The self-publishing industry is a fast-evolving phenomenon, like a tree it has grown up from the roots of traditional publishing into a fresh, exciting species. The traditional publishing ground was a hard place to penetrate, only the choicest, battle-scarred or luckiest of authors filtered through. But now the internet and a rain-cloud of determined writers, bursting to get their work out, has created the ideal environment for the sprouting self-publishing arena. It is now branching out into many genres, sub-genres and cross-genres that authors are creating to entice the billions of readers on the other end of Amazon, Kobo etc. to pick their books.

These days we are used to instant gratification, ‘buy it now’, 5 minute reads and 2 minute You Tube videos. Authors are also moving towards shorter forms of fiction. Novelettes, flash fiction, Twitter fiction and even six word stories are becoming increasingly popular and lucrative; the sweet and juicy fruits of the self-publishing tree.

My book ‘The King’s Voice’ is studded with short stories throughout which I enjoyed writing. I’d like to share some with you. This one appears in the first part of the book. It was inspired by a blue dress-up scarf tied onto my kids’ swing set as I was writing in my garden!

The Blue Scarf

It all began with a blue silk scarf. The scarf was hooked upon a bramble (the rough diamond of the weed world) and found by a young farmhand called Brodin. It was a warm day, full of the promise of the Sun Season; one of those days that calls memories of childhood and freedom. He could smell the new green life ready to burst forth and he could feel the power of manhood ready to propel him forward through life; a life that belonged to him, carved by him. He had been sent by the farmer to check the soil for planting. Brodin was a sensitive boy who could feel when the earth was ready. He would feel for its heat, he would sniff the musky fertile aroma and squeeze the umber soil. In this way he would test the outer perimeters of the farmer's land and then the centre. He had done this every morning for the last seven days. Today he deemed the earth perfect for seed. He just needed to complete his cycle with the middle field when he noticed the turquoise scarf ruffling in the breeze – as if it were waving for him. He was puzzled; the startling blue scarf had not been there the day before. It was unmistakably the scarf of some fine lady (for it was not the colour for a man, and a countrywoman would never have access to such exquisite cloth). He rode his horse to the bush and allowed its sheerness to ripple through his sensitive fingers like milk. He shivered. He gently unhooked it and held a corner to his face, then to his lips, drinking the satin texture. Its smell spiralled into his head, singing sweet notes behind his eyes and down his throat until its music sank into his body and explored every part of him.

Brodin forgot all about his job, he forgot about the farmer and his men waiting eagerly for his return. He needed to find the owner of the scarf, to return it safely. He deduced she must be only a day's ride away. The intoxicating scent gave his bones a yearning ache so he tied the scarf around his horse's neck, so his horse, as sensitive as he, could track the lost owner.

They cantered along for half a day until they were well out of his farmer's land. Brodin recognised the ancient path that was made long before the farmers manipulated the land to make food. The tracks were once used by traders who snacked on sunflower seeds en route, dropping seeds that would germinate. The landowners would always leave a few plants mid-crop in honour of the Sun Goddess who fed the crops with nourishing sunlight. He followed the narrow track which meandered through fields and over streams and often petered out altogether. Brodin could keep on the track by the occasional sunflowers that rose, like a beacon in the distance and the fresh tracks of hoof prints and wheels. He rode straight-backed with eyes scanning ahead. In the late afternoon he caught whiffs of aniseed which made his toes tingle and he dug his heels in to gather speed.

By nightfall they entered a wood. Brodin could hear the faint jingling of bells and voices. As they headed deeper into the thickening trees he heard the strings of a lyre, a drumming rhythm, clapping and laughing. He slid off the horse and tied her to a branch; sliding his hand across her mane for thanks, smoothly taking the scarf with him. He crept towards a circle of wagons which stood sentry to the throng within. Spying through the spokes of a wheel, he could see a large fire blazing at the centre of the camp and people darting this way and that. He slid through two of the caravans brightly painted with pictures that told tales, and stood at the edge of the activity.

