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Authors on Social Media — 5 Ways Authors Antagonize Social Media

Image result for authors on social media

 

All right, so at the very outset, I will say that this is going to be an unpopular post. It is possible that a bunch of you might unfollow me after reading this one, but let me put up a disclaimer. Whatever I say in here is out of my observations and interactions on social media. Which means to say, even I have committed the mistakes mentioned below, but then there’s always a time to learn and live on, right?

Now after seeing authors on social media for several years now, I have observed this: The majority of authors use social media for one of two things (and usually just these two things, which is the sadder part) — (1) propaganda of their works (2) ranting about their pet peeves. Look at your author friends on social media. Chances are that a high percentage of them come alive on those posts only when they have to do one of these two things, otherwise they are totally absent. And if you are an author who is doing things apart from these—constructive things—then we need to doff our hats at you.

Why is this bad, though? Let me enlist it in a way that it becomes more readable.

Most authors will excessively promote their works.

Definitely not recommended. Typically, one post when your book is launched and then follow-up posts whenever your book makes some kind of achievement is good enough. If authors are going to make a post every day about their book in the hope that someone will like, comment, or share, let alone buy the product, then that’s a horrible way to go about promotion. The best case scenario here is that your followers are going to be frustrated looking at your excessive post with the same cover page (of course you cannot change that, can you?) and they are simply going to scroll down. The worst case is that they will unfollow you, and there it goes—a prime example of counter-marketing.

We authors have to trust that our readers have good recall value. They know that we have authored that particular book. It is not necessary to post the cover page at every given opportunity. Sadly, most authors fail to understand the point that book marketing has to be classy.

Most authors will form close-knit communities and stay only in those.

Oh, this does happen. Hang around a bit on social media in writers’ groups and you will see how authors tend to band with each other. They won’t label themselves or name themselves, but they will definitely flock together. You will see them liking, commenting on, and sharing each other’s posts but no other posts at all. You will see them coming out in support of one of them to the point of undeserved raving. You will also see them blindly praising each other’s books in the hope (sometimes there are also unwritten rules) that their book will also be praised by the others when the time comes.

I am not saying that this is totally a bad thing. Author groups help. I have been a part of many too. All I am saying is that the authors who are part of one group should not stay in only that group but also be friendly towards other groups. Why make it so obvious that you are trying hard to promote only yourself and others in your community? Does it harm you in any way to respond to posts from other people too, especially if they are saying the same thing that your community is saying?

A time comes when these communities go out of control or simply get defunct. They all will. Law of nature. And when they do, it will become difficult for the authors concerned because a lot of things will need to be done from scratch, like rebuilding visibility outside the community.

Most authors will rant about their pet peeves (and nothing else).

Some of the best authors we know, some of the biggest award-winners in the literary world, have been reduced to being whiners. And that is sad. It is pathetic to see post after post from good authors speaking only of one thing, and that is the thing that they hate. It might be a valid issue that there are voicing against, but if the author goes on and on about that in one post after another, it becomes oh-so-annoying.

Trust me, even the best of authors lose respect that way. This is one of the surest ways to turn those likes into dislikes. Our readers might be aligned to our thoughts, but when we go on a continuous tirade, even they will be put off.

We cannot help it though, because most of us are hard-headed opinionated pricks whom we ourselves would not like to get into a conversation with. But that’s the sad part. We authors have the potential to change the thinking of society and veer it towards a positive direction. We have to do it constructively though, and not by coming across as a ranting crybaby. Our words are effective. Our poems can stir hearts. Those are the tools we must employ, maximum impact in minimal words.

Most authors will abuse the freedom social media gives them.

A lot of us are culpable of this, including yours truly. We go on and post just about anything on social media. Just because we have this freedom of sharing things at the click of a button, we go ahead and do just that. We don’t stop to think anymore. That post might be badly-constructed, show us in a poor light, be detrimental to our reputation, but we hardly stop to think about it and go trigger-happy with the posting.

Just think about it. Orwell, Dickens, Hemingway, and all—how would it have been if they had social media at their time? How would it have been if they posted their half-baked poems and prose too? Would their readers have followed them with the same conviction, and would these authors have been classics today? I am sure Shakespeare would have ranted on social media and so also Dickens. That would have blunted their edge. The reason why our classic authors and poets are classics today is because they were selective about the things they put out in public. Not to say they had a choice otherwise, but they were selective anyway. We saw only the best of them, and that’s why we revere them.

Most authors won’t “talk with” people but “talk to” them.

