Tag: books

Self-Publishing Book Descriptions

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Passin‘ is not a self-published book, but I would like to use it as an example. I actually borrowed it from the library and intend on returning it soon. Not that it wasn’t a good read, but I wouldn’t purchase it. Here’s why: I enjoy a book that makes my mind play it out in my head like a movie. I want to see the characters develop as real breathing people, I want them to have real issues and problems, and I want to see the story in action, and let’s just say this movie’s a little slow. Not that this book didn’t have all of that, it’s just slow getting to the point I perceived to be the main event (the meeting of the man). So it’s an alright read; I wouldn’t give it 5 stars, though. More like 3 stars. I really am enjoying the read, it’s just that I’m a bit disappointed by what the book description told me and how the story is unfolding (yea, still reading it, I’ll probably move up to 4 stars by the time it’s over, who knows lol). The story is an interesting tale of a young woman passing in the new millennium (2007). Racial passing occurs when a person classified as a member of one racial group is also accepted as a member of a different racial group by passing as that different racial group. (Did I confuse anyone?) So a black woman pretending to be white is an example of passing to keep it simple. But what made me check out the book is this excerpt from the description:

“When a successful African-American businessman thinks Shanika is the white woman of his dreams, her world spins out of control. With her future on the line, she’ll have to go beyond skin-deep to discover what’s really worth reaching for–and the person she truly wants to be.”

I know I know, how woman of me, but who doesn’t love, love? Anywho, it’s not a bad story so far, but what’s disappointing is my assumption that the meat of the story would surround this event. But halfway through the book, there’s no mention of this African American man. The story is pretty much just about Shanika’s, I’m sorry Nicole’s, struggles with “racial” (I don’t really believe in a race but for the sake of clarity) identity and her inner conflictions about living a lie (and her hatred of self…my 2 cents). In fact, we don’t meet Mr. Right until close to the end of the book. I’m probably just being picky, but I really did borrow the book to specifically see how this relationship was going to evolve. I’m not finished with the book so I may be doing a part 2 of this same post about how I judged a book by its descriptive cover, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

The point is that this inspired a post about how important book descriptions are to books, especially self-published books. We have talked about book cover designs, a little bit of editing, and even common sense reasons to self-publish. Now let us talk about the content of the book, starting with the description.

When a reader decides to buy a book, one of the first things that strike them is the book cover, the sample, and of course they’ve got to read those reviews. But another important element that plays a role in the buying experience is the book synopsis, summary, or description. If you think this is something I pulled out of my hat, just visit your nearest library or bookstore. You’ll see people scrolling through aisles and turning over the backs of books. Some of them flip through the pages and may even begin to read the first paragraph just to see if it grabs their attention.

The good thing is that if the description of your book has little to nothing to do with what the book is actually about, no one will know until after they buy the book and after they read it. The bad thing is that if they give a bad review, they’ll be your first and only customer. The truth is that book descriptions play a big role in book buying, and as I always say, it’s a good idea to produce your books the way you buy them. If a striking book cover makes you go for the bait then you should also have a book cover design that is also striking. Likewise, if reading the synopsis of a book is what makes you buy, then as an author you want to make sure your book description is also just as fantastic. “If your book description doesn’t grab them and make them feel ‘the need – the need to read’ then you’ve just lost a customer….” (Mark Edwards).

(For the record, Karen’s description was pretty good and achieved the desired effect, it made me pick it up and check it out which means I would have probably picked it up and bought it, so that’s not my complaint since I’m sure her book sells are doing better than mine. My complaint is just about the accuracy of her description of what’s actually in the book, but I digress).

A good summary will give readers just enough information about your book to get them excited about reading the whole thing. For this reason, it should be clear, brief, and simply breathtaking.