Many sat in small groups, eating from wooden bowls, talking and joking. Some carried plates to a water trough, others sat and gazed at the crackling fire, some drank swigs from a shared bottle and some played games on the ground. But the group that captured Brodin's attention were dancing. Three musicians gleefully played while three women whirled and stamped wearing bells in their hair and zills on their fingers. Their hair shone in the firelight backdrop and their skin glistened with exertion. A small audience watched clapping and tapping, entranced. One dancer, with a jet-black mane of hair to her waist and long slender arms that reached high above her head which were thrown back to form a perfect arc from her chin to her gaping belly button, wore a loose white skirt and a bright blue silk blouse. She arched over backwards and flipped her nimble slippered feet over her head, landing with a jump which spun into a pirouetting frenzy of arms and hair and audience rapture.

The music stopped and the three women collapsed into a bow at vigorous applause. Brodin's chest rose and fell, rose and fell. The woman in blue skipped toward the water trough and Brodin slipped to the shadowed side of it. She lowered her hands and head and splashed her face with the cool water. As she lifted her head, droplets ran down her oiled skin and her eyes met those of Brodin. He held out her scarf and she took the end of it and pulled him toward her until they were together and she spun around and around wrapping them together in the fine silk scarf, nose to nose, breast to breast in a slow sensuous dance.

Brodin never returned to face the farmer's wrath, or see his little sister grow into a young woman, or celebrate her wedding, or welcome his nephew and nieces into life. He never returned to see his broken-hearted mother die, or to crumble the sweet earth of his homeland, for Brodin was entranced and in love and became a gypsy like his blue silken wife who bore him many jet-black haired children. And although they travelled over all of Goaero they never passed through the same village twice for in every place a maiden would leave a bright silk scarf.

I love naming; my businesses, my characters, my children. It's one of the things that (as far as we know) makes us human and gives rise to the very source of communication, language and culture. It is a powerful act. In Genesis, God named everything and then it existed, S/he literally ‘called’ our world into being.

It is an honour to name someone. I agonised over my children’s names, and so I should as they will most probably use (or be used by) them for their entire lives. Character names must also pass the test of time and be appealing to the reader.

My characters’ names come quite easily to me; James Ardent Mallory, Kafia-Lily Skinner, Prince Encoda and King Bravindo in ‘The King’s Voice’.

In my new (in progress) series I named: Sylvia Scutlash, Sammy Lock, Trudy Streaks, Arthur Sprout, and Trim Kreeper 'to name a few'.

So, what would I call my self-publishing business? The ‘red’ part was easy, even though it came after the idea of ‘feather’. I love red, simples! I own a red handbag, wallet, sofas, clothes, bins, kitchen accessories, pots, towels, jewellery. I have tried to branch out to orange and burgundy but red is my first love and enduring sweetheart.

Here is my room (that’s my sister) when I was sixteen!

Feathers are so connected with writing due to the use of quills. I can’t think of Shakespeare without imagining a quill in his hand. The word pen itself comes from the Latin word for feather, ‘penna’. Even though I have never been a dedicated bird lover, I have always had a fascination with feathers, in fact my first word was feather, pronounced ‘feaver’.

A feather is so simple and yet beautifully intricate. Like a word, a feather doesn’t work alone, it can only make the bird airborne with thousands of other feathers arranged just so. The wing of feathers takes the bird on long journeys, often circling around to the beginning again.

Not only does it aid flight but it also keeps the bird’s body warm and dry. Feathers usually have stunning markings and vibrant colours, even white feathers are dazzling in their purity.

A feather has many metaphors; their lightness, the tipping of the scales, the tiny detail in a situation that can make a hugely different outcome. Its subtleties, its design and beauty are all qualities I aspire to reflect in my writing.

The term ‘red feather’ became all the more poignant for me recently. I was part of a campaign to stop a road being built through my neighbourhood. A four-lane tolled highway splitting my suburb in half and tearing through pristine bush and delicate wetlands. One of the casualties was the endangered Red Tailed cockatoo. It’s stunning red tail feathers became an icon of our campaign. I am yet to be gifted one of these feathers but I so want one!

You’ll be happy to hear this story has a bitter but sweet ending. My wonderful community stopped the road, even though much of the cockatoo habitat was destroyed. My heart leaps when I see those majestic birds sweep through the sky, flashing their magical red feathers.

