October 19, 2014 by elegsabiff

Professional singles vs amateur singles (veteran category)

Since my books are about older single people, the relationships of older single people are of paramount importance to me. There was, however, a limit to the amount of personal research I could do, so the good news for me was finding a singles website with a lot of older singles who discuss their experiences endlessly. I’ve been watching and listening for about six months now and I find I’m slowly evolving some theories.

I’m not going to be able to resist throwing in the occasional blog, because what most people don’t realize (I certainly didn’t) is how completely unlike the over fifties singles scene is to the first time round. Forget wanting to nest-build, for starters – no–one is looking to have kids. A semi-professional might politely say they welcome your kids, but professional singles simply don’t want the fuss.

Professional singles should not be confused with scammers (who they can spot at a glance). They are the men or women who are perfectly happy with their lives as they are, but enjoy a flirt, or a fling, every now and then. They cause chaos amongst the amateur singles, who believe everyone on the site is eager to find that perfect companion with whom to sail into the sunset years.

This blog touches lightly on the combinations, and what one could expect from each combination. I will, I promise, be putting together a blog with the tell-tale signs for identifying the professional, vs amateur, single. Any reader who can add to the list should please kick in with a comment!

Both singles are professionals

Both parties know exactly what is going on, although it is considered polite for at least one to act like an amateur to add a little freshness to what might become a slightly jaded performance. They both keep their nets cast wide throughout the fling. Skilled flirting is very much enjoyed by both but there is a certain lack of thrill and usually the attempt is put aside or on hold, with mutual relief, when an amateur appears on the scene.

Professional man, amateur woman

For any amateur woman who recognizes the situation fairly early on, this is the best way to be introduced to the world of the Older Single. There is charm and entertainment, an exciting intensity in the early stages, after which a nicely-judged distance is maintained, and a good time is enjoyed by both. It can, however, be painful for those women who simply refuse to recognize the warning signs and persist in the belief Something Deeply Meaningful Is Happening.

Amateur man, professional woman

Professional women take on amateur men for one of three reasons:

Boredom
Mistaking the amateur man for a professional, or semi-professional
Genuine attraction

The luckier amateur man will meet a professional woman who is a gentleman about the whole thing and lets him down lightly after a charming relationship. The more set on his own agenda he is, the less likely it will end well. Even if marriage (if that is the amateur man’s goal) is achieved, the professional woman will always seek out new flirts and flings. That’s what rocks her boat. However, for the amateur man who wants to become a professional, this is the ideal introduction.

Amateur man, amateur woman

First time round, remember that? This was the usual combination. For senior singles, it is relatively unusual for two first-timers to meet first time out the starting gates, and there is of course always the chance of a happy ending. In about 1% of cases. For the other 99% there is usually one who achieves semi-professional status, and one who leaves the world of website dating forever, or at least determined to do better next time.

Managing expectations is the first and most important thing to learn. Older singles either intend to stay single, or are passionately determined to latch on to someone who can fund their emotional and financial old age, or have low expectations, a pragmatic outlook, and a very clear idea of what they would find attractive. The third group tend to enjoy themselves the most. And yes, to those regular readers who know I was away on holiday recently (never let it be said I don’t do thorough research), it was great. In hindsight I must have been nuts, and I wouldn’t recommend anyone following my example, but I was lucky and had a wonderful time. Same time next year? Yes please.

Ever researching on your behalf,

Elegsabiff

September 13, 2014 by elegsabiff

Journeys End yadda yadda

Gosh, been a while since I was in here. Dusty. Check out that cobweb! Brings a whole new meaning to website.

Well, I have three good reasons. Firstly, although my books are quietly building a discerning, charming and intelligent readership (very few of whom review, but they keep buying, and in the long run that’s probably more of a compliment), it is a select group indeed, so I have been doing temp work to fatten up my emaciated piggy bank.

