How to make a million the very hard way. No the very very hard way.

I started writing this blog as part of an elaborate marketing plan hatched by my agent and me for the time when my first bok would sell and I would need a platform for readers to find me. The book didn't sell, my agent has lost interest in me but my blog limps along.

Over the years, I became sick and tired but used to getting rejections that I smiled and plowed through with courage from God knows where, holding back tears and hardening myself for more, for there were more and more rejections that came. Some pleasant, even praising, some short and scathing.  When I gave birth to my second son, I was done getting flayed because of my first book--a dear sweet book, a good book I insist. 


It was not easy but I decided to put it away. And I started work on my second. Now its almost done.


In the meantime Borders died and there now remains one bookstore for everyone from the likes of Stephen King to little ole me to sell to. Makes absolutely no business sense whatsoever to even try to do so. And so I have decided not to bother with the establishment that I am convinced is a dinosaur. 


I am no player in the social media arena but I know about its power. I know of the power of a well told and well placed word of mouth. 


Yes I wanted validation. I thought self publishing was for wimps. I thought it was for the people who didn't have the chops to make it through the battle field of traditional publishing. Thank goodness I am being proved wrong every single day.


I still want validation of course. Who doesn't. After spending long hours and years in a room, alone, not sure if you are wasting away your best years, you want someone who isn't your loved one to tell you it is worth it.


But would I rather not be doing this? No. I like telling stories, I like living with my characters, I like watching what they do under my direction. I like giving them faces. 
And I also like control.


In a few weeks, I will launch my book. And because it is the center of the world, I am going to start by launching it in London. I met my friend Charis who lives in London this afternoon and I asked her to be my sales agent in London. Charis is smart, pretty and knows everyone. I am going to give her a buck for every single book she sells. The book will sell for 1.99 which leaves me 0.99. This is more or less what a publisher would have given me anyway. 


Not long ago I spent many hours in the London tubes, on the throbbing London streets. I looked at really affordable ad spaces, I noticed how millions of people walk through the train stations every single day. Even if a fraction of them could be enticed to buy my book, a small fraction of them, at a price less than the cost of a bloody cup of Starbucks,then maybe just maybe I have a shot at something. Maybe small but maybe big too. I don't know why I feel like London is an easier target to tackle than say Chicago or New York. Maybe Indians are more well established in that society, maybe its because I speak the same language that they do there.


Or maybe its because of my faith in my friend.


Many steps to go before launch. First step. Charis has yet to read and like my book. That will happen next week. The reading bit that is. As for her liking it and then linking her lot with mine....well, I am used to rejections aren't I? 

Sunshine lady

There is a woman I know. Her name is Christine Grobart. She is blond, cute, has an infectious laugh and is funny, very funny.

I heard about her and met her a few times when our oldest sons went to the same preschool.

That was when I heard about her second born Tim--a little doll of a boy who was born with a rare heart condition.

I remember there was a fundraiser conducted for him a few years ago towards which I donated on a website and sent prayers and good wishes. Sadly, though, I hadn't made much of a personal connection with the Grobarts although I wished them and little Timmy well.

Soon we left for India.

When we returned and my son started school, many times we'd walk to and from school. Especially on bright sunny days. And on every one of those bright sunny days when I'd go to pick my son up after school, there would be Christine sitting under this shady tree outside the school building along with her cherub of a baby girl and Tim fooling around with his bright pink stroller, all waiting for Christine's oldest.

And as if attracted to a honey pot would be around her like a small swarm of bees, other moms and babies.

The laughter under this tree was loud, the mood sunny. And at the center of it all was almost always Christine--saying bright hellos to all, telling stories, laughing.

And to this I began to look forward. If there was no Christine under the tree the day was most likely a rainy or dull one. If she was there, it was anything but.

She became sunshine lady. I looked forward to running into her, sharing some laughs, basking in the bright day, even if it was only for a few minutes. For as soon as the bell rang and the kids began streaming out, the spell would break and it was time to go home.

