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Beth C. Greenberg

Publishing: the next adventure

Isotopia Publishing Logo

It’s official! Isotopia Publishing is open for business.

Definitively answering that oft-asked question — “Do you have a publisher?” The answer is YES. And at the very same moment, Isotopia Publishing gained its very first client!

What’s in a name?

The name “Isotopia Publishing” invokes the spirit of a fictional city created by my son, Jeffrey Greenberg, in his dystopian novel, Isotopia (published posthumously in 2018). The world of Isotopia centers around a thriving marketplace of artisans and merchants, hunters and healers, where the best of the best trade their products and their expertise for the benefit of their society as a whole.

That sounds an awful lot like a really good publishing company.

Many said that Isotopia seemed to re-blossom into the same jumbo plant each day. The City contained everything that any decent city in its place and time would be expected to have, yet it was also small and homey.

Jeff Greenberg, Isotopia

The Path to Publishing

The journey of a story from completed manuscript to the form we know as a “book” — whether that be hardcover, paperback, eBook, or audible — is fraught with obstacles and challenges. Traditionally, an author would need to attract the attention (then devotion) of an agent, whose goal would then be to shepherd that story into the hands of a publisher (i.e. one of the “big five”). A deal would be struck, and then the gears, both tiny and great, would start grinding away with all kinds of professionals assigned by the publishing house: editing, cover design, interior formatting, proofing, marketing, distribution, more marketing, printing, even more marketing, and RELEASE! (Was it good for you?)

What the heck is a publisher anyway? Here’s Wikipedia’s definition: “Publishing is the activity of making information, literature, music, software and other content available to the public for sale or for free.” Technically, every time I post an update to my website, I’m publishing. Every time you tweet or post on Facebook, guess what? Publishing a book gets a little more complicated…

But sometimes those magical gates don’t open for an author for a wide variety of reasons that all boil down to one thing: the agent and/or publisher simply don’t believe they can sell your story. Hence, the author ends up with a big pile of rejections — or yuckier, rejection’s ugly stepbrother, radio silence.

I totally get it. Thankfully, in this age of the internet, that doesn’t have to be the end of the story’s story. The modern, independent (“indie”) author has options, one of which is to turn herself into a publisher. You pick a fictitious name (no biggie for a fiction writer), file some paperwork, pay a small fee, and poof! You’re a publishing company.

So, how do you publish a book anyway?

Now there’s a great question! *Spoiler alert* – I haven’t entirely figured that out yet. So far, this publishing enterprise feels like a three-track process: 1) produce the actual book, whatever form that takes; 2) distribute the product to the readers, whether that’s direct sales or through a third party; and 3) let everyone know they really REALLY need to read this book. Production, Distribution, Marketing. Three simple parts right? Um, not exactly. Each of those deceptively basic categories hosts a decision tree of decision trees. A person could get good and lost in the forest.

Take production, for example. Want to publish a paperback? Where are you going to get your awesome cover by which people will judge your book? What size? What color paper? Who is going to print your book babies? Trust me, this is the tip of the iceberg. The distribution channels are dizzying, and we haven’t even talked about pricing. Marketing? I have two words for you: Author Platform. Got a headache yet?

How does one untangle the daunting gnarl of decisions?

This is where the author-publisher needs to get real with herself and ask, What is my goal here? The answer to that question drives every decision that follows. Who’s your ultimate reader, and how do you get your story into their hands? If you want to print ten copies of your family history to pass down to the grandkids, your publishing plan is going to look a whole lot different than the mystery writer trying to get into a chain of bookstores across the country.

As for me, I’ve given this question a lot of thought since I started writing the Cupid’s Fall series ten years ago. Yep, ten. Why am I bothering with this publishing nonsense at all?

Well, I want my friends and family and people I don’t even know to read my stories and enjoy the heck out of them, and I’d really love the chance to talk with them about it afterwards. When I started writing fiction, I was posting online in a community where stories were shared one chapter at a time and readers interacted with writers every step along the way. I love that, and I hope that will happen with my Cupid books. I’d love for my characters to get out there, stretch their legs, and travel the world, to speak a few languages, to make a lot of people smile and want to hear the next part of their story. Those wishes will drive my decisions.

And here I thought writing a book was the hard part!

Curious to see how this whole publishing business comes out?

Follow my “adventures in publishing” tags and join me on this wild ride! I can’t promise I’ll make all the right decisions, but I can almost guarantee it’ll be a good story.

Comments, questions, concerns?

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P.S. – Did you know you can receive blog updates straight to your inbox? Yup! Just enter your email address in the box below and cut out the middle man. This is a no-spam zone! I post to my blog roughly once a month. (Not to be confused with my NEWSLETTER, which is all the current book stuff, sneak peeks, special deals, etc. And you can sign up for my newsletter by clicking on the big open heart at the bottom of this page.)