Secondly, I’ve been wrestling, and mostly losing, with the latest book. It wants to go one way. I want it to go another. There’s nearly as much negotiation as Scotland will be facing (Yes or No) in the fairly immediate future, and it is four against one, and quite stressful. The only way to resolve the deadlock was a one-off Halloween edition, and Halloween is scarily close. Which means 11 12 is now suddenly needing some beta readers. You in?

Thirdly, and I’m surprised I found the time, I’ve been expanding my social horizons and am about to take my first holiday in more years than I can remember. Not alone.

That blasted singles website again. This Spanish dude asked if I was still doing the research and I said no. Well, to cut a long story short (for now. It’ll be in a book sometime, somewhere) he’s not Spanish, just lives there. He’s not even Scottish, although he lived here twelve years. He’s very nearly the boy next door, we’re both from the same part of the world, we are eerily alike, we’ve been talking every day for three months, and I haven’t a clue whether he’s my long-lost twin brother (we all suspect we have one, right?) my friend, or my future. It will be an interesting holiday.

So that is why, between working from the crack of dawn to late afternoon, frantically scribbling for a few hours, then talking on Skype until the wee small hours, the website fell by the wayside. On the bright side, I have Plans, Interviews, and Reviews coming up, at least one fantastic guest book tour lined up, and maybe even some photos from the holiday. (There will be segways. Some scenery.)

Listen, that beta reader thing? Talk to me. Twitter. My author page. If you’re already on my mailing list, you have the address. New readers, and ones who know the series. I reciprocate. Get in touch.

August 7, 2014 by elegsabiff

The best friend question

Regular readers of the blog know that I joined a singles website a few months ago to do some research. I’ve hung up my research cape and boots but the website I chose has a fairly active blogging section and some are really interesting.

I was totally taken aback, though, by an exchange I saw on one of them, written by a bloke who sent out a whole bunch of eflowers to make new contacts. One response was from a woman who said she had received an eflower a week ago and the man who sent it was now her best friend. Say what? I read it again. Best friend. In a week. She hadn’t met him, they had exchanged messages and then talked on Skype, and he was her best friend.

Has the meaning of ‘best friend’ changed? My daughter, when about ten, told me she had fifteen best friends. No, no, I said, you have fifteen friends, which is your best one? She looked at me as though I was deficient (ah, that look mothers so love) and told me they all were.

Maybe I should have asked which was her BFF. That used to puzzle me, too, aren’t best friends ipso facto best friends forever? My best friend and I have known each other since we were obnoxious spotty schoolgirls. We live in different countries now, don’t talk that often on the phone (but never for less than an hour when we do) and meet up every few years. I can tot up my real friends without taking off my socks, and I still think I am rich. Edge and Vivian, in my books, have been friends since childhood and now are fellow residents at Grasshopper Lawns, but had also kept their friendship going during long separations in different countries. Staying power, to me, is as important as shared interests, laughter and support.

The thing is, there were lots of comments on that particular blog on the website and the general consensus was that someone you were attracted to, and could talk to for hours on end, was an immediate best friend. If you really struck lucky, your love interest as well (although maybe that takes two weeks. Nobody said.)

So tell me, what is a best friend? I’m a writer, I need to know these things.

August 1, 2014 by elegsabiff

Change your name. Now.

To briefly digress, I just changed my website title from ‘Exploring the newbie writing world’ because eighteen months after publishing my first book I now finally know everything.

Oh dear, as if. Ever. Now, where was I—oh yes, the new title. Well, that’s it. The new name. I say that a LOT. At this rate by the time I reach my sixties I’ll need an atlas to keep track of my monologues, Heavens knows how I will cope in conversations.

The idea is to stop ignoring the fact that time is flying by at a fairly terrifying rate of knots, and start snatching some of those flickering minutes and pinning them down here on the blog. For that matter, start putting them to work. The yesterdays were mostly fun (with bits stuffed into boxes and pushed under the bed marked DO NOT OPEN.) The tomorrows look slightly alarming and potentially challenging. Today, well, are we all making enough of today?

