Adjustment to "My Pledge"

Well, folks. I try to be thoughtful and to take my time with all of my posts, but yesterday I got just a little ahead of myself. I posted my pledge to you all, a pledge that included a promise for consistently low prices on my books. In my haste, I didn't take into account the price indie authors have to set for their paperback books; future trends; and traditional publishers' strategic adjustments to regain control over the industry. This industry is changing rapidly, and traditional publishers are now being forced to play "catch up." This article from Smashwords was quite the wake-up call that instigated the need for this adjustment to my pledge. The author of the article is right: traditional publishers will soon lower the prices of their e-books, because they have to. The independent section of the industry is becoming too big: indie authors are selling too many books at a much lower price. It's getting to the point where the Big Six have to do something about it.


I am dedicated to producing quality and I will always be first and foremost, but I had to remove the pricing component of the pledge since there's no way I will be able to offer content for a third of the price as these publishers when they begin offering e-books for $2.99. I will do "free" and "99 cents" promos but it just wouldn't make sense to consistently offer books for fifty cents a piece in order to keep up with my pricing pledge. And I wouldn't be able to offer paperback versions of my books as cheaply as I would like to since the price will have to be about the same as commercial paperbacks, if not slightly more expensive.


A few years ago, the argument against the Big Six's overpricing of e-books would have been a nice salvo to launch against them, but they have caught on, and soon they will begin adapting to the change in the industry. My argument and pricing strategy would have been quickly outdated, so that section of the pledge needed to be scrapped.


My apologies, everyone.

My Pledge to You, the Reader

Yes, I self-publish. And, yes, I fully understand and appreciate the negative perception that goes along with the label; it is richly deserved. I want you to know that I am going to work my hardest, that I am going to do my very best to rise above and break through those dismal expectations. I will become known for the superb quality of my work.


It is also my aim to create excellent content that doesn’t just compare to the best books from traditional publishers but surpasses them in originality, depth, and execution. Allow me to prove myself and to earn your trust.


Actions are louder than words, I know, but as a first step towards establishing a relationship of good faith between us, I would like to lay bare a couple of points that I will firmly commit myself to—a pledge, if you will.


My pledge to you, the reader:

1) Quality. Never will I publish anything that does not meet my strict standards of excellence. Marcuria’s End took me over seven years to write and publish. If it takes me that long to publish the next novel, then so be it. I cannot in good conscience release anything of inferior quality and then ask for your hard-earned money and precious time. I will not stand for that. I care about people, not money, so I will work hard to earn your trust by only publishing content of the highest order.


2) Price. E-books from commercial publishers often exceed ten dollars. How does that price point encourage people to read more? How does that price point encourage anyone to seek out and find new authors to read? I understand it is a business, but in this age of ceaseless distractions and attractions, we should be doing everything we can, as a collective industry, to entice people to read more, to try new genres and new writers; by doing so, we will be encouraging a fuller, broader reading experience, which will benefit all.


I will never ask you to pay ten dollars for an e-book that costs nothing to publish. The high-quality novels I produce will always be at least, or more than, a third of the price required by these publishers for their selections.

Free Sample of My Debut Novel

Just a quick message here to let you know that from now until the end of all time paradoxes you can download a free sample of Marcuria's End from GoodReads. In pdf format, the sample covers the prologue all the way through Chapter 4.

Check it out rrriiighttt (ready for it. . .steady now) HERE.

Join My GoodReads Group

Group name: "Ask Joshua Steelman Anything"

Check it out here.

Come join my scrumdiddilyumptious GoodReads group! I formed it so readers of my book could have easy access to me in order to ask any questions they'd like, no matter how personal. Anything goes in this group; it's that dangerous. It also functions as a discussion board for interesting chats about any of the following topics: the writing process and techniques, why I write / why do you write, "writing and mental illness," the fantasy genre (likes / dislikes), publishing, the state of the publishing industry (self-publishing vs traditional), book discussions, in-depth breakdown of Marcuria's End, and so much more.

This group is open to everybody and I do not discriminate, so jump on in and join us. It will be a lot of fun. I give it my 100% Steelman guarantee.

This week's topic: Likes / Dislikes of the Fantasy Genre (Books)

What I mean by this topic is this: From your experience reading in this genre, what do you like / dislike about fantasy books?