There’s a difference between ‘talking to’ and ‘talking with’ someone. When you talk to someone, you are only telling them your thoughts and not listening to them. In short, you are being condescending. People comment on your posts, but many of us are not listening to them. We are only telling them what we feel, over and over again, and not even entertaining the thought that they might be reasonable too.

The thing we need to do is ‘talk with’ our people on social media. Social media is all about interaction. When someone comments, we have to talk with them, maybe take the conversation ahead, and sometimes when there’s reason, begin to see things a different way. Well, that’s what I believe social media is—a place of learning. It is not just a place of teaching as a lot of us authors tend to believe it is.

And this applies to posts from other people too. Sadly, very few authors will comment on other people’s posts. Maybe there’s always this unspoken elitist feeling going on. But then that’s again ‘talking to’, right? It is a very selfish way to use social media if you only expect people to interact on your posts and you turn a blind eye to theirs even if they have written something that makes sense.

So, that’s it. These were some things I really wanted to say since a long time, and I did it now. Feels better, because now I can also “listen to” the mistakes I have been making and can improve on them.

Ciao!

Horrors d’Oeuvres (History Edition)

There are few things as horrifying as real-life events. History is full of untold horrors. Some of these darkest reminders of humanity are encapsulated in this special History Edition of Horrors d’Oeuvres.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Read the entire series here: Horrors d’Oeuvres

 

If these horrors d’oeuvres set your appetite right, go here for the full buffet! Check out these full-length novels and short-story collections from the author.

Maya’s New Husband

The Evil Eye and the Charm

Bound in Love

Pishacha

Horrors d’Oeuvres (Batch 3)

More from the hot horrific oven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Read the previous installments here:

Horrors d’Oeuvres (Batch 1)

Horrors d’Oeuvres (Batch 2)

 

If these horrors d’oeuvres set your appetite right, go here for the full buffet! Check out these full-length novels and short-story collections from the author.

Maya’s New Husband

The Evil Eye and the Charm

Bound in Love

Pishacha

Horrors d’Oeuvres (Batch 1)

Presenting the first installment of Horrors d’Oeuvres. Horror and terror stories in small bites… err… words.

 

Feel free to share your own short horror stories in the comments below.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Go on to read Horrors d’Oeuvres (Batch 2).

 

If these horrors d’oeuvres set your appetite right, go here for the full buffet! Check out these full-length novels and short-story collections from the author.

Maya’s New Husband

The Evil Eye and the Charm

Bound in Love

Pishacha

MicroHorror Tales (Volume 2)

VOLUME 2

(c) Neil D’Silva

Wine

For shuck’s sake, why didn’t I stop at the third glass?

They pushed me into it; it was not my fault. And where are they now? Friends, a-holes, all the same.

Screw them. I can make this walk home on my own.

Good I walked. Good I dumped the car back there. Where but? Can’t remember. I told you I was woozy.

It’s okay. I just need to remember. Pavement, pavement, pavement. Easy!

Gosh! What’s that? Need to clear this vision, dang these streetlights.

Is that an accident? An ACCIDENT?

The car’s banged clean into the tree. The poor sod who was in it… he’ll be a pulp. I must go and see. Need to see. Maybe I can save him.

“Hey mister, hey! Are you all right?”

Why does he look familiar?

Sheesh! His face is pretty smashed. But–

Isn’t this my car? And… and… why does he have my face?


Cuddles

As Sapna lay on her bed sleeping, she felt her baby snuggle close to her. Stirring in her sleep, she took the little arm in her hand.

“Ananya,” she mumbled without opening her eyes. “Not sleepy, baby?”

But the child only put her other arm on her mother’s belly. Sapna took that one in her other hand.

“What games are you up to, Ana? Go back to sleep!”

But then, another arm – a third arm – clamped itself on her belly.

Gasping a gallon of air and not sure whether she shrieked or not, Sapna sat right up in bed, her eyes wide open now.

It was all empty. An empty room, an empty bed, as it had been a lot lately.

And amidst that terror-stricken heaving, she saw the photo of her baby on the wall, which she had been been garlanding since the past one year.


Grim

“The baby is crying, Adrian” yelled Susan, her hands immersed in the dishes. “Can’t you for once go upstairs and check?”

She resumed scrubbing the nasty spot on the saucepan and kept it to dry. Then she looked into the child monitor again. Little Scot was in his father’s arms now, staring over his shoulder right into the camera. Susan smiled back, knowing that the baby couldn’t see her, and yet she thought he smiled back.