Changing your website name is a two second job. Ever been tempted to change your own name? I’ve always liked the name Featherstonehaugh, mainly because of the pronunciation*, although spelling it out for those not in the know must get less amusing with time. Still, if I wanted to call myself, for example, Elegsabiff Featherstonehaugh, a name with a fine ring to it which would drive bureaucrats pleasantly insane, I could do so.

Three

Two

One

Abracadabra, done, I just changed my name. Of course getting the bureaucracy in line—passport, driving licence, all the hundreds of places that would prefer me to stop rocking the boat and stick with my original name, please—would take significantly longer and cost a fair amount, fees all over the place.

For my own fun, however, I can use any name I like. Beulah, Dowager Duchess of Onderness? No worries. As long as I am not using the name for purposes of fraud, I can call myself Spot the Blue-eyed ET from Sirrius, if I want. I need only to print my calling cards, and I’m on my way.

If the idea has caught your fancy, I found this website in my idle browsing. I have no idea if it is the best way to go as this is not a serious in-depth investigation into name changes, just a brief glance – How to change your name

So what would you call yourself?

Ever researching on your behalf

Yours, as always,

Grand High Priestess Butterfly Pearl Featherstonehaugh*

(*Fanshaw. But you knew that)

July 27, 2014 by elegsabiff

A walk on the not entirely domesticated side

Professional writers research their target market before putting pen to paper (fingers to keyboard)—identifying current trends, or the next trend, leads to success and sales. The sex market is huge and apparently still growing. The undead seem to be holding steady. Edgy thrillers with lots of tension have always been solid.

I didn’t even think about target markets (no secret there, I’m decidedly unprofessional) but lucked out to a small degree, as there is a new, tiny surge in older characters; albeit feisty octogenarians whereas my characters are in the babyboomer age bracket (born between 1946 and 1964). Write what you know, so they say, and I’m a babyboomer myself, with one eye on the future, and I created the sort of place I would like to live. I added murder for armchair detectives, and more by good luck than judgement, it has worked. There are now five books in the series, and I am slowly collecting readers and reviews and so far so good.

The next thing professional writers do is nurture their target market and grow their readership by giving them more of what they like. Publishers, in fact, pretty much insist on this. If you have a successful formula, stick with it. My youngest regular reader is in her twenties and the oldest in his seventies (i.e. readers who have been in touch). Most seem to be in the forty to sixty-something age bracket, and so far so good, have been enjoying the vicarious experience of senior dating websites, or traipsing round the Edinburgh Festival. Those are things they’ve either done themselves, or could have an interest in, and no traditional publisher would have blinked either.

The latest book, though, Nine Ten Begin Again, takes my average reader into an environment they would never explore themselves and I’m wondering with both interest and trepidation exactly how far vicarious curiosity goes.

Would you dress up in disguise and head off to a club marketing itself as the fun alternative to BDSM and leather fetishism? Well, normally, me neither! But would you be intrigued by a vicarious glance into that world? Hell, I hope so. I have no idea whether I have shot myself in the foot with a vengeance, or successfully entertained readers who have heard about that whole world and aren’t averse to learning a tiny bit more with characters they already know and trust to behave as they would themselves.

Nine Ten Begin Again is on a promotion price for its first week, click on the title, the cover below, or on the cover in the sidebar. And please let me know what you think!

July 24, 2014 by elegsabiff

Nine Ten Begin Again

Yup, Nine Ten has joined the family and just as soon as I have worked out again how to add it to my sidebar (I add things to my sidebar 3 or 4 times a year. I’m sure I will master the skill one of these days) will start selling like hot cakes. In the meantime clicking on the cover in this blog should, at least in theory, connect you to the Amazon that enjoys your custom. Oh, and if you’re quick about it, you’ll get it on promotion price. The first few days of each book are promotion days, glitches are part of the deal. If you missed this blog until after the promotion price, you should be on the mailing list.

I’ve always said Five Six was my personal favourite but Nine Ten may have overtaken it. I’ve read it through about a gazillion times over the last few months but still find myself smiling at certain times, and the beta readers commented that they smiled a lot too*. It was certainly an odd book to write, in that it started as a short story about Donald (I write microstories about the characters, call them hops and move them to their own tab on this website) and the characters took matters into their own hands and romped away with me panting after them and trying to call them back to heel. (My dog doesn’t listen to me either.)