So it’s been a year and a half since 'The King's Voice' was published, and dammit I’m not rich or famous yet! My journey of self-publishing has taken me on a steep and uncomfortably long incline of learning. I fear I will never reach this ever-changing mountain of knowledge but I am making head way!

A story is only really born when someone reads it and so the first (non-writing) job of a writer is to build an email list. It’s an intimidating job to ask people for their email address. My inbox desperately needs a crash diet. I mean, the junk food is already taken care of by the spam folder and my inbox is still popping buttons. I’ve tried surgery but it doesn’t really help as more and more fat is being consumed every hour. Not long ago I had made peace with keeping an average 50 unread emails, today it’s 250! So I am mindful of adding more calories to people’s inboxes.

To sweeten the deal, writers usually offer a freebie. And that’s exactly what I’m doing, why reinvent the spiel, right?!

I have started writing a brand-new series, something completely different from The King’s Voice (although I am also working on a sequel to that). This is a contemporary setting, here in Australia but does involve travel to other countries. The stories are colourful, funny and quirky. I love crafting the characters and crazy adventures they take to make the world a better place.

I have written a short story to introduce the main (awesome and gutsy and female) protagonist ‘Sylvia Scutlash’. She is a hairdresser and in ‘The First Cut’ we hear about how she became to own The Wavy Lady hair salon.

Would you like to read it?

Of course, the catch is you need to trade me your email address, but I promise I’ll only add fresh, tasty and non-fattening emails to your inbox. Stay tuned for instructions.

1. It’s a good book

It is not easy to say that about something you have created but I do believe The King’s Voice is a good story. Not perfect, of course, but pretty damn good for a first novel.

2. It takes you to another world

Goaero, a succulent mix of all the places I’ve lived with some exotic twists.

3. You will be one of the first people to read it

Because right now I am an ‘emerging’ writer and one day, in the not too distant future, I will be fully emerged and famous and you will be able to brag.

4. I will love you for ever

Enough said.

5. You will be helping to educate my children

And pay my rent, and buy me coffee. You know how much I need coffee…

6. It will make you smile

Maybe even laugh, and feel a little sad, perhaps even surprised.

7. It’s pretty

The cover is reason enough for it to adorn your bedside table, bookshelf, coffee table or even by your toilet.

8. You can tell me what you think

What did I get right, where did I go wrong? How can I do better for you next time?

You can leave a review on

and Kobo.

9. You can share its awesomeness with your friends

Which means they will buy it and repeat numbers 3, 4 and 5. It’s a win-win.

10. Did I mention it’s a good book?

You can read a review here.

One of the hardest parts of being an author is actually getting your book ‘out there’. Although many of us don’t know any authors, there are squillions of authors and even more books on Amazon and all the other publishing platforms, all competing to be seen.

Then comes the Facebook, Instagram, Twitter pages, the website and finally the (dreaded!) email list. It’s a lot of work and not particularly enthralling, especially when I want to get on with writing another book.

That’s why having a (good) review is a big help and I am so grateful for Andrea Lundgren from ‘Into the Writer Lea’ blog for being my first reviewer. She is a writer, reviewer and book coach and offers a detailed and articulate description of The King’s Voice and her experience of reading it.

Here is an excerpt, please click on the link for the full review.

“Honestly, I think the cover and the concept of trying to find the king’s voice intrigued me more than the book description. Missions, special powers, and people who don’t know their identities are fairly common fare for fantasy, but the author, hailing from Australia, also had the benefit of being the first from that country to contact me requesting a book review, so I agreed.

And I’m very glad I did. The book is a prime example of reader-response fiction (as found regularly in literary novels), where the goal isn’t so much to tell a story as to immerse you into a world, a feeling, an emotional journey about generosity, open-heartedness, and life. The book itself is full of little, folk-tale type stories, and the overall impression is that life is fuller and richer than we think.”

https://andrealundgren.wordpress.com/2016/06/03/book-review-the-kings-voice/

Not only will Andrea’s review aid me in marketing ‘The King’s Voice’ but she has also clarified for me where to position the book. I have struggled with the ‘fantasy’ genre because although it clearly is a fantasy novel, it is not the run-of the-mill fantasy fiction. She introduced me to the sub or cross genre of ‘literary fantasy’. This made perfect sense to me as a literary, rather than a fantasy, reader.