My Take

What I like most about books I've read in this genre: pure escapism, originality in creating new types of monsters and threats--new brands of villains, sense of mystery and wonder, opportunities for discovery (secret locations, hidden or forbidden knowledge), interesting commentary on societal problems, the ability to experience something brand new (something very different than real life).

What I've disliked: reliance on dragons and other standard fantasy monsters and races (pet peeve: since each fantasy world is unique, creatures and races need to be introduced that fit into that specific environment--they should feel like an organic piece of that realm), shallow characters and stories--stories with no substance, bad writing (even fantasy authors published by traditional publishers aren't the greatest writers), bad dialogue, reliance on sex and titillation to "spice things up," political intrigue (so boring I want to cry).

Aftermath

The last week has been rather strange as time has slowed to a crawl while I wait in anticipation for the first Amazon reviews to come out. This is way worse than anticipating Christmas as a child.

For a couple of days after publishing, I was in a complete daze; when I’d go on my daily walks, I’d aimlessly wander around the neighborhood, devoid of all thought. Letting go of something so precious to me, something I had been toiling over for so many years, was quite difficult because of my perfectionism issues. I was convinced that I’d released a book with gigantic mistakes in it, a book that I hadn’t checked carefully enough even though I’d meticulously read through it a million times. And so it was I was convinced that I’d let myself and everybody down.

However, an immense sense of peace pervaded my entire soul from top to bottom, and it wouldn’t allow that delusion to fester and grow. This was perfect peace, clean peace that seemed to infuse itself into my bones until I became Peace itself. Although I’ve always been religious and have often felt the calm presence of the Holy Spirit, I’ve never felt anything like this in my life. This feeling was straight from God: a message letting me know I had actually done a good job and all will be well. For someone like me who doesn’t take medication for serious mental health issues, experiencing peace of this sort was a complete miracle, and it could’ve only come from a divine source. After the extreme difficulties of the last year, I was so grateful for it; it stilled my mind into perfect stillness and all was well inside of me: there wasn’t anything to fear, nothing to feel animalistic terror over. I was utterly whole. For a few days. I couldn’t have asked for a bigger blessing than that.

I just want to take a moment to reflect on the writing of Marcuria’s End. It’s mind-boggling for me to consider how many hundreds of hours I poured into this book. Necessary hours since I had so much to learn about the craft. After I’d gotten started, I wanted to make sure I did it right the first time and put something out there of quality in the fantasy genre since so many novels within this genre aren’t very good. At one point, while I was working full-time, I was waking up at 3 am to work on the book before I’d leave to go to work at 7:30 am because I knew once I got home, there was no way I’d have the energy to be productive and to write like I knew I was capable of. This unfinished novel had already eaten away at me for years; I was so desperate to continue laboring over it that I was willing to do whatever it took. I dreaded being in the workplace then just as I do now because I feel like I am wasting my time when there is so much more that I can do. It doesn’t feel too good to waste away in data entry, to be kept prisoner in cubicle-hell, when there are some truly marvelous things that you can do with your talent.  

Completing Marcuria’s End was a miracle. My head is oftentimes a “no-man’s land” of clear, lucid thought, and my soul is often smothered by darkness to the point where it takes tremendous effort to just do anything, even the simplest tasks. When I’m like that, concentrating on anything is impossible: just watching TV or a movie is difficult during these times since I can’t follow the plot or anything that is happening. The last year has been extremely tough for me health-wise, except somehow I was able to tidy up the manuscript and publish it. I attribute all of this to God’s grace and mercy. Throughout the entire writing process, I spent a lot of time on my knees, and I was assisted greatly in so many ways that I won’t get into because I don’t want to sound like I’m boasting. And I hope I don’t sound whiney. I just want you to be able to better understand exactly what God has done for me, how He has boosted me and made it possible for me to do something like this. There were so many times when I felt too ill to write but I tried anyway, “falling into” a special place inside me where only light and a numb stillness reigns, and it was there that I would write strictly based off inspiration, without the interference of thought or “reason.” I am so grateful to God for what He’s done for me. I am proof that miracles do continue to occur in our day. Through Him, anything is possible.

Now that I’ve finished one book, I don’t feel satisfied in the least; I’m totally antsy to get back to work and prove myself again because the doubt I’m having is that I won’t ever be able to write at the same level as I did in Marcuria’s End. I can’t wait to prove doubt wrong. I wrote the first book in the face of such extreme opposition and adversity (on many levels that I won’t get into) that there is no way I can give up on myself now and relinquish confidence in my ability. I have to remind myself that I can “novel” really well, even when I’m feeling like garbage and completely scared out of my mind and caught up in the midst of nagging, soul-shriveling obsessions.