So there I was with a very long short story which was refusing to quit, and a plot (after a contract job at a bank) which was trying to turn itself into a book, so I shrugged and put them together and asked my two all-time favourite beta readers to have an alpha look at the resulting draft. Yes, they said. Make it so.

Blame them.

*okay, apart from the one who was so shocked by the Donald bit of the story that she didn’t want to read on. But the others, and there were twelve of them, male, female, 30 something to 60 something, new and regulars, Scottish, English, American and South African, smiled a lot.

July 6, 2014 by elegsabiff

QR Codes

So, because I will otherwise probably forget myself how to do it, a quick blog on QR codes because this is quite cool for writers, even in the very, very basic way I understand it. It seems if you want to put a smart phone link onto, say, a bookmark or your business card, or a poster advertising your books, you use a QR code. The smart phone can scan that, and being very smart, is whisked to your linked market.

So, example. Say like me you use Booklinker, which will link browsers to their version of Amazon (which is also quite handy) (and you can then keep track of how often the link is clicked, and from which countries, which can also be handy), you would go into a site like this http://goqr.me/#t=url and feed in your Booklinker link and get something that back in the sixties would probably have been called Op Art (and been thought pretty groovy, I suspect) and that is your QR code.

If you scroll down my sidebar to the very bottom you’ll see two examples because you can embed them as well as save the images. (Using a text widget, but you knew that, right?)

And then anyone with a smartphone who sees your poster or your promotion material can scan it and Bob’s your uncle and at least in theory you have a sale. You have certainly found another way to introduce Potential Buyer to Book.

Heavens, I know this is insanely basic and there is tons more to the subject! I’m rubbish at this sort of stuff. You cleverer types go and create your own codes, here’s a potentially useful site for you. Enjoy. http://www.qrcode.com/en/about/

Thanks to fellow writer JJ Alleson on LI for this tip!

July 6, 2014 by elegsabiff

Flashfiction anthology > 30 authors – selling now on Amazon and Smashwords

No secret that I do enjoy my SF as long as it doesn’t bog itself down in technology or take itself too seriously, and as a commuter I particularly enjoyed flashfiction collections, because you don’t get so caught up in the story you forget to get off the train (miss one station, tops). So this anthology is going to be pretty good news for anyone who enjoys a good variety in their SF. There are of course a few flashes of serious technological cleverness for the purists, but most of the stories are fascinating whatever your genre. Or, as the press release puts it, this is an eclectic selection of stories by both established and emerging sf authors, ranging from traditional character-rich tales to cutting-edge speculative fiction

The anthology is on Amazon (clickable link) and Smashwords and going into bookshops shortly.

The press release went on as follows:

The Future Is Short: Science Fiction in a Flash, an anthology of 57 microstories by 31 authors, edited by Jot Russell, Paula Friedman, and Carrol Fix. Lillicat Publishers 2014, ebook editions available June 29 through traditional online stores, print version forthcoming July 2014.

Step through the borders of reality in these 57 evocative tales by 31 science fiction authors.

Discover wonders and horrors of science and speculation in this sparkling collection. Swift to read but unforgettable, each story evokes a universe, a concept, a feeling human or alien.

These tales, each under 725 words, hold truth and laughter, comedy and tragedy. For instance: aliens take a novel view of a most human pastime in Perihelion editor Sam Belloto’s “What’s Past Is Past.” A Palestinian woman’s brilliant medical breakthrough carries a cutting barb, in Andrew Gurcak’s “Collateral Damage.” Unlike NASA, prizewinning British author Andy Lake asks, “Did Curiosity kill the cat?” Despair and horror turn to hope—perhaps—in Carrol Fix’s “Rebirth.” Revolution may come too late for the inter-species lovers of “Sentience,” by award-winning author Paula Friedman. One man’s decision will save or condemn a civilization in much-published Richard Bunning’s harrowing “Meek Survive.” Mike Boggia’s “Everyman Dies, But Not Everyman Lives” locates the heart of human-nonhuman encounter.