Three minutes later, she heard the footsteps going upstairs. “Such an idiot I am,” Adrian was saying. “Got so engrossed in the chat. Going upstairs now.”

At that, Susan turned sharply at the monitor.

With eyes round as marbles, she saw the shadow holding the scythe over the mewling baby, and screamed.


Threes

I was driving along the highway in the dead of the night, but a STOP sign slowed me down. Two cops came along, looking as though hell had messed them up.

“Don’t go ahead,” one of them said.

“Why?” I asked. “I am a doctor. There’s an emergency.”

The other cop came ahead. “Dark as death ahead.”

“It’s okay,” I smiled and revving my car. “I treat death.”

But I had hardly driven for a minute when I had to pull my car to an abrupt stop. A branch of a banyan tree jutted onto the road and from it hung two human shapes. Scared witless, I coasted my car along and saw – they were the policemen I had seen not a moment ago, their chests ripped apart, their intestines hanging out.

From behind me, a mellow feminine voice hissed, “There’s space on the tree for a third.”


Wish

Malaika took her ring off and flung it on the bathroom floor. Then she disrobed and looked in the mirror. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The tears had streamed her kohl all over her cheeks.

“Why?” she said aloud between sobs. “Why did I trust that cheat?”

She moved her hand over her belly. It would begin showing any day now.

With shut eyes, she said, “I don’t want to live. You hear me? God? Devil? Whoever it is out there? I don’t want to live.”

Still crying, she turned the shower faucet on.

The cold water drops revived her for an instant. But only an instant.

For then she saw, in utmost horror, the strings of red meandering with the water towards the drain.

Her eyes went up to the showerhead. The water drops from the jet had turned into glass needles, thousands of tiny ones, and they were now shooting right into her soft flesh. The pain became alive now, but it was too late.

The last thing on her mind as the glass drops punctured her eyes were some ominous words of long ago:

Be careful of what you wish for.
Someone is always listening.

 

Go back to Volume 1.

New volumes every Sunday.

 

Serialized Stories

These are episodic stories written by Neil D’Silva. Each of these stories are divided in parts, ranging from two to seven. Like of the author’s other works, they delve into the disturbed psyche of the human mind, often shedding light on new revelations and parts of the psyche that was perhaps unexplored before.

Following a huge fight, Grandma leaves home with a suitcase. No one knows what its contents are, but they are decidedly dearmost to her heart.
Caution # 1: Never stop on a strange road. Caution # 2: Never weep about your woes to a stranger.
Hank Greenhorn hates Christmas, so much so that he spoils everyone’s Christmas. It takes a strange intervention to make him mend his ways. This is an out-of-the-ordinary Christmas parable for children and adults alike.
A thirteen-year old boy is introduced to his next-door neighbor, Marlena, who ignites passions in him that he had never known before.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A photographer brings a strange but extraordinarily beautiful woman home. Slowly, he begins to realize this is not going to be as enjoyable a ride as he hoped it to be.
A devout young woman, abducted by a mysterious stranger, finds her faith tested.
A brother, living under the shadow of his older brother, discovers an ancient family curse, and uses it to his advantage.

Short Stories

Here are stories that you could read in one bite, but the taste they leave in your mouth will last forever. Find here some unforgettable short stories written by Neil D’Silva on different themes, ranging from the highly optimistic to the very dark.

 

A man brings a child home as a noble gesture. Then hell boils over.
Mercy Gleeson hasn’t overcome the loss of her boyfriend last year. But, this Valentine’s Day, he shows up at her door up in a tux, with a bouquet of white orchids.
An over-burdened daughter comes to her father with a strange request, that she wants to be born again. But is rebirth the solution, even if it were possible?
A wounded war soldier meets another in his final moments, and a strange comradeship is struck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Julie loves him unconditionally and would do anything for him. She lives in the hope that he’d respond someday in some measure too.
A superstar has achieved everything he wanted. It is time for his final performance, a performance that he feels would make history.
Death comes with silent feet and spares no one. But what if one were to change its course, change the very destiny of death?
Parker Greene is dying. But as he dies, a shocking revelation awaits him.

 

 

 

Rising

This pinnacle, this pedestal, this face

Isn’t this my rightful place?

The superstar hovered above all, the crowds by his feet, the open sky above him. This was the moment he had lived for. This was for what he had endured all those difficult times of trying to make people believe in him, of trying to win the love and compassion of these people. Now, at this moment of his grand performance, he stayed silent, taking it all in.