Microfiction: Tiny Stories that Pack a Mighty Punch

Could you tell a whole story with 1000 words? (That’s “flash.”) How about 100? (That’s “microfiction.”) 7? (Hmm, that’s a definite challenge!)

I’ve previously blogged about my early forays into flash fiction (1000 words as defined by the contest guidelines), but recently I’ve been experimenting with shorter forms: 750, 500, and even 100. I love the challenge of paring away the extras until the essential story is all that’s left. What a fantastic exercise in understanding what “story” means.

I love this definition from Lisa Cron’s Story Genius so much, I have it pinned above my desk on an index card to use as my guide whether I’m writing 100 words or 80,000:

A story is about how the things that happen affect someone in pursuit of a difficult goal

and how that person changes as a result.

Lisa Cron

The shortest story forms only allow for a small cast of characters and one or two scenes, though I’ve seen a few that skillfully navigate more. As a writer, you have to choose each word carefully to convey character, motivation, action, and stakes to the reader. And if I’ve learned anything from the judges’ feedback, you have to stick that landing, just like gymnastics.

Since they’re bite-sized morsels, I thought it might be fun to share the three 100-word microfictions I wrote (in 24 hours each) for the NYC Midnight Microfiction challenge over the summer. At the great risk of a too-lengthy blog post, I’ve also included some gleanings after each story. I hope you’ll be inspired to try your hand in the comments below!


Round 1

Genre: HORROR
Action: PLANTING A SEED 
Word to be used: “INSEPARABLE” 

LITTLE MIRACLES

I approach their table and flash the grin Lily loved, back when we were inseparable. Before the restraining order.

“Hey, Lil,” I say. “Pregnancy suits you.”

Lily turns whiter than the tablecloth. “Clay?”

“Hiya, Mitt,” I say. Her husband clenches. “So, Lil, guess you did want a baby after all?”

Just not mine.

“Why are you here?” Lily asks tightly.

“To tell you about my job. I spin sperm now. Oh, and thirty-two weeks ago, your fancy fertility doctor planted my seed inside your womb.”

Her hand flies to her round belly.

“Yep. Looks like we’re all having my baby.”

What I learned from this one:

  • Get an expert. My OB-GYN buddy Kathleen LeMaitre was kind enough to explain centrifuges and other insemination details that didn’t make it into the written story but helped me understand how things work
  • I gave away the “punch line” too soon.
  • There’s a reason I don’t write horror. Yuck.

That said, I squeaked by with the lowest possible score to advance to the semifinals.


Round 2

Genre: COMEDY
Action: SNORKELING 
Word to be used: “SCAM” 

BUCCANEERS OF THE PLASTIC WRECK

“As advertised, find the Lost Ruby, your tour’s on me!” I bent toward the three little pirates. “Ready to dive for sunken treasure, mateys?”

Pirate-themed snorkel tours. Easy money, they said.

I chased those hellions for hours, hobbling around on my faux-peg leg while their mom tanned on the deck. The boys fought. They ate. They peed over the side. Finally, they snorkeled.

“I found it!” shouted the oldest, waving a red plastic gem I definitely hadn’t hidden in the wreck.

Mom was gleeful but not at all surprised. “Free trip!”

I’d met my match. Scammed by a true pirate.

What I learned from this one:

  • It’s darn hard to be funny on command, and I really wasn’t. Most of the comedy that made its way into the final story, I owe to my amazing writers’ group, a talented bunch I’ve met through the contest forums. Our beta-read critiques (aka “the swarm”) are solid gold for improving stories, learning from other writers, and building true, respectful community. I hope someday to meet more of them in person.
  • The last line was originally written as dialogue (and unfortunately submitted that way to the contest). Another writer on the forum suggested this edit, and I wholeheartedly agree it’s better this way.

Once again, I squeaked by with the lowest possible score to advance to the FINALS!


Round 3

Genre: ROMANCE (writer’s choice)
Action: UNPACKING A SUITCASE 
Word to be used: “LIGHT” 

OUT OF THE BOX

It’s not Roger’s fault he’s about to break my heart; he doesn’t even know I have one. Age has slowed his tongue and fingers, a mortal blow for a pair like us. Tonight might be our last tryst.

Ten minutes to curtain.

Buckles pop. The suitcase lid opens. Roger appears, haloed by light.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, eyes moist. “Ready for our final show?” Loving hands lift me from my velvet-lined bed.

It’s now or never.

Summoning my might, I open my fiberglass mouth. “I love you, Roger.”

Roger’s jaw drops. “I, um, …”

“Roger, please…”

“I love you, too!”