You should get it. It’s a cracker, and at $4.99, a very good deal.

July 5, 2014 by elegsabiff

Picking neighbours for Grasshopper Lawns

I live in a rather untidy work-intensive home and would move into the Lawns in a heartbeat. Independence, a weekly cleaner, social life on tap and lock-up-and-go holiday capability? Haud me back! I’m just not sure I’m interesting enough to meet their requirement of an interesting past, plus of course the place doesn’t exist . . . damnit.

A long time ago I was a letting agent (I have been many, many things in a fairly turbulent career) and I had a few retirement village units on my books. People would buy them, then want to rent them out until they were ready to move in themselves. So what is a retirement village? How long is a piece of string?

They all had one thing in common, available to anyone over the age of fifty five. Let me quickly tweak your perception of people over fifty five. This blog is liberally scattered with celebrities who qualify—it has to be said that none of them do live in retirement villages (unless of course Beverly Hills counts as such) but they are all over fifty five in these photographs. Fancy one or more as a neighbour? (I should probably say here that I don’t earn a penny from this blog and am posting these pics in admiration, ack, please don’t sue me!) Kevin Bacon and Michelle Pfeiffer just scraped through the age restriction. Sean Connery could have been there since 1985 (In fact most of the pics are clebs born in the forties who could have been there years.)

So, back to retirement villages I got to know in my letting days: I had one unit on my books in a purpose-built apartment block in the heart of Rosebank, which was a very upmarket suburb in Johannesburg. The apartment was large and sunny, there was a showpiece (award-winning) large shared courtyard, oh, and an excellent restaurant set-up, with meals at extremely good prices. Rosebank was a shopper’s dream back then (as best I know, still is) with superb restaurants, cinemas, and easy access to theatres. The security, always an issue in Johannesburg, was faultless. It was, without question, the sophisticated urbanite’s ideal choice. As it happened, the first couple I took to see the place were put off by the elevator (we saw someone hurrying over to join us, the husband put his elegant walking stick out to stop the doors closing, and the elevator chopped his stick in half and swept us upwards and away, eek) but the next people I took, a very energetic jet-setting couple in their late fifties, signed up promptly on a five year lease.

Another on my books was a charming one-bed cottage in a complex in Bryanston, which is some twenty miles into the countryside. There were about thirty chocolate-coloured face-brick attractive cottages, each with their own little garden, in the high-walled facility, and a central building with an excellent library, lovely reception rooms, and good frail care facilities for when life throws a hiccup. I let that one to the first viewer, who was delighted. I think what sold it to her, as much as anything else, was that as we passed the good local shops there were two horses patiently waiting in the parking lot while their riders were getting fish and chips, and renting a DVD. She loved that, the town-and-country feel of the place.

My personal favourite called itself a country club, rather than a retirement village. It was well out in the countryside, any prospective tenants had to be able to drive or be forever reliant on the place’s minibus service. It sprawled across about ten acres of land, superbly laid out and maintained. Tennis courts (four), bowling greens (two), inside and outside pools (one of each), and the houses were free standing, two bedroomed, spacious, and mouth-wateringly attractive. There were no frail care facilities, if you got sick nobody liked you any more, you had to leave. And the rent on that one was as much commission as I earned in a good month, but oh my it was lovely.

You’ll understand therefore that to me a retirement village is a desirable place to spend your leisured years, and I am constantly taken aback by the perception of a shabby old age home smelling slightly distressingly of wee. I should probably explain that I write whodunits set in a Scottish retirement village. Reader perceptions of retirement villages are definitely of interest.

Grasshopper Lawns has drawn from all the places I got to know but also from the place where my mother finally grudgingly moved, which was for Europeans only (i.e. not white people, but people of any colour who were originally from Europe) and had a hodge-podge of cottages, one bed apartments and studio units set in lovely gardens with good security. Her neighbours were German, Dutch, Scottish, English, and one Russian (so exotic), and she absolutely loved the place and wished she had moved earlier. Told you and told you and told you, Mum.

