Writing in the modern world is vastly different than it was only a few years ago. Becoming a writer used to mean sending manuscript after manuscript to agents and publishers and running to the mailbox each day to count the rejection letters. Nowadays, any idiot with a laptop can self publish anything from a collection of lame love poems sent to their high school sweethearts to a how-to guide for taking care of people with cancer (ahem). Once you finish your masterpiece, you upload it to a website, click here and there, and now millions of users with Kindles and Nooks and iPads can completely ignore it. You don't even get the rejection letters anymore!
So, yes, I'm a published author, or more accurately, a self-published author. And I'm thrilled every month when I get a couple of direct deposits that usually total $10 to $20, representing my cut from the sales of electronic and paper editions of my book. I've probably sold around 100 copies in the year or so since I published Welcome to the Club! Surviving Cancer, One Laugh at a Time. I've given away a few dozen more copies to fellow Members of the Club, family, my doctors and nurses, etc. That always feels good. But the CPA in me can't help but notice, this is no way to make a living.
In the technology sector, when you have a good idea that you just want people to be aware of, you often turn to a freemium model. Give away a basic version of your software, your iPhone app, etc. that has decent functionality, then, like any good crack dealer, get a few of those users hooked so they're willing to start paying for the full version. Want to read PDF's on any device? Download the free Adobe Reader. Want to create PDF's? Insert your credit card here please.
As an author, I've thought about how the freemium model would apply to me. Amazon lets me allow people to download a chapter of the book for free on the hopes that people would then want to pay for the rest of the book. I've had exactly 2 people download the sample chapter, and I think one of those two was me testing out the feature. Then I noticed they also give me the option to make the whole book free for up to 5 days each calendar quarter. So I tried it out last Friday.
The results blew me away. Based on two Tweets and a couple of Facebook posts during the day, with a couple of Re-Tweets and shares by some of you, people downloaded 213 copies of my book for free. In one day, I gave away twice as many copies as I'd sold in a year. Since then, I've sold two copies, so it's not as though those 200+ readers became my evangelists.
The question to me is what to do with this data. How, if at all, does the freemium model apply to self-published books? It's easy to do this with eBooks, but what about the printed book, which had accounted for about 3/4 of my total book sales? I'd love to get your thoughts, dear readers.
And if you missed out on the free day, don't worry. We'll do it again soon
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
Not-so Live from the Chemo Room 27
Loyal readers the world over have been asking, "did you get your results yet?" Yes, and I will share them in a sec. But I was waiting because now that I've mentioned my new column three times in row here on this blog, I thought I'd wait until they had worked out their technical difficulties so I could link to "What to Expect When You're Metastasizing" over on ihadcancer.com. Alas, it wasn't to be this week. It seems the non-profit gets its Web Design love as a pro-bono project of the media company that employs IHC's founder. The name of said firm? Squeaky Wheel Media. Oh, the irony.
So, what was is it you'd asked about? Oh, right, the scan results. You know, it's been an anxiety-filled week around our house. School started, and our twins are in different classes for the first time, plus it's in a new school. We spent most of the summer with one of them on edge. The Big Day finally arrived, and it went off with relative ease - only mild nerves and butterflies. Day Two did involve a trip to the nurse's station and Marcie getting four calls before noon, but we made it through and the remainder of the week has gone well. Having never shared a womb, I can't imagine how hard it can be for the two of them when faced with the reality that while they'll always have each other, they may not have each other right there next to them. So any anxiety over my results was overshadowed, as it should be!
I should also take a moment to comment on Lance Armstrong, who last night released a carefully worded announcement that he would drop his right to appeal the US Anti Doping Agency's case against him. I've been a big fan of Lance for many years. I raised money for Livestrong a couple years ago when I ran the Pittsburgh Half Marathon, and I've been know to pass out yellow bracelets to friends and family. Whatever he did or didn't do over seven Tour de France wins, only Lance (and possibly that French guy he always took with him to the bathroom) knows the truth. What he's done since then with his foundation continues to deserve our support and admiration. So what's the bottom line? If Barry Bonds wants to be remembered for something, he should start raising money to eradicate hunger. Livestrong will be likely be around doing great work long after the cyclists of Lance's generation have peed into their last specimen cup.
The scan results you say, what are they?
Nothing new in the pelvis, he abdomen is clear, nothing on the liver, nothing in the neck. The lung spots have not grown and there are no new ones observed. It's good news, friends.