Even through his tired eyes, he could see the crowds. They were all over the place. Every inch of the open ground was covered with them. Children sat on their fathers’ shoulders to get a better view. Women stood at the fringes of the crowd, trying to absorb every glimpse they got of the superstar. Young men climbed on whatever they could—rocks, rooftops, trees—to see the man they had come to see.

However, what made the superstar feel deeply contented within was that this was not a passive crowd. Many of these spectators were cheering him on, whistling and hooting and applauding. There were many that were even booing him too, wanting him out of the stage. But, he did not mind that—he accepted that no one could have universal appeal. The thing that pleased him, though, was that they were all chanting his name. Every child knew him now. Every household spoke of him. His name was on the lips of the poorest beggar and the richest master. People could ignore him, but they could never forget him.

The difficult struggle had begun to bear fruit several days ago. People who spoke highly of him spread his name. The word-of-mouth brought more people to witness his performance. He was new and his art was something that had never been seen before, but he stayed undeterred; he knew this was what he was born for. He was made to influence and inspire these audiences. He thought of his early boyhood days laboring away with his father in a shed, and he thought how right he was to give that up and pursue his mission. The laborer’s life was not meant for him.

The journey hadn’t been easy though. He had competitors and some archrivals. At every step, he met with temptations to give up his practice—temptations of riches and power. But this was the only thing he believed in. He shunned the temptation with great passion, stayed truthful to his performance.

It had borne fruit too. Just the previous day, he met the King. At that time, he felt as though this meeting was fated to happen; it was in his stars. The head of state was impressed by him. Though he was the leader of this part of the world, he did not look upon him as a superior meeting an inferior, but they met as two equals. Thousands of people lined up to hear their conversation. The superstar met the King with his head held high, and fielded all his questions with poise.

After that meeting, the crowd chanted his name all the more louder. They just could not get enough of him.

Walking up to this grand stage wasn’t easy either. The security detail had been lacking, but that was part of the plan. It was so that the crowd could get close to him, and they did. They even tore his clothes and distributed it among themselves, but he did not mind that. They would get his body anyway. He was all for giving up his body to his cheering fans. He was making history.

The afternoon clouds were gathering now, and it was the time for his final performance.

Hovering there, almost naked, higher than everyone else, he thought of the accomplishment of his three-decade long journey. Now, it would be just three more days and his detractors would be silenced. For generations. And for that, he did not mind the crucifixion at the cross between two robbers.

He knew he would rise again in three days. His rising would restore the faith in the world.

END

Maddox

Maddox Files: Back to Business – A Book Review

Genre: Paranormal investigation thriller

Author: R. J. Davies Mornix

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

Maddox

I happened to read this little book of Canadian detective fiction over the past week, titled Maddox Files: Back to Business. This book written by R. J. Davies Mornix is the start of a series and introduces a young 26-year-old female character named Dice Maddox.

When the story begins, Dice Maddox is returning to the private investigating career she has left behind. She is still trying to get over the loss of the death of a partner. The death shakes her, and makes her discontinue her private investigation career, and she even takes up a “conventional” job. However, a detective can never really stop looking closely at things. She returns to her job, and that’s when she gets her client – Ryan Winters. Ryan, with whom the story begins, is married to a woman who he believes might be much more than what meets the eye. There is strong reason to suspect that the woman might be more than human, maybe even an alien. And that is where the troubles begin.

Throughout the book, the story is brought to life with other stories such as that of Dice Maddox’s Aunt Sophie and her new partner, and her interactions with Chris and a mysterious man named Ty. As the story unfolds, we find ourselves being pulled deeper and deeper into Dice Maddox’s life.

The best thing I liked about the book is that the paranormal element does not spring up right in the face, but it grows more organically. Without giving away spoilers, I’d say we realize this book has to deal with the paranormal when some strange but insignificant mysterious hints begin to appear. Dice Maddox catches even these small clues, and that is when she realizes the thing is much bigger than it appears. This is how the book grows for the reader too – it starts slow and then takes you higher and higher into the excitement till you are right at the vortex of the big happenings.

Now, for the downsides. The book could have done with better editing. There are several language and grammatical mistakes that might at times be picked up by a discerning reader. Perhaps another round of editing will make this a much better story. Also, the story feels stretched in places, and facts are repeated at times. In paranormal detective fiction, the crisper the book is, the better.

I’d still recommend this book for its good story. If you like investigation and paranormal both, then Maddox Files: Back to Business is a good quick read. You will have fun with the book once you are in it; that’s for sure.

You could get find out more about the book on Amazon here.