Grasshopper Lawns has alternating bachelor and studio self-contained units, around a central house with library, pub, etc, is in the beautiful Scottish countryside some twenty miles from Edinburgh, and you have to be single, and be an interesting person with an interesting past, to apply. Murders do happen, but only a few have been on the actual premises. Only one actual resident has been murdered; well, so far. And now that I think about it, since I invented the place, they have to let me in. Now I just need to look the part. No worries.

June 7, 2014 by elegsabiff

Dragons are lucky (SF Microstory May 2014)

Theme: A container (anything – pillbox, space station).
Required Element: eccentric pet .

‘Excuse me. You, the lady with the dragon—if you could step over here, to the Zoological control desk?’

The blonde sighed and changed direction, the little dragon on her shoulder hissing and ducking its head as it braced itself against the turn. Her hover trolley, obedient to her wristband control, was waved forward and up onto the table. Johnson sympathized, but graveyard shift or not, it looked good on his record to stop the occasional passenger. Not to mention the chance to see a dragon close-up. . .

He went swiftly through the two boxes of shimmering clothing, then looked dubiously at the third one, glass-topped with tiny ventilation holes, half-filled with writhing slender black worms winding themselves into flowing knots.

‘And this?’

‘Dragons only eat live food.’ She looked bored, dug in her shoulder bag and produced a slim box, taking out a cheroot and putting it between her lips. She half-turned her head for the little dragon to burp flame and light it. She drew deeply and looked back at Johnson, smoke trickling from her nose in scornful plumes. ‘Do you need the paperwork?’

‘Yes, please. That’s a lot for one little dragon.’

‘Immigration Law allows us to bring in everything we need for our personal use. I’ll be on Earth three months. That’s a three month supply.’ She handed over a sheaf of papers. ‘Proof of ownership, his sterilization, and his vaccinations. All up to date.’

Johnson flipped through the papers, then looked up, formalities over, ready to chat. ‘That seems to be in order. He’s a beauty. A pet?’

‘Part of my act. I’m an exotic dancer.’ She smiled for the first time. ‘I think people come to see him as much as to see me.’

‘I’m not surprised. I’ve never seen one close up. Where will you be performing?’

She handed over a courtesy pass to a well-known club instead of replying, and he thanked her and pocketed it after a glance, smiling. He looked covetously at the dragon, which was staring intently at the container, and on an impulse popped the container open, picked up the first worm his fingers touched, deftly re-sealed the top, then offered the treat. The dragon gave a hoarse shriek and tried to leap away, brought up short on its tether.

‘He’s not allowed to take food from anyone but me.’ She looked both startled and annoyed, and he flushed and put his hand back on the container, ready to replace the creature. One worm near the lid was convulsing particularly vigorously. Thread-like spores suddenly appeared all over its skin, then dropped free and vanished into the depths of the box. It was so quick he almost thought he had imagined it.

‘Livestock brought to Earth has to be sterile.’ He frowned. ‘Did that thing just spawn?’

‘They excrete from multiple orifices. They’re fairly disgusting, actually. Crap all over the place.’ She was looking annoyed again, but he shook his head worriedly. No-one but him on graveyard shift, and a choice to make—believe her, let them through, potentially spark a career-ending eco-balance nightmare? Confiscate the worms, and risk the port being sued for starving a creature worth five years pay? It had been a long day and he was tired, and wanted to get away. She was the last passenger through, the paperwork was in order. . .he glanced at the worm writhing between his fingers and his eyes widened as the black rubbed off, revealing the iridescent colour they were warned about, trained to recognize, from the first day on the job.

After the press conference, and the presentation of the very generous reward, the Earth President of Zoological Control hung back for a word. ‘Well spotted, my boy. Cleverest way I ever saw of smuggling drug worms. So much for dragons being lucky, eh? Not so lucky for her.’

‘Pretty lucky for me, sir.’ Johnson grinned. ‘The reward, and all. I might buy myself one now!’