What I’m working on now

Marketing. Lots and lots of marketing and PR. Yes, it’s as gross as it sounds. A lot of boring stuff, but I also have some fun stuff planned, so stay tuned. What this book really needs right now in order to get some momentum going are reviews—LOTS of reviews on Amazon. Since I am out here on my own as a self-publisher, I must ask for your help during these initial baby-steps. Reviews are what makes everything tick on that site, and they are what makes a book visible to larger and larger audiences. The more reviews you get, the more your work will be seen. And let’s be perfectly honest: no one other than friends, family, acquaintances, and good Samaritans are going to buy a self-published book without reading any reviews for it first. This is why I need your help. Just one review will make a difference. Just one. An honest review. So, please do a bit of service after you finish reading Marcuria’s End and write up a quick review. These really don’t have to be long to be convincing. Much heartfelt thanks in advance.

Once the book gets those recommendations, I think that will get the train rolling. This is a novel that can really go places. It is strong enough. I do believe that this book can sell at least 10,000 copies. Accuse me of being crazy (and you would be right), but based on the excellent quality of the work, I don’t see why that number can’t be achieved. With your help and with your continued support, this can happen. You will see. J

I love you all for the support you’ve already shown. It has honestly been overwhelming, and your lovely comments have nearly reduced me to tears on several occasions. (I’m too numb for tears these days. I’m all dried out.) Thank you all. You truly are a blessing.

Formal Announcement

Marcuria's End is out now on Amazon.

What it's about:

The world of Marcuria nears its predestined end. This is the last Age. The final Cleansing. Three unwitting harbingers—whose lives have been carefully constructed, vigilantly directed onto dark paths—are being prepared for this culmination. Monsters they are destined to be, not the heroes they always dreamed.

Alyn sees what others cannot: the Dark. This darkness infests the land, swarms over all creation. Even those he loves are infected with it. Hatred for the Dark festers as Alyn battles a raging torrent inside: an alluvion yearning to sweep this perceived blight out of existence.

Jarrod is a carousing layabout haunted by the trauma he suffered as a young child. He drowns himself in drink and the occasional girl to escape the constant, hellacious memories. Yet this isn’t enough. It can never be enough. For years, he has mulled over a solution, but his cowardice is too great of an impediment. Even so, the notion of revenge never wanders out of reach as it foments his craving for knowledge.

Gherart has just celebrated a major promotion to join the ranks of the Eldest’s personal guard. These elite guardsmen are recognized as national heroes, exemplars of virtue and honor. To have come this far, Gherart has had to transform himself into a new man, a religious man. This mighty change entailed purging his life of every connection to his criminal past; however, there is one tie he can’t cut loose: his best friend—a brother in spirit. . .a thief envious of Gherart.

Coming soon to a Kindle near you:

Why I "Novel" - Part Dos (2)

About seven and a half years ago, I had just graduated from college with a business degree and I was working my first (and last) marketing job, which was a very stressful experience. Lots of stress. Constant stress. Fresh out of college, I was overwhelmed and hated waking up every day to go do this stuff.

And so I began to fall apart. My downfall commenced with a nagging worry, of the sort that I’d been troubled with many times in the past and somehow managed to swat away after weeks or months. This current fear, however, was a little stronger, just a bit more intense—making it more believable and convincing that it was the truth. And so this worry persisted and festered, very quickly snowballing into another fear as I rushed to judgment and made a false connection that resulted in another, even more debilitating delusion. Over the course of a couple of weeks, I sunk further and further down into this void of delusion until I’d lost control of my mind, my body, and my life. Every basic comprehension—about myself and the world—fell away; everything became horribly confusing, and every experience became quite humiliating and thoroughly devastating.

Nothing made sense anymore; I had no idea what was going on. Everything in my life was terrifying. My mind had unraveled seemingly overnight. For a general clarification of about this malaise, let this suffice: what had once been “down” was now “up” and vice versa. To survive, I was grasping at straws, grasping at anything that made sense or could make sense. I became more and more scared as fear and doubt spread into all aspects of my life until I became unsure of the reality of any little thing. Amid the wreckage, I didn’t know where to turn or what to do. Peace had been taken from me, and I couldn’t find it again. I went through a great deal of trauma, and I was in a lot of emotional / spiritual pain with no idea of what was going on. Very quickly I went from being a fairly outgoing person to someone who could no longer function socially or in any way whatsoever.

