Brave or stupid?

Since I started writing the educational rant as I call it, I've had very mixed responses whenever I posted an excerpt on the blog. In fact I always had mixed reactions when I ranted about the behaviour of many self-published authors or the lack of quality in their books. There are those who agreed with me and those who think I'm an arrogant twat and should just go and hang myself.
Well, to be honest, I had a tiny glimmer of doubt if I'm doing the right thing here. Not so much because I think it's unfair to point out that there are a lot of shite books floating around, but because it's a risk. As a self-published author I'm making myself a target, and I'm expecting to be on the receiving end of some vicious attacks. The reason being is the delivery of my concerns. I'm not exactly known for mollycoddling anyone. But people take it all too personal when I don't point a finger at a specific author. I generalise for that very reason, and those who find themselves among the culprits will hopefully listen up and see what they're doing through other people's eyes.
I'm currently reading through the book(let), and boy, there are some harsh comments in it. I've toyed with the idea of deleting or amending them, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It's meant to be provocative, biting, and a little bit over the top. If someone seriously feels hurt by what I'm saying, then it's possibly down to the fact that s/he can identify with the addressed 'tosser'.
For some reason I wish I could get up and put together a stand-up show together. I always wanted to try and see if I have the comedy queen in me or not. Being on stage, you have much more to play with: a smile, a wiggle with an eyebrow, a grin, body language in general. Cynical writing relies on the reader's understanding. It's very easy to get the wrong end of the stick. But then I think it's rather forthright, and those who know my well enough, know that it's just my way of poking a few sensitive areas.
Nevertheless, it could well mean the end of my 'career' and the hard work I've put into it. I guess that's a risk I'm willing to take.
Truth is painful, but I've always been a terrible liar.

The book's release is set to be on the 15th of November. I'll go and get me gear, helmet and all.

Tip of the week: editing services, spot the unprofessional

I'm really pissed off. Yes, you gathered, this is a half-rant, turning into a tip. I just read the opening of a book which apparently has been edited by an editing & proofreading service. Now, I've seen post of the person behind that editing service who regularly leaves out the commas before names when addressing another person, which lead me to conclude the person doesn't know that there belongs a comma. And promptly, in said book, there are no commas before names in dialogue. That book also has an overuse on italics, almost every paragraph contained one -- to emphasise words, which is not wrong, but unnecessary and an editor should know that. I also found an incident of  'Running down the stairs, she pulled on her jeans.' Other situation, same principle. An editor should pick up on that and correct it. In addition to that I came across a lower case letter in direct speech when it should have been upper case, etc. Not happy, I'm not happy at all. You know why?
Because people have their doubts about my being able to edit their ms because I'm not an English native, while that editor is an English native and does it wrongly! I don't offer copy editing and proofing for that reason, I'm still learning, but I'm a damn good editor when it comes to story line and characters. And I know all the things listed above! There! I said it.

As you know I've been criticising self-published authors/books for a while because of the poor quality. A good quality book has everything correct: the characterisation, the story line, the pace and the grammar -- and that with consistency. With all the complaints left, right and centre from readers, authors finally realised they have to work harder and get outside help. But what use is an outside help if they just can't do the job properly? It doesn't help the reputation of self-published book either. The problem is, that everyone can call themselves an editor or proofreader. I did it, too. Editor, that is. But I know my limits and will not go beyond them. Others do and will announce they're proofreaders when in fact, they only spot some typos, but are clueless regarding the real proofreader's job. It angers me that those people take advantage of authors who don't know better.

My advice: learn as much as you can yourself. Let someone knowledgeable check the editor/proofreader, if they have done a good job. Or even better: test them beforehand. They should be able to correct all the things I've listed in the first paragraph. I have a feeling that most authors are just too lazy to learn the tools themselves, shrug it off, saying, but that's why I hire an editor/proofreader. To me, that's not the right way to go about it. The problem is that if you don't know how it's done right, you'll walk into the trap of paying money to an unprofessional. Plus, the more you know, the less an editor/proofreader has to do. Especially the latter should mainly pick up on a few typos or other errors you've made. The basics should be learned by the author and come as naturally as breathing while writing.

Here are some post I did in the past for you to learn the basics every author should know. That would sort out half the complaints readers make:

Dialogue attributes Part 1

An important comma that makes a difference

Possessive apostrophe Part 1

A rant about the impossible, authors, editors...