Much love to some new members of the club - you know who are.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Live from the CT Scan Prep Room
Yes, it's that time again. Today's CT scan will tell us how effective that round of stereotactic radiation was at eliminating the spots in my lungs. "Spots" as if we're talking about red wine stains on carpet. They're tumors. And hopefully by next week we'll learn that they are dead.
Today we're scanning neck, chest, abdomen, and pelvis - which gets me a little closer to knowing what's going on (or hopefully not going on) from head to toe. Still seeking a good answer to the question "how do you know I don't have cancer in my toes?" but I guess that's a mystery I can live with.
I mentioned in my last post the column I was writing for the I Had Cancer website. Well the first one should be online next Monday. I'm calling the column What To Expect When You're Metastasizing, and it will be a sort of How-To guide for dealing with cancer, from diagnosis to various treatments, relationships, etc. Some of the subjects are similar to those covered in my book, but the perspective is a little different, as are the punchlines.
Stay tuned for scan results (next week) and more!
Today we're scanning neck, chest, abdomen, and pelvis - which gets me a little closer to knowing what's going on (or hopefully not going on) from head to toe. Still seeking a good answer to the question "how do you know I don't have cancer in my toes?" but I guess that's a mystery I can live with.
I mentioned in my last post the column I was writing for the I Had Cancer website. Well the first one should be online next Monday. I'm calling the column What To Expect When You're Metastasizing, and it will be a sort of How-To guide for dealing with cancer, from diagnosis to various treatments, relationships, etc. Some of the subjects are similar to those covered in my book, but the perspective is a little different, as are the punchlines.
Stay tuned for scan results (next week) and more!
Friday, July 27, 2012
Live From the Chemo Room 26
Olympic Edition
I'm thinking of asking my chemo roommates if they want to do a little Opening Ceremonies style Parade of Maladies around the place. We could each carry a little sign saying what type of cancer we have, and the nurses could be the announcers and say pithy things like:
"The Prostate Cancer team is making its way onto the track now. Prostate is one of the most popular cancers among men over 50. It's often characterized by reduced flow and pain when urinating, but you'd never know it by the smiles on those faces!"
"Oh, I can tell by the roar of the crowd that the team from Breast Cancer has entered the arena - look at those pink outfits - stunning! This is the largest delegation at this year's games - 349 women and this one man. This team dominates in the pool, can you guess which stroke is their best one?"
"Here comes the Colon Cancer team. Oops, there goes one of them running to the porta-potties. And there goes another one. Now the whole team is headed to the loo, as they call it here in London. I just love the British! Bangers and mash anyone?"
---
It's a somewhat slow day here. Dr. Z has the day off so a lot of patients that might otherwise be here aren't. Twana is in charge, and she tells me we'll schedule my scan in a few weeks to see how those lung spots fared against the radiation.
---
I'm very excited that my friends at www.ihadcancer.com have asked me to be a regular contributor to their site. I'll be writing a column that talks about the various procedures we go through. Some of it may sound familiar to you faithful readers, but it will be a little less focussed on my personal experiences. Still humorous, or at least intended to be. You can be the judge. Watch for it in the next few weeks.
I'm thinking of asking my chemo roommates if they want to do a little Opening Ceremonies style Parade of Maladies around the place. We could each carry a little sign saying what type of cancer we have, and the nurses could be the announcers and say pithy things like:
---
It's a somewhat slow day here. Dr. Z has the day off so a lot of patients that might otherwise be here aren't. Twana is in charge, and she tells me we'll schedule my scan in a few weeks to see how those lung spots fared against the radiation.
---
I'm very excited that my friends at www.ihadcancer.com have asked me to be a regular contributor to their site. I'll be writing a column that talks about the various procedures we go through. Some of it may sound familiar to you faithful readers, but it will be a little less focussed on my personal experiences. Still humorous, or at least intended to be. You can be the judge. Watch for it in the next few weeks.
Friday, July 20, 2012
The View From Inside The Microwave
Well, not quite a microwave, but this is my radiation machine. And now that I've completed my second (hopefully not) annual Summer of Stereotactic Love, I thought I'd help you visualize what happens in this lead-lined room. You enter through what looks like a normal sliding door, until you realize the door is actually a cinder-block wall. I'm guessing the motor to slide that thing could easily power my mini-van.
