L.E. Fitzpatrick's Blog

I am pleased to announce that THE RUNNING GAME has now been re-published with Creativia and you can once again get copies from most good retailers. Well, what a tumultuous month May has been. After an incredible April, seeing THE RUNNING GAME top the Amazon charts and become an Amazon best seller, I was foolishly riding high and looking forward to fame, success and buying a house made of gold. Book 2 in the Reacher series, Border Lines had just come back from the editor, book 3 was finally taking shape and then, on one fateful Friday evening, I received word that my publishers was closing.
The shock, despair, general late night hunger pains all needed addressing and I’ve been working tirelessly to ensure that THE RUNNING GAME stayed on shelves… both physical and electrical. Thankfully, through some wonderful author friends I hooked up with a great publishing company called Creativia who have made the transition relatively painless. Aside from losing my once wonderful rankings, I am pleased to say it’s business as usual.
Book 2 continues to be undergoing the all important editorial process and is still on schedule for a 2016 publication. Following on from this too is the exciting news that Book 3 is in draft. That’s right, finally I typed “the end.” Which wasn’t really the end because it’s still lacking a few 1,000 words but there is plot, there is action, and there is a little bit of a character cull too – sorry.
In writing this little letter now, I have just finished one of the final chapters, but the sun is out and my alfresco office is somewhat of a distraction. And you know good whiskey can’t be rushed, so as we’re back on track things can move at a leisurely pace, which is the gear I am fundamentally comfortable with.
As I have something I can share, I thought I’d leave with you a passage from Book 2. And if you saw it within your hearts to share my news about THE RUNNING GAME then I might even be inclined to expose a chapter or two more in future months.
LEF_________________________________________________________Street lights flickered against the thick dark smog engulfing the city. Mystique was heading home. Her neon heels struck the cracked concrete violently, struggling to cope with her inebriated swagger. Her real name was Clare – Clare Trent – she was thirty–two, pretending she was twenty–three; a lie that was starting to show.
It was a cool July night, but she'd been working hard and the sticky Autumn breeze helped relieve her aching shoulders. She carried her coat over her arm, not caring that her sequined costume underneath left nothing to the imagination. To hell with what anyone thought – that had always been her motto. Sure she was a prostitute, but she wasn't one of those girls standing on the street corners paying off a habit that was never going to go away. Clare worked at Lulu's. She had fans, she was drunk on champagne, and the tiny dress she wore was worth more than most people in S'aven could save in a year.
It was four in the morning, the streets were gently swaying as the nightclubs started to close. Swarms of rich Londoners piled out into the streets, singing and whistling at her. She smiled and slipped past, casually shouting that she'd be at Lulu's tomorrow for anyone who could afford her.
London closed the border for curfew at ten, leaving any pass holder in S'aven to party all night or find some hovel to crawl into until morning. The bars stayed open until the first crack of dawn, but usually by now Londoners were already deep into sampling all the sordid delights S'aven had to offer – and there was a lot to sample.
The groups that lurched around the streets had missed their window. They were either too drunk or too poor to benefit from a room in one of the many brothels lining the border. But it was hot and nobody cared about staying outside when dawn was so close.
Another crowd that passed her jeered excitedly. She contended with their snatching hands and danced away from them. The trick was to do it in good humour. Creating a scene drew attention and the last thing Clare needed was trouble. She quickened her step, ignoring the blisters screaming at her heels. Some