Christine truly is an inspiration for her positive attitude, her being able to laugh about dealing with Tim's condition, staring life in the face. And often even making fun of it all.

Please if you are reading this, consider visiting her blog (link below). And please also consider making a donation towards the Grobarts' efforts to give Tim the best possible medical attention he can get.

littletimmygrobart.blogspot.com I hope I have told Christine how much she brightened my days this past fall, especially since I was often in dark places pondering the wisdom of my decision of choosing to return to the US after spending a year back in India. And just those few minutes spent laughing with her and her swarm of bees was therapeutic. It is unfortunate how often we don't tell people how much we admire them. And so I am saying this now...Christine, you inspire me to be brave and smile and laugh. It is always a pleasure to run into you and your kids and to share in the banter. I hope to keep doing so as brighter days beckon... From Christine's blog: Tim suffers from a rare heart condition in which the lower half of his heart operates in reverse. Instead of the stronger half of his heart pumping blood to his body, it is serving his lungs. And the weaker half is working in overdrive to pump blood to his body. Tim also was born with other heart defects. A hole in his heart was repaired when he was just 5 months old. During that same surgery, a pacemaker was installed to remedy an irregular heartbeat.... For more please visit: littletimmygrobart.blogspot.com

The blessings of bad skin and frizzy hair

I turn 40 this year.

I already have people asking if I feel old, people are calling me middle-aged. But it all skims off my back like an omelette off teflon.

Ask me why. Because of bad skin and frizzy hair.

I didn't always have bad skin and copper strand like hair. Just in my prime--the time girls are at their prettiest--those late teen years and twenties when the skin can be sometimes problematic but can also be at its most glowing and hair at its thickest and shiniest. When no matter what, just being young makes you look good.

Not me though. I had sun damaged skin ever since I can remember. I had hyper-pigmentation--dark patches--on several parts of my face and then some hypo pigmentation--light patches--on other parts. I was quite the soccer ball. The longer I stayed in the sun--which is sort of impossible to avoid living in India--the worse I looked. People called me smart and confident but seldom pretty. I got used to it. Mostly people looked at me with sad expressions examining all my various patches--tsk tsking at my misfortune. Asking why I had such awful skin, sympathizing, shaking their heads.

It wasn't all bleak. There was one small blip of ego boost I had. It happened on a trip to Germany at age 19. For three weeks there I was called pretty, beautiful, exotic. It was awesome. Surreal. And it gave me the confidence to go on for the next few years at college where I was surrounded by nubile beings by the dozen all with clear skin they didn't have to hide or explain away. And hair they could toss and run their fingers through. Me? If I ran my fingers through my hair, they'd stop after the first inch or so. The humidity made my already frizzy hair a positively razor sharp ball of copper wire.

These nubile maidens got dozens of roses for rose day and friendship day and what have you. I think I got one in my four years in college. But I learned to accept my fate as the one who may not be pretty but the owner of one or two other redeeming qualities.

Those prime years passed. I made pilgrimages to dermatologists. Upon their advice, I changed my religion to sunscreen. The effects were an oily shiny skin that only my sweetheart seemed to think attractive --bless his heart. Give it time, I was told, your skin will improve.

Fifteen years later--in my thirties, I found my skin improved. Vastly. And magically, I discovered hair products that transformed my hair to curly from frizzy. Thank you Ouidad.

It had taken years but finally, I had arrived. Pregnancy reduced my thick storm of hair to a sad mousy tail but at least I had the Ouidad gels to mask that. My skin continued to improve. Yes the years advance and if the only way isn't up anymore, at least it is sideways...for a while...

I sail into my forties therefore not at all unhappy for being older. I'm wiser thank heavens. My anger and angst have dimmed. And thanks to my two boys my sharp edges have been reasonably blunted.

Hey on my good days, I'm even called pretty.

As far as I am concerned, the only way is up!