Through a constant pounding of humiliation and trauma, I was humbled until I felt lower than the dust and the worms beneath. I couldn’t stand to be around people or friends because I was so scared of myself and of them. I couldn’t do my job; I humiliated myself, my employers, my friends. What good was I? What did I have to live for? Why would I want to live like this?

Throughout my life, I had put off the urge to write since I considered it to be pointless; I didn’t have the confidence to start and would rather spend my free time playing video games to help deter the constant nagging, the pain, and turmoil of OCD. (Yeah, I can be quite the video-gameaholic. Noveling has been my 12 Step Program.) This time, the urge to write came back stronger, and I was finally ready to follow-through and obey: I was desperate for any outlet to vent my frustration and terror and self-loathing. I had been made to listen at last.

When I lost my job (How could I work when I couldn’t concentrate or contribute?), I was forced to move in with my parents and proceeded to live as a virtual recluse for two years. I didn’t get help because I didn’t think there was any help to be had. I didn’t consider the possibility that I could be mentally ill, thinking that what I was going through was just some sort of personal crisis that was a little more intense than the crises I’d had many times before.

Throughout all this distress and change (trying to work while extremely ill, losing my job, and moving), I turned to noveling as a drowning man would turn to a life raft or preserver and hold onto it tightly. Noveling was the only thing that could keep me afloat. The art of piecing together a novel made perfect sense to me when nothing else did. I could comprehend it when I wasn’t able to keep a firm grasp of the most mundane, basic concepts.

Noveling gave me peace, made me feel good about myself. It just felt right from the start, like it was something I should have been doing all along. A perfect fit. It was as though I’d slipped on a nice party dress that accentuated my curves. . . .

(Uh, please forget you read that. This is supposed to be a serious post. Focus, Josh. Focus!)

I novelled for my own salvation I suppose. I novelled before I was diagnosed, before I had therapy and learned mindfulness techniques to help me hang onto inner tranquility. It provided relief when nothing else could. A novel was something I could dive into and lose myself in. For stretches of time, I could forget myself and find safety from my own brain in realms of fantasy, where I was free to let everything go. There I could work through my demons, express what I was feeling, and show how I hurt. I could offload every dark emotion I was enduring and throw it on the back of something / someone else. For a time, I could be free of pain, and that meant everything to me.

This immense passion for noveling has only grown over the last seven years or so as I’ve gone from total recluse to struggling to rejoin society—a process and prospect I’m still not comfortable with and never will be. It’s much easier for me to sit at my computer for hours at a time and write rather than get out and be social. Considering how uncomfortable I am even around family members, going to a party and sitting there with strangers isn’t easy—it’s torture really. Needless to say, torture is not my idea of fun.

If I wasn’t able to novel, I’d have nothing; I would feel like I was less than nothing. The crafting of a high-quality piece of work has given me self-esteem, which has helped me in turn to have the needed courage when facing OCD obsessions / compulsions and social anxiety fears. Just finishing a novel showed me that I can do it, that I can make something of myself, that I don’t have to be a drain on others. There is something I am really good at, something I can do for a living at a time when I can’t hang onto employment or find work.

Because of mental illness, each day of my life finds a new way to provide me with fresh misery. For me, living isn’t fun, but writing is. When I’m able to sit in front of a computer every day and launch myself into the shoes of another character and live and breathe in their world, I am able to forget all about my own and my existence; I’m free to create whatever I wish. In those moments, I am liberated from my own brain, and it is wonderful. The experience is rather magical, transformative, as I become this other person: I can see right through them and understand everything there is to understand. I am able to see them for who they truly are, and this relieves some of my loneliness.

This will sound hokey or cheesy, but writing is my soul, and my soul is writing. Everything I have goes into my novels. I agonize over individual words and sentence structure. If something doesn’t “sound” right, I can’t leave it alone until it’s perfect.  Writing is everything to me, for I have nothing else to live for. I don’t want anything else to live for. I will never get married or have a family of my own, and that is fantastic. I am thrilled about that. I may never have a lot of money, and that is also fantastic. I could care less about any of this. All I care about is my writing and my spiritual progress (just trying to be a good person and improving myself). That’s as simple as I can make my life, and I am grateful for it. I am grateful that I am so ill that my perspective has been forcibly shifted from the temporal to the eternal, to what’s really important in life, to what life is about. It is a blessing that I am afforded an eternal perspective that career-mongers so often miss as they chase advancement and a dollar.