Then you see this contraption. The black table is where I lay in the mold I've mentioned before (not pictured). On the wall behind is a four-armed rotating beast of a machine that does all the dirty work. The big arm at the 12 o'clock position is what actually "shoots" the radiation into me. The 3 o'clock arm is a scanner, which is used to make sure I'm aligned perfectly after they shifted me around on the table. Remember the tattoos I received? They use those to align me visually, then the scan to get it precise within a mm or two.
The two flat paddles at 6 and 9 o'clock are just for receiving whatever comes through from the ones opposite them - like the plates in an old x-ray machine.
The cool part is when they raise the table so I'm aligned with the center of that circle on the wall, then slide the table toward the wall. Now all four arms rotate around me. I guess they could try rotating the table, but then you'd feel like a roast on a spit.
The whole process of scanning, radiating, scanning for lung #2 and zapping lung #2 takes about 30 minutes. During that time I have to lie as motionless as possible with my hand clasped on top of my head. Somehow the software accounts for my breathing throughout the process, but I try to keep it on the shallow end just in case. The mold helps me say still, and my feet are strapped together. Still, it's hard not to squirm a little, especially once my hands and arms go to sleep. So I'm always happy to hear the giant door slide open and to see the techs telling me it's time to relax.
I gave the office two copies of my book when I checked in this morning. By the time I was checking out they had already devised a schedule for who would get to read it first, second, etc. I love it when people seem excited about reading my stuff - whether here on the blog, the book, or elsewhere. I just hope they're still fans once they've actually read it!
The two flat paddles at 6 and 9 o'clock are just for receiving whatever comes through from the ones opposite them - like the plates in an old x-ray machine.
The cool part is when they raise the table so I'm aligned with the center of that circle on the wall, then slide the table toward the wall. Now all four arms rotate around me. I guess they could try rotating the table, but then you'd feel like a roast on a spit.
The whole process of scanning, radiating, scanning for lung #2 and zapping lung #2 takes about 30 minutes. During that time I have to lie as motionless as possible with my hand clasped on top of my head. Somehow the software accounts for my breathing throughout the process, but I try to keep it on the shallow end just in case. The mold helps me say still, and my feet are strapped together. Still, it's hard not to squirm a little, especially once my hands and arms go to sleep. So I'm always happy to hear the giant door slide open and to see the techs telling me it's time to relax.
I gave the office two copies of my book when I checked in this morning. By the time I was checking out they had already devised a schedule for who would get to read it first, second, etc. I love it when people seem excited about reading my stuff - whether here on the blog, the book, or elsewhere. I just hope they're still fans once they've actually read it!
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Read On!
This isn't the only great place to go when you want to consume cancer-related content.
I came across this blog recently. Nadia is a young woman who has been facing ovarian cancer since April. Her ups and downs emotionally and physically ring very familiar to me, and her writing is top notch.
Speaking of young adults, I love stupid cancer, or more appropriately, I love the organization behind www.stupidcancer.com. They have a great collection of blogs you can find here, and much much more in terms of support for the unique challenges of young adults with cancer.
And if you want to know what happens when good writers get cancer (who wouldn't?) check out the great work of Brian Mansfield from USA Today. Brian covers Nashville for the paper and has a great soundtrack going via his blog entries.
One more spot to check out. The creative juices are always flowing at www.ihadcancer.com . They use social media tools (Pintrest anyone?) to connect cancer survivors, fighters, and supporters in many different, often fun, ways. Check out their blog for Hope, Health, and Happiness tips.
I came across this blog recently. Nadia is a young woman who has been facing ovarian cancer since April. Her ups and downs emotionally and physically ring very familiar to me, and her writing is top notch.
Speaking of young adults, I love stupid cancer, or more appropriately, I love the organization behind www.stupidcancer.com. They have a great collection of blogs you can find here, and much much more in terms of support for the unique challenges of young adults with cancer.
And if you want to know what happens when good writers get cancer (who wouldn't?) check out the great work of Brian Mansfield from USA Today. Brian covers Nashville for the paper and has a great soundtrack going via his blog entries.
One more spot to check out. The creative juices are always flowing at www.ihadcancer.com . They use social media tools (Pintrest anyone?) to connect cancer survivors, fighters, and supporters in many different, often fun, ways. Check out their blog for Hope, Health, and Happiness tips.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Live From the Chemo Room 25
It's my 25th post from the Chemo Room. I think that's silver for those of you considering gifts.
