Amazon Authors! What's Up With All The Serials?

Yes Harry Potter was an exceptional example of a successful series, but if you're not a known name, then your series won't be worth the paper that it was written on.

Yeah, I'm kind of cynical about them, but hear me out first.

Within minutes, my cat can become an author on Amazon and publish whatever she wants to basically. I don't have a problem with that at all. It's just that publishing serials doesn't work for the average reader.

When you're new, you want to write an amazing story from beginning to end. When you write a serial, you don't want to leave out so much that the reader HAS to purchase the second book in order to find out what happens. If this is your first time, what if you suck? You're almost guaranteeing that they won't come back.

New writers need to find their audiences in different  ways than teasing their audiences with books that are sixty six pages long and that have titles that say this is "Book #1 out of 60 of the Dragon Knight Baby Specials"

Huh?

Have you even built an audience yet with the more  traditional route?
What makes you so sure that I'm going to stick with you long enough to read through the second book all the way to your sixtieth?

It's presumptious.

Stick with your first book and knock them dead with that one. Join book clubs that deal with the subject matter that you're writing in. Smooze book club owners. Talk with other writers. Utilize social media. Create a blog. Read other books in the same genre. Read books in other genres. Completely immerse yourself in the world of writing. Find out what the experts are doing. Find out what the idiots are doing and then, don't do that.

Then if you think you've got what it takes to write a trilogy (and God help you if you don't) go for it. It better be damn good and damn worth it.

A writer should never go into a project thinking that they want to create a series off the bat unless they are under a contract to do so. You, as the inexperienced writer with no base, have no clue that people will give a crap about what you write. You could very well be wasting your time.

Write that first novel but leave a little room at the end to possibly create a teaser. Then wait damnit. Wait. Check the reviews. Have other people professionally critique your work. Mull some ideas over in your head for a possible part two of the series.

Have you ever seen any of the Pirates of The Caribbean movies? The first one was genius but then the scripts became some overloaded with such nonsense that even Johnny Depp threw up his hands and said, "I don't even know what this means!"

You're in the business of writing and entertaining people. You want them sitting on the edge of their beds while their spouses are asleep waiting to jump up at any moment and scare the daylights out of them. You want them rooting for your characters! You don't want the main character in the middle of the scene that YOU wrote saying, "What the fuck is THIS shit?" It's not good.

 Concentrate on what makes a great story. Concentrate on how to tell a great story. Then go from there. If you're new in the game, the trilogy will come much further down the line. Captivate your readers and then you shall build a great and loyal audience. They will follow you wherever you go from there.

An Excerpt from "The Teacher's Pet"

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 I am pleased to share an excerpt of my latest book, "The Teacher's Pet".  The book will be available soon. I ask that you read it with an open mind and reserve judgment. 

The whole thing still seemed so surreal. I walked down the hallway that afternoon accompanied by detectives of the Chicago Police Department. My secret was now out and the rumors that spread rapidly that morning were now confirmed.

I felt safe with the detectives that surrounded me as we waded through dozens of stunned and confused students. I couldn’t bear to look them in the eyes as they rushed off to find the closest person that they knew.

“See I told you so!! It’s true! He did get arrested !!!” I heard one student whisper.

I felt relieved that the detectives were protecting me. I wished that I could have hidden or made myself invisible, but the truth was now out. The thing that scared me the most was what would happen to me when the police left?

The bell rang as students scattered off to class. I wasn’t sure where Coach Jackson was at that moment, but at that point, I didn’t care. My future was much to hard for me to comprehend.

This too shall pass, rang over and over again in my mind.

“Can you show us where it happened?” the detective asked, snapping me out of my daydream. I nodded that I could and showed him the stairwell near the gym office. I choked back tears, as the detectives looked the area over. It was the first time I had seen the place since Friday afternoon...after the final incident. The only comforting feeling that I had was that I was never going to that place again. It was finally over.

The detectives asked me a few more questions before we walked down the now empty halls. The school was under strict supervision by the police. I was informed that the media had descended upon the school desperate for sound bites and more information.

One detective turned to me.

“How are your grades?”

“I’m an honor roll student. I’m practically involved in every school club and extracurricular activity here.” That answer seemed to shock him. He leaned down and got in my face.

“You’d better be telling me the truth Sonya.” I was taken aback. It was the first time that anyone had questioned my story since everything came out.

“Sir, if you don’t believe me, my name is on a bulletin board downstairs by the main office. I’m on the A/B Honor Roll. You can check the yearbook to see all the clubs I’m in as well. They’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

That detective looked at me for a moment before turning away. We continued down the hallway without another word being uttered. I’m sure when he left that day, he checked that bulletin board to see if I was telling the truth.

In the next few days I would learn that he wasn’t the only one that had openly expressed doubts. I don’t blame them though. The story was so crazy, I wouldn’t have believed me either.

That was the day that I officially lost my name. I was no longer Sonya Dickerson. Sonya had died a long time ago. I was forced to take on a new identity now, one that would follow me until this day. At the ten and twenty year high school reunions or whenever one would open up a yearbook to reminisce; my new identity became, “The Girl That Cried Raped”.