Below are 7 ways to improve on book descriptions by Mark Edwards as featured on the blog Catherine Caffeinated

(there are actually 11 but these are the ones I thought worth excerpting far as importance is concerned, 7 is a perfect number after all…isn’t it?):

1. Make it clear. Your potential reader needs to know with a quick skim read what kind of book this is, what it’s about and what the story is. The story is the most important element here – if you’ve written an erotic romance that will give Fifty Shades a run for its money, make sure people know that. Though remember, it’s the relationship at the heart of Fifty Shades that made it such a smash. You need to get that across in a very lucid way.

2. The first line is the most important. If you don’t get the first line right, they won’t read on (this applies to the book itself too). Your first line needs to encapsulate the whole book. It needs to draw people in, hit them where it feels good and make the hairs on the back of their neck stand up. Not easy – but worth spending time on.

3. Don’t be boring. The moment your potential reader feels bored, they’re gone, clicking on to the next book on the also-bought bar. Every line has to be compelling and move the story on. Just like your book, in fact.

4. Make them laugh, cry, cower. It’s all about emotions. How is your book going to make people feel? Is it heartbreaking or hilarious? Chilling or hotter than Angelina Jolie sunbathing in Death Valley? Again, look at the words most used in your genre. They are clichés for a reason. They work.

5. Use testimonials. If you have some quotes from well-known writers or experts, use them. These are generally best in a block rather than scattered through the text. If you’ve got a quote from your Auntie Maureen, you might as well use that too. Just don’t reference her as your auntie.

6. Make your characters live. As well as the story, it’s vital to get a good sense of your characters across – and, most importantly, their big problem. What terrible dilemma do they have to resolve? What personal demon do they need to conquer? You need characters and problems people will identify with – but they have to be big problems. Having a broken dishwasher just isn’t exciting enough.

7. Make the reader desperate to know what happens. You have to end your description with a cliffhanger. You need to lead the reader to the point where they are so curious that, were they a cat, it would kill them. Make sure you don’t give too much away. Be intriguing. Make them feel like Anastasia when Christian tells her he’s about to show her something really new and exciting. Make them go ‘Holy crap!’”

The Best and Worst of Times

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“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season for Light, it was the season for Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us…”

I am sure Charles Dickens’s “A Tale of Two Cities” didn’t have my thoughts in mind when it opened with this paragraph. Yet, as I read it, I cannot help but to stop and to ponder how it closely describes today. Not today as it is personal to the individual. Not today as in going to work, going to school or other miscellaneous routines to which we have sculpted our clocks to mimic. Not even today in the sense of any hint of parallel or extreme depth. I’m not even talking about the constructs of the book at all really. I’m not a fan of Dickens, but I love imagery in writing. I love being able to read a description that is so tasteful that it can be compared to something completely outside of its own identity and still make sense. This excerpt is that description, while the synopsis of the book has nothing to do with it. I’m sure any writer can take something insignificant and make use of it in other situations. And as such this small piece stood out to me, making me stop to ponder and to meditate on its relation to today. Not even the entire paragraph captured me but this part did, separating itself as a reminiscence of the world surrounding us. A mixture of light and darkness. Of hope and despair. Of truth and deception. Of redemption and condemnation. It is a wonderful time but a terrible time at the same time. Indeed, we are somewhere between movement and stillness.