Before we get to the race report, I have to share this with you. I learned today that there are different degrees of fear. There's trepidation, then good old fashioned fear, followed by phobia, and then there's what I saw in Dr Z's office. The first stop here at the Cancerporium (after the waiting room) is a room with two nurses stations where they take your vitals, and, often, draw blood. Frequent flyers with ports get stuck with a needle directly into the device that you barely feel, but lots of patients here still give blood the old fashioned way. And nurse Sally had herself the most needle averse Member of the Club I could ever imagine. The poor woman was literally hysterical, laughing uncontrollably while asserting that she wanted to go home, and stomping her feet. Then she let out this gem:
Sally: "Come on now, you've pushed out a baby, this little old needle isn't that bad is it?"
MOTC: "Pushing out babies was easy, I'd rather do that then get stuck with that needle"
Me (from across the room): "Damn! That's serious!"
Sally: "For real, this needle's got this tiny little point, that baby had a head and shoulders."
MOTC: "I don't care, I'll take childbirth any day!"
Wow, that's fear!
---
There are some things you just don't want to hear from your doctor. I heard one of them today. "This has never happened before," was the opening line from one of the technicians at the radiation oncologist's office. He continued, "but the mold we made that holds you in place for your procedures has deflated." Upon hearing this story, Marcie, for reasons unknown, put together the "never happened before" and "deflated" parts and said to me, "don't they have Viagra for that?" Thanks, babe.
I thought those molds were solid, but apparently they're not. So now I have to go back for another fitting next week and we'll push back the last 3 treatments by a few days. It's not a big deal, medically speaking, just a hassle for me given that the office is 20 miles from my home.
---
Speaking of 25th anniversaries, I think this may have been my 25th Peachtree Road Race. Close enough for a segue anyway. The weather wasn't as bad as I feared, and I ran comfortably, finishing the run in 52:30. I think I'll shoot for running faster than my age from now on - meaning I'll need to trim a minute per mile from my time next year. But I'm happy with how it went. Marcie and the kids were there to cheer me on around the 5 mile mark, and I ran a couple of miles with my friend Elizabeth and Katie from the neighborhood.
We did all our usual 4th of July things as a family, the barbecue in the afternoon, watching fireworks across the city from atop the mountain in Vinings. Doing the usual things can feel pretty special sometimes.
Before we get to the race report, I have to share this with you. I learned today that there are different degrees of fear. There's trepidation, then good old fashioned fear, followed by phobia, and then there's what I saw in Dr Z's office. The first stop here at the Cancerporium (after the waiting room) is a room with two nurses stations where they take your vitals, and, often, draw blood. Frequent flyers with ports get stuck with a needle directly into the device that you barely feel, but lots of patients here still give blood the old fashioned way. And nurse Sally had herself the most needle averse Member of the Club I could ever imagine. The poor woman was literally hysterical, laughing uncontrollably while asserting that she wanted to go home, and stomping her feet. Then she let out this gem:
Sally: "Come on now, you've pushed out a baby, this little old needle isn't that bad is it?"
MOTC: "Pushing out babies was easy, I'd rather do that then get stuck with that needle"
Me (from across the room): "Damn! That's serious!"
Sally: "For real, this needle's got this tiny little point, that baby had a head and shoulders."
MOTC: "I don't care, I'll take childbirth any day!"
Wow, that's fear!
---
There are some things you just don't want to hear from your doctor. I heard one of them today. "This has never happened before," was the opening line from one of the technicians at the radiation oncologist's office. He continued, "but the mold we made that holds you in place for your procedures has deflated." Upon hearing this story, Marcie, for reasons unknown, put together the "never happened before" and "deflated" parts and said to me, "don't they have Viagra for that?" Thanks, babe.
I thought those molds were solid, but apparently they're not. So now I have to go back for another fitting next week and we'll push back the last 3 treatments by a few days. It's not a big deal, medically speaking, just a hassle for me given that the office is 20 miles from my home.
---
Speaking of 25th anniversaries, I think this may have been my 25th Peachtree Road Race. Close enough for a segue anyway. The weather wasn't as bad as I feared, and I ran comfortably, finishing the run in 52:30. I think I'll shoot for running faster than my age from now on - meaning I'll need to trim a minute per mile from my time next year. But I'm happy with how it went. Marcie and the kids were there to cheer me on around the 5 mile mark, and I ran a couple of miles with my friend Elizabeth and Katie from the neighborhood.
We did all our usual 4th of July things as a family, the barbecue in the afternoon, watching fireworks across the city from atop the mountain in Vinings. Doing the usual things can feel pretty special sometimes.
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