now.  She often daydreams about switching lives with Ericka Clay, if only for a day.

Blog: http://watchfulcreature.wordpress.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JessSita
Google+: https://plus.google.com/+JessicaSitaWriter

 

TIM BARRY

1. Why do you think Ericka’s ankles are so beautifully delicate? Just enough to carry a winnowy person. 

2.  If you were Ericka Clay, how many mirrors would you look into every day?Hmmmm…. all of them–twice.

3.  If you could change one thing about Ericka Clay, what would it be?  Be specific so she knows how hard to punch you.  Put the mouse down, back away from the keyboard & get out & get some more color dude.  Punch away.

4.  If your name was Ericka Clay, what would you do with your life?  (Besides be awesome, of course.)  Believe in myself more than I “should.”

5.  If you were going to make a statue in honor of Ericka Clay (which you should), what would you make it out of?  Texas caliche clay.  Tough, lasting & apropos.


Blurb: Needs more cowbell.

Blog: What are these “blogs” you speak of?
LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/timgbarry/
About.me: about.me/timbarry/

 

The Loser

Ericka Clay:

A short story I’ve written. It’s obnoxiously long which I’m telling you as a sort of dare. Anyone who reads it and sends me a comment about it to ErickaTheAuthor@gmail.com can send me a short story of their own for me to read and review! Because I love you. That’s why.

Originally posted on Tipsy Lit:

Girl swinging

Photo credit: West Leigh on Flickr

Her best friend, Alice, is the epitome of everything she should be but isn’t.  Alice is thin and reminds Wren of a bird, a beautiful bird.  Not the kind Wren’s mother warns her not to touch so she doesn’t infect the entire family with bird-like hepatitis (which in her nine-year-old mind is associated with a spontaneous eruption of feathered limbs).  No, Alice is the kind of bird that soars above Wren’s head, just out of reach.

She walks gracefully, Wren’s Alice, tall not slouched, as if her spine is pulled straight on a string by God himself.  She smiles.  All the time.  Wren wonders about that smiling, how it comes so easily to Alice.  How stretching her face that way all hours of the day doesn’t yank at her wits as it does her skin.

“Smile more.  Like Alice,” Wren’s mother, Elena, says parking…

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