The Invisible Woman

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November, 2001

The dust particles flying from the duster floated slowly off the boxes, strangely reminiscent of the worst terrorist attack to occur in the United States. Each set seemed to align themselves parallel to the others, and tilting dangerously off the Brooklyn Brownstone as if to mock her. The coming of dawn splashed its hint of shadow off the dull cardboard, distorting its true image. They were taller it seemed, and almost menacing. The woman looked on sadly, fastening its flaps, tucking them one inside the other. It was safer this way, but still she took a step, and rested her bottom against the course concrete as if finding a foundation strong enough to hold all of her baggage. That’s when she saw it, its pages flapping quickly in the wind almost blowing the book off the steps; she caught it, along with a strange feeling with how her arm had extended itself in rescue. It had only been two months and she was intrigued to find that Ellison had read her mind. No, she did not believe he was an invisible man; she instead was prepared to insist he was a mind reader. The only other explanation available to explain his knowledge of her departed state was if he was talented enough to take her heart and contextualize it in ways that even she could not. Of course now she understood that Ralph Ellison was neither mind reader nor genius. Like a mirror that penetrates the souls of the invisible, she could easily see herself in a similar situation. The neighborhood had gone on as it always had; the people continued in their routine way and it made her angry, how could they? “To the mall!” she says. “To the workplace!” he shouts. They move about, “To the city!” they shout. But there is no city, and there is no mall. There is no workplace, there is only darkness. What’s everybody so happy about? Nothing was the same and she was utterly alone. Why was that so hard for them to understand? She has tried to make them aware that their journeys were in vain, but she has been pushed over. She has been blocked. She has been ignored. They have walked right through her, and for a split second they’ve become one with her, but only to come out on the other end and still they cannot see. None ever noticing that she has just pushed against them, and burned the top of their flesh with her light. Cymbalta wasn’t helping much either. But that’s because she is invisible. It is she they cannot see.

Candy wrappers and Anthrax warned Newspaper clippings loiters the sidewalk in front of her, and the screaming engines of cars sped by in a desperate attempt to escape the moment for the one at the corner, shattering the woman’s thoughts and calling her attention away from the book. And as the brisk November wind rattled angrily against her blouse, she disregarded the unopened mail laying idly on top the brown boxes. Inside, the small sirens going off seemed to rattle the cordless resting comfortably on the sofa like tiny explosions.

“Yea?”
She was sick with exhaustion with the interviews and radio shows, and journalist thirsty phone calls that promised never to bring her husband back, just a hot story. It’s not like they were really talking to someone anyway. She had never been around a group of people who enjoyed talking to themselves so much.
“I don’t think so”, she annoyingly spoke into the receiver before hanging up at the sound of a trucks engine; the movers were here. “Great”, she said exasperated, managing to make it out the door. She was going to be late…again.

The Brilliantly Untalented

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 I’ve had this book for awhile;  loaned to me by another  sister. I never completely finished reading it, and as I scrolled my library for a neat snack, it wasn’t too high on my priority list. But as I now found myself flipping through pages, Chapter 10 caught my attention:

 

“Writer’s are people who tolerate a high level of anxiety. We have a talent for holding up well under tension. Anyone can start writing. To keep on creating and to grow as a writer you also believe you suck. You question everything you write. I know writing students who really do seem to believe they are great, they love writing, they write a lot, they seem blandly cheerful….they spew out words. They have no doubt, they reveal no anxiety. I think that is great. But my students who are doing really fine work, really committing themselves to writing honestly, deeply, and truly—-they have anxiety. They doubt themselves all the time. Writing stuff that is going to affect other people intensely is walking a fine line between anxiety and pleasure—-its a vibe you ride.”

I actually love this advice. I find it present not just in writing but other forms of art as well. Some of the most nervous, most introverted people are the most talented: the “Brilliantly Untalented” and Undiscovered Geniuses. This is not to say you party goers out there should worry. Nor is this to say the introverted are overcome with intense fear, for fear and faith cannot coexist (one will rule out the other). But they have a kind of humility that seems to balance out the negative components of anxiety. They know that there is talent present, but they also believe that they suck. Is it contradictory? It may be, but yet this contradiction keeps them writing and keeps you reading. Every time I’m on stage to recite a poem my stomach turns into butterflies and it feels like everybody in the world is depending on me to deliver them from a crisis. It is a feeling of great pressure. Its an understanding that though I’ve been given a gift to bestow upon my audience, I am simultaneously aware that this gift is not mine; that it belongs to one greater than myself. Then I notice, that in such anxiety, I’ve tapped into a kind of depth people could really feel. I did not have to think too hard about it. Did not think so grand of myself that I would begin editing my soul I just spoke, hoping the butterflies won’t make it so far up my throat. My belief that I am nothing, that I suck, and that I am Brilliantly Untalented, has in the end seemed to always produce the greatest work.