What I learned from this one:

  • Ambiguity is your friend… unless it stays with the reader after the ending. Sadly, the “fiberglass mouth” was not clear enough to solidify what was being pulled out of that velvet-lined case. Did you guess… a ventriloquist’s dummy? One judge could not decide which musical instrument Roger was about to play. ☹
  • Sometimes, 24 hours is not enough! I tinkered with the piece up till 11:52 pm— NOT ADVISABLE—and totally missed nailing the ending. Regrets. This piece should have focused on the narrator gaining her voice for the first time, Roger hearing that voice for the first time and realizing he’d failed to recreate her honeyed tone. The title, too, should have reinforced this theme.

Got a 100-word (or fewer) story you’d like to share in the comments? I’d love to see what you come up with!
Thanks for reading!

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P.S. – Did you know you can receive blog updates straight to your inbox? Yup! Just enter your email address in the box below and cut out the middle man. This is a no-spam zone! I post to my blog roughly once a month. (Not to be confused with my NEWSLETTER, which is all the current book stuff, sneak peeks, special deals, etc. And you can sign up for my newsletter by clicking on the big open heart at the bottom of this page.)

We made the finals!

Welp, I certainly wasn’t expecting to get to the finals… but here we are. And I say “we” because a LOT of people have helped me each round. A few lucky folks got tapped EVERY round and some rotating “experts” depending on the subject matter. If you’re reading this post, you’re part of the village, too. It’s not really much fun to sit around and write stuff if nobody reads it. So thank YOU for being here. I mean that.

Here’s where you can find my blog posts on the other 3 rounds of this contest:

So now what? Well, I’ll tell you. Last Friday at midnight(12/9) the remaining 48 of us received these prompts:

Genre: OPEN [Writer’s choice]
Setting: A TRADING FLOOR
Object: SCRAPBOOK

Finding my story

A trading floor is a pretty cool setting when you happen to live with a stock market guy who can tell you stuff! The coolest bit of information my darling husband shared with me, after we’d agreed the point-of-view character was going to be an 8-year-old boy on the autism spectrum, was that the Marvel cast rang the opening bell at the NYSE before the last Avengers movie opened. I have to say a special note of thanks to my sweet, patient husband, who agonized over every word of this story with me. You might say he was invested. And I did drive him nuts, not gonna lie. If I read the story 35 times, he probably read it 25. That’s… 25,000 words. And I didn’t really feed him much all weekend. Ah, the glamorous life!

A few very special folks gave me advice on everything from superheroes to parenting an autistic boy (and being one), and a very special shout-out to a new friend from the contest (Carrie Beth) who gave me invaluable help with my draft. Many thanks to Shell, Domie, Brad, Kitkat, PJ, and always Chayasara. Special shout-out to Alec Frazier at Autistic Reality for his candor, heart, and love of superheroes.

We’re supposed to learn the judges’ final verdicts on January 9th at midnight, so I guess that will be a tense moment. But honestly, I have already gained so much by participating. Seriously, I don’t even need one of those participation trophies. I have received insightful critical comments from some excellent writers, and I’ve written a few stories I NEVER would have tried. And this time, I didn’t even get a stomach ache… so YAY! I don’t expect I will do this again because the stress of the 48 hours is just way too much, but I’ll chalk this up to a very positive experience that started right here. And now… my LAST FLASH FIC! Enjoy!

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Chris Evans as Captain America
Chris Evans as Captain America

A HERO AT THE END OF THE DAY

“Just eight more hours, Gabe. That’s like watching The First Avenger four times.” Daddy places the visitor necklace over my head and settles the name tag right in the middle of Captain America’s shield. “Ready?”

Ready? I’M MEETING CAPTAIN AMERICA TODAY!

I nod.

Daddy opens the shiny, gold door. “Welcome to the New York Stock Exchange.”

So many people… It reminds me of when Mommy used to take me to the mall. Daddy doesn’t take me places without Mommy. Not like Emma and Will.

“I have a VIP today,” Daddy says to the man behind the counter.

“Oh! Someone gets to see Captain America ring the closing bell.” A buzzer scares me backwards into Daddy.

“It’s okay, Gabe.” Daddy pushes the silver bar, and I walk through. “Remember, stick close.”

Daddy says he works on the floor; this is a whole city. I’m too short to see everything. The ceiling reaches the sky. Towers of computer screens look like giant triple-layer cakes.

“Those are called ‘posts,’” Daddy says. “The brokers, like me, have desks around the outside of the room.”

My finger creeps below my name tag to trace the shield on my chest: five-pointed star, circle one, circle two, circle three. I start again, pressing harder. Daddy sees.

Mommy says my patterns make Daddy feel worried, not mad.