The art of scribbling down my thoughts and creating works of art called novels has quite literally saved my life. I can’t overemphasize that enough, and I don’t spout that out glibly. I mean it. Noveling is everything to me. It is the only way I can have any happiness in this dreadful life of mine. It has given me a purpose when there wouldn’t be one otherwise. Without the sweet beauty found in this work, I’d have no motivation to live, nothing to push me to be healthy. I’d be obsessed with the desire to die because it is extremely hard living like this. I have no dignity, and I am either pitied or ridiculed; I have nothing to be proud of except for that which I have created. In general, the life I lead is an embarrassment, a failure.

Lest you misunderstand me, I don’t talk about being mentally ill or talk about this desolate life of mine for pity or sympathy. I don’t ever want to get those sorts of comments or hear such words from people: it embarrasses me to earn this sort of attention when suffering on a much grander scale is rampant throughout the world. I just want to talk openly about mental illness and my experience with it so others don’t feel like they have to hide in the shadows or be ashamed of their struggle. We are too often embarrassed by our symptoms, and we are afraid of those being noticed or seen because we fear the judgments of others and of being shunned from society. So, we work really hard to hide all the evidence and all traces leading to the evidence. That’s why so many around me for so many years had no idea or didn’t suspect I was sick until the illnesses reached their breaking point and came to the forefront to dominate my life in a dramatic way. I speak about my experiences with these disorders because I don’t want anyone to feel as alone as I have throughout this ordeal, and I want to show others who suffer that our lives can still be worth something, that we can still accomplish much of great value, that our suffering isn’t meaningless.

Sorry for the Silence

This last grammar check of my novel before release is kicking my butt, and it's not because I don't understand grammar. I just want to tinker with every word and sentence, and it's been really hard not to mess with it until it's "perfect."

I am never again going to wait to do a final check of my grammar until a book is finished. It's horrible. Grammar is every bit as much of the artistry as the words and prose, so when you've been removed from the intricacies of the material for several months, like I have, it's tough to get back in and understand why I did certain things. This hasn't been good for my OCD, I'll tell you that. It's been quite miserable actually. For instance, I was working on the manuscript yesterday and a little tired (OCD feasts on "tired," especially fatigue) and had a total OCD meltdown. Some of the OCD symptoms I have are: checking, persistent doubt and guilt. These really like to work in unison and feed off the other. So, as I was going through the manuscript and tidying up the grammar, I wasn't careful and kept letting myself get snagged by little details and things that I shouldn't have messed with. Once I started, I couldn't stop until the sentence was "perfect" and had to re-read it a dozen times to make sure until I could move on. I don't know if any of you have tried reading the same sentence over and over; the words lose all meaning after about the fifth time, so it was really hard to judge if I had it "right" or not, which made me read it more. And then I had to check to see if the grammar was correct, a process that involved more reading of the same sentence. You can see where this is going. I basically was stuck on the same sentence for a couple hours at least before I could try to move on. Pushing the downward arrow key on my keyboard was extremely hard and painful as I worked to convince myself to move on and get my finger to respond.

Eventually, I'd be able to move along at a slow crawl until something else snagged me on the next page and the process would repeat. I don't know if you know this, but when you give into OCD, it escalates and escalates until you feel like you're losing your mind, or on the verge of a nervous breakdown. So, last night, as I was in full on panic-attack mode and my heart was hammering wildly in my chest, I got to a point where I'd read a sentence to make sure the comma was in the proper place, and even though my eyes could see the comma, I'd doubt I was seeing correctly and couldn't believe it was there or that it was in the correct spot. This OCD doubt was so strong that I'd have to sit there staring at my computer screen and talk myself through every step.

"Yes, the comma is there."

"Yes, it is in the right place."

"The grammar is right. The sentence is good. Time to move on now. Just push the 'down arrow' key. Everything will be okay."

It's funny how the OCD brain can take you to a place where you doubt so much and so powerfully, that you can doubt out of existence what your own eyes see or what your hands touch. It's very difficult to accept the reality of some basic things. This is why it's hard for me to turn from a door I just locked because I can't believe that I actually did lock it or that it is indeed locked even after I tested the door a bunch of times and it wouldn't open for me.