A happy ending of a shite day

Anyone want my day? Because it doesn't feel like it belongs to me. I'm mightily pissed off. No particular reason, apart from being really knackered and in pain. Last night I wished I could throw far enough to stop those helicopters from circling above my house. Can't they do that by day? Do they have to do it at night and for hours? And this morning I awoke earlier than I wanted to due to my bladder about to burst. After that I couldn't sleep anymore and decided to could get up anyway.
The day has started shite and evil grinned at me as I forgot to take out the butter, the bread crumbed between my fingers and the soap slipped more than once out of my hand.
When I wanted to refill the pressure sprayer for to spray the vivarium, a thingy broke, which only didn't make it useless for my DIY skills. Glad I didn't chop off my finger, considering what a wonderful hour I already had to look back to. Quickly dipped out to send my friend her headset which she forgot and didn't see the single bubble wrap envelops, thought they didn't sell them and bought a pack of ten instead. Something I probably never use again. In the post office, just one person before me, but it took ages. Yes, how much I love waiting!
On my way to the garden, the damn roads were packed with idiots who drove in my way, or obviously thought my home grown airbags (tits and arse) would be enough protection in case they knocked me off my bike! Never mind, I only have terrible back pain today, after the 40 times back and forth with two watering cans hanging from both of my arms. In addition to that I banged several of my body parts against visible obstacles -- a favourite hobby of mine -- and therefore will end up looking green and blue.

On the roof, the guy I brought some home made meat balls and pasta salad saw me working and didn't come up to say hello or report how good the food was until much later, which I found rather ungrateful. And when opening our tool box, I hurt my hand where the iguana bit me. You know this sort of pain, when it knocks the air out of you first, then sends tears shooting into your eyes and you swear the heftiest words only people with Tourette would say? Yes, exactly that sort of pain jolted through my right arm. Didn't really lift my mood. Somehow I ran around like a headless chicken and couldn't find a proper system to work, which drove me mad, I filled the kettle with water and forgot to switch it on, left my secateurs in a bed and had to search for it, couldn't find a place for the lettuce to got, etc.

Stopped at the supermarket. I a great idea for a home made sandwich with humus and falafel or chicken -- When I finally bit into it, the chicken sandwich didn't rise to my expectations. I hate it when that happens. And because I'm far too tired to write and I feel terribly guilty when I don't write I'll now have a bottle of wine. At least I'll have a good night's sleep, or so I hope.

Earth at Facebook – you listening?

Well, if you have a minute, I'd like to talk to you. Why, you wonder? Don't be impatient, I'll tell you right now.

You see, Facebook, almost every time when I log in, I will have suggestions aplenty, of who I should be friends with, which games the people I'm connected with play, adverts explaining to me how I would lose weight or pictures of funny crooked houses (I'm still unsure what that ad is about); you inform me about who changed their profile and who read what news. The point is, Facebook, I don't fucking care about all of that. It's hefty enough to deal with all the little red figures, forcing me to catch up with all the fifty six comments other people made on a thread I mindlessly commented on.

Now, since recently you started to inform me that the person who posted on a thread is also a friend of my friends, and every time this person replies to someone on that thread, while I'm trying to type mine, this huge box appears, hiding what I'm typing. So I have to click it away or wait until it disappears, unfortunately, by then, the conversations has moved on or I've lost my thought. Or worse, I hit enter and the whole error riddled answer appears and while I went to the kitchen to get a glass of much needed red wine, the ability to edit my post that reads as if my iguana tried tap dance on my laptop, has gone, too.

Not that this is the only worry I have. I have been known to update my status with – admittedly – rather confusing statements such as: I have notpublished my sequel.

Much to the amusement of those who happened across it, which then developed into a long discussion and my ever growing embarrassment of not being able to change the innocent t to a w. Do you think it's funny that I accidentally called the lovely Catherine, Catering? Or the occasion when I drank red whine, making people think I probably had far more than it's good for me?

For months now, I've been asking, no pleading, begging you even, to introduce an edit-button, so I can correct errors I stumble across the next day. Up to today, you denied me my wish. Why?

And just to torture me a bit more and add to my, as you will probably think, trivial problems, you needed to introduce a new timeline – which, for those of us who use a touch pad instead of a mouse – is a pain to scroll down to the last comment and not an improvement to the overall performance. When I caved and changed to the damn thing, you promised me I could drag that picture around. I guess I don't have to tell you that it wasn't moving one bit.

Facebook, if you can introduce so many useless functions and buttons, why don't you seem to be able to get one of your highly skilled people to get us an edit-button?

Because if you don't I will call you Failbook from now on!