Daddy points out the bathroom as we walk down a row with computers on both sides. “Here’s my desk—securities location C-4. It matches your name tag. My cellphone number is there, too. See?”

I nod.

“Once the market opens, I’ll be running around, but I’ll keep checking in.”

“Okay.” I’m eight, not a baby.

“Why don’t we both get organized?”

I unzip my Avengers backpack and lay out my supplies: a stack of old comics, scissors, a glue stick, markers, and a brand-new scrapbook.

Some people start clapping. Daddy says a swear. “The opening bell’s about to ring!”

He digs out my headphones, settles them over my ears, and turns on the white noise.

When the bell’s over, we take off my headphones. The grownups start using outside voices and chasing each other around, like everyone’s at recess.

I get busy on my story. Cutting. Gluing. Drawing.

My tummy rumbles, and I remember Mommy packed snacks. I’m eating grapes when Daddy comes by. He checks his watch and says a swear.

“I’m so sorry, Gabe. I forgot all about lunch.” He looks at my scrapbook and smiles. “Have you practiced what you’re going to say?”

I shake my head. Either the words will come or they won’t.

“You’ll be great,” Daddy says. “I gotta go.”

I eat the peanut butter sandwich next and the pretzels a while later. I’m so thirsty, I drink the whole bottle of water.

I need to pee. So bad.

Daddy’s gone, better hold it.

What if I pee my pants when I meet Captain America?

I am not a baby.

The bathroom is right… here. I do my business and even wash my hands. Mommy would be proud.

I leave the bathroom. Now, it’s too loud and too bright and too fast.

I hold my sides and look at the floor and spin and spin.

Which way is C-4? I’m all turned around. My brain won’t work.

“…just trying to help.”

Stranger danger!

Grabby hands.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

“Check his badge…”

I curl into a tight ball.

“…says ‘semi-verbal.’”

“Gabriel! Oh, God! Gabe.”

Daddy’s knees hit the floor beside me, then his hands, then the tip of his purple tie. “Daddy’s here. Can I hug you, Gabe? Please?”

I scoot my body closer to Daddy. His arms stretch around me and lift me into his lap. He rocks me against his chest. I want to stay so bad, but I can’t.

I squirm away, and he lets me.

Daddy’s eyes are watery. “Y’okay, Gabe?”

I want to go home, but then I won’t meet Cap. I nod.

“Wanna call Mommy?” Daddy asks. I shake my head.

“I’m so proud of you, Gabriel.”

We move my scrapbook and markers under Daddy’s desk. I put on my headphones and draw. Daddy sticks close and peeks in now and then.

The last peek-in, Daddy points to his watch and holds up four fingers. I almost hit my head jumping up, but Daddy’s hand blocks me.

We hurry toward the platform. The crowd crushes in. Someone bumps me. I twist Daddy’s pants in my fist.

Daddy swooshes me onto his shoulders. Captain America salutes me!

“Daddy! Did you SEE?”

Daddy slides me down his back and eases the headphones off. “Yes, I sure did.”

Everyone lets me go first in line.

Captain America comes out and smiles—at me! “I like your shirt.”

My face heats up. I look down.

Daddy whispers in my ear. “Want me to say it?”

I nod.

“Gabriel wants you to know you’re his hero.”

“That’s awesome,” Cap says. “Thank you.”

I stare hard at Cap’s boots. My body shakes.

“Would you mind signing his scrapbook?”

“If Gabriel wouldn’t mind holding my shield.”

Mind?

I hand Cap my scrapbook and pen. He hands me his shield. Vibranium’s heavy.

Cap opens to the newspaper clipping for Infinity War. “Seeing the movie tomorrow?”

I nod real fast.

“Excellent!” Cap writes something, then flips through the pages, saying “Wow” and “Wish I could draw like you!”

He reaches the last page, stops, and brings the book to his face. “Have you seen this, Gabriel’s dad?”

Daddy shakes his head. “Been kind of a long day, Cap.”

Cap turns the scrapbook so Daddy can see. It’s me with Daddy, in his suit and purple tie, flying high above the towers. His arm is around my waist. We’re both smiling.

Tears spill down Daddy’s cheeks.

“Looks like your son has more than one hero,” Cap says.

On the way home, I glue my visitor necklace into my “Best Day Ever” scrapbook. Right next to the picture of Daddy, Cap and me.

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P.S. – Did you know you can receive blog updates straight to your inbox? Yup! Just enter your email address in the box below and cut out the middle man. This is a no-spam zone! I post to my blog roughly once a month. (Not to be confused with my NEWSLETTER, which is all the current book stuff, sneak peeks, special deals, etc. And you can sign up for my newsletter by clicking on the big open heart at the bottom of this page.)