My first search on this genre delighted me with the following description:

“If you're tired of those same old boy villager finds magic sword / talisman / super power, meets a company of sidekicks (with the requisite princess in disguise and old man mentor who's also probably also likely a wizard), then goes to beat down some Dark Lord / evil wizard / corrupt god, then you'll want to find some fantasy books of substance. These type of fantasy books with substance are called "literary fantasy." In short, they are the result when a truly talented writer decides to pen a fantasy book.

In a genre filled with hack writers and wasted tree pulp, it's hard to find a fantasy novel that actually explores MORE than just fighting some dark lord or completing some boneheaded quest. Literary fantasy explores the meaning of life or looks at real issues. Often, the fantastical landscape is just a means to posing a bunch of questions. Sometimes the quest the hero faces is in fact an allegory for something else. Literary fantasy tends to be written by men and women who can actually write -- not only are the words and sentences pregnant with meaning, but they are often beautifully constructed. Literary fantasy is often more than the sum of its parts; that is, there is more "to" the book then just the words.”

www.bestfantasybooks.com

So please enjoy the review, and then enjoy the book, hopefully you will agree that there is more to The King’s Voice than just the words.

That’s right, The King’s Voice is a fantasy novel…with no dragons.

Apologies to all you dragon lovers out there!

Dragons are great, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that there are already a plethora of stories involving dragons, and movies too. I don’t think I can breathe any more fire into the dragon genre.

The King’s Voice does, however, have Quills. Quills are much like any other human being except they have wings. They live high in the impenetrable Ice Mountains and as they soar through the blue Goaeron sky they breathe in the Eternal Mists of Life for energy and nourishment.

And who needs dragons when you have Crones? The Crones of Arfan have many powers like;

Craven who has the power of Beast-eavesing, Zantra who has the power of Crone-lip, Agruella masters the power of Up-downing, Finka the power of Land-fleeting, Griselda teaches the power of Cloud-spinning to name a few.

And then there are the Blulupians. I'll let an excerpt from the book tell you more:

“Mallory was surrounded. All he could see were spears tipped with green fire as three flaming torches wafted in his face. He blinked in the light and raised his hand. All at once voices screamed in fear, bodies receded and he was left alone in the chilly darkness. He realised his greed had propelled him further into time than necessary and now he was alone in the night with a bunch of marauding spear-holders screeching at him. He felt the sweat dry cold on his face and knew he was no longer in the humid jungle cave, and although Surge Season was unravelling its days into the balmy Sun Season, here, in the Shadowlands, it was always dark and dank.

The marauding spear-holders were from the village of Blulupia in the Shadowlands, north of Mount Or. The village sat near the River Lichen, downstream from where the water passed through a mile of granite. The granite imparted a magical element to the water which is only manifest if drank directly from the river. When drank, the water made visible and audible each his own sprite. These beings are very wise and can be of great benefit to the individual, if they ask the right questions. Many an adventurer and opportunist had ventured into the Shadowlands to try to bottle the enchanted water for the masses. Not one made it back to the other side of the mountain alive or unscathed.

The granite gives but it also takes away. When the water flows into the land to quench the plants, they grow thin, tall, and almost black. Only the inhabitants are able to digest the crops grown here and even then it has turned their skin a bluey grey colour with lips and fingernails a deeper shade of blue. Hence Shadowland remains without colour except blue and black and their various shades. The water also enchants the plants so that each bears its own small being. The people believe that homage must always be paid to the sprites and so they mumble prayers and gratitude constantly. This meant that over eons the people spend all the time reciting blessings and so have evolved an extra-sensory form of communication with each other. In this strange pocket, in a cold dark land of few resources, whispering blessings and blue skin, visitors were rare.”

Just no dragons....sorry.