This will sound silly to many of you, but for me, moments like these are extremely emotional and agonizing that take a lot of courage and work to get through. Somehow my brain didn't shutdown on me this time--an occurrence during periods of overwhelming stress where you lose all cognitive function and some senses for a time until it boots back up just like a computer. It's a strange sensation as you feel everything come back "online". Really weird.

That's why I've got to be extremely careful when I revise my work or doing a thorough check like the one I'm doing. Handing off this task to someone else isn't a solution since that is just a cop-out, an easy way out of exposing myself to imperfection and learning to accept it.

So, yeah. That's me, and that was my fun experience last night. Sorry for rambling. My intention for this post isn't as a "woe-is-me" post. I just needed to express myself, get this off my chest and share. That's all. It helps me out and beats keeping the pain cooped-up inside, so I appreciate you for indulging me on this.

Why I “Novel”: Part Uno (1)

(Note of clarification: The verb write is too general when describing the work novelists do. I prefer using my own verb, novel, to summarize all the work that goes into creating a lengthy work of fiction.)

I novel because. . .

Because. . .

This is going to be tougher than I realized. I do have a ready response, but sharing this with the world is proving difficult since I am very shy and have a lot of trouble putting myself out there. Setting up this blog as well as various social media accounts in preparation for the release of my novel was an uncomfortable experience and continues to bother me.

I am much more comfortable hiding behind my characters who spout out my words for me and can be blamed if they spout out something “wrong.” Without that barrier between me and the outside world, speaking freely is a scary prospect. Perhaps this is a necessary step in my development. That doesn’t mean I won’t be able to always resist the nagging urge to take down a post as soon as I put it up on the blog.

I don’t want to have any secrets, any barriers standing between us, so I’ll use this post to warm up to the meat of the matter that I’ll get to in my next post. Sorry in advance.

Why do I novel (write)? In part, because I became disgusted with the fantasy novels regularly churned out by major publishers. I learned that just because a book is a NY Times bestseller, it doesn't mean that the book is good. Aside from just a few novelists, no one is writing quality fantasy—a genre I am most passionate about. I am hungry for more; I need to be fed, yet there is nothing to shovel in my mouth besides dust. Am I alone in this? I can’t be.

About seven years ago my frustration boiled over. In spite of my minimal writing experience at the time and my deteriorating mental condition, I knew I could create better, more substantial material than the shallow drivel sitting on store shelves, so I set out to prove it.
Since then I have worked every day on my novel to make it the best it can be. Why? Because I have something good and interesting here, something original. (Yes, originality still exists. Not every story line has been done quite yet.) I just needed to tell this story and couldn't stop “telling” it until it was finished.

And now it is. While imperfect, this book is a good start, a good foundation to grow upon. And grow I will. I have seen that in the writing of my second novel, and I expect that steady improvement with each new creative enterprise.
I very much look forward to sharing my work with you and receiving your feedback. I will send out an announcement once it's available.

Have a great day, everyone. Or night. Or both.

Stay tuned for part dos (2) when things are gonna get real. Like Real Housewives of Atlanta real. Or not.

“Allow Me to Introduce Myself”

Hola!

My name is Joshua Steelman, and I am addicted to writing. Cheesy opening, I know, but it’s an icebreaker. I am an aspiring novelist with one completed manuscript and another needing a final revision. After I’m finished with the second novel, I’ll focus on publishing these in various formats.

Now that the boring stuff is out of the way, allow me to get to more boring stuff: the purpose of the blog and my grandiose plan for world domination…er…I mean my vision for this blog.

Between this blog, my public Facebook page, and Twitter, I really want to create a nice community where I can easily get your feedback and criticisms of my work and then have the ability to discuss it with you. Even though my shyness can be severe, I want to be as accessible as possible, and this is the best way for me to do that.

What you’ll find on my blog: samples of my work, explorations of writing issues and tips, news about my upcoming novels and where to buy them, and more. Not much more, just more.

While I feel silly about promoting my public Facebook page without having anything published yet, feel free to “like” it. I will use that page to post quick messages. You can contact me there as well as on Twitter.

Link to Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/steelmannovels

Link to Twitter: https://twitter.com/JSNovels

Talk to you soon.