Many years ago I found this book at an op shop. It literally fell off the book shelf into my hands. It is called “Your Right to Riches” by Colin P. Sisson. The book has the most awful, tacky cover, but as the saying goes ‘you can’t judge a book…’.

There is gold in them there hills!

This book taught me that abundance is a two-way street, that it is as important to give as to receive. In fact, it is part of three natural laws; the laws of attraction, accumulation and contribution. Now I haven’t always been able, or felt abundant enough to give but the desire is always there.

So when I launched my book, ‘The King’s Voice’ I pledged to donate a percentage of my takings to a good cause. It is an incredible privilege to be able to read and write and I am eternally grateful that I have these skills which open up so many worlds for me, both real and imaginary. I feel blessed to have had an education that enabled me to do this.

There are many who don’t necessarily enjoy the advantages I have. The Indigenous Literacy Foundation help bridge this gap in Australia and so this week I finally got around to fulfilling my pledge. As you can read below they do an abundance of amazing work for Indigenous communities in Australia.

Dear Karen,

Thank you very much for your generous support of the Indigenous Literacy Foundation.

Over the lifetime of the project, thanks to donations like yours, we have:

• delivered more than 120,000 books and literacy resources to over 230 remote communities

• funded Book Buzz, an early literacy project, in four remote communities

• published and or funded, in partnerships, more than 40 community literacy projects

• travelled with ambassadors and authors to conduct writing workshops in remote schools across Australia

• launched a writing mentoring workshop in Alice Springs with a bequest from Pamela Lofts Estate.

In 2015-2017 our Foundation will focus our resources on early literacy and we look forward to updating you on our work.

Thank you again for helping us to make a difference. Please contact us if you have any questions about your donation.

Yours sincerely, Karen Williams, Executive Director

Post script:

Immediately after this donation I got a reply on Gumtree for an item I was selling which was about to expire after a month of no interest, thus proving the Law of Contribution: whatever I contribute will return to me multiplied!

This is a question I am asked daily, so over the next few weeks I will tell you more about what is going on between the pages of The King's Voice.

To start, here is an excerpt from the prologue.

‘Many Moons ago, when the Sun was a mere starlet she danced through time wearing robes of violet with iridescent ribbons flowing from her hair. She was the maiden of the galaxy and flirted with whoever she came across. She ran rings around Saturn and threw meteors at Pluto, she blew volcanos at Uranus and played hide and seek with the Moon. But there was something about Mars which attracted her. She teased him with circles that made him dizzy, she blew him kisses that made him soggy. Until, one day, Mars exploded and thundered:

“Why do you tease me so, Glow-Maiden? Come here and be my wife!”

So she ran to him in delight but her passion scorched him and he tossed her far, far away and turned his back on her. As her love burned, her sandy tears flowed, along with small drops of Mars’ glowing embers which floated down and landed on a little rock. The rock grew bigger and bigger with Sun’s sandy tears until it became a teardrop shaped planet which she named Goaero.’

On November 21st I finally held my first ever book launch! It was a long time coming,I started writing 'The King's Voice' in 2009 and it was published in August 2015.

It was held at The Glyde-In Community Centre in East Fremantle, a perfect little venue. Surrounded by friends and family I birthed my book into the world.

This part of the process was the hardest for me. I have two children and they both took only 3 or 4 hours to arrive earthside. Publishing 'The King's Voice' was a year long labour, and unlike having a baby, I was able to resist and hold it in!

The writing part was fun, the editing was a little tedious but doable, however telling people I had published a novel was excruciating. I procrastinated and hid for 3 months, I skirted around the idea of the launch and tried to shrink into obscurity. I only blurted it out to the most trusted and kind people. But at last one of my closest friends kicked my backside and ta da! 'The King's Voice' was born and, just like my two children, it looks pretty damn good!

I had this amazing cake made by My Delicious Cakes. It really had the 'wow' factor.

Here I am giving my speech. I had a simple Powerpoint slide playing and my vintage Underwood typewriter to display a book on. The children insisted in calling it a 'writing machine' and loved pressing the keys.

I thanked many people in my speech but would like to give a shout out toPick-a-woowoo Publishing who guided mr through the process with skill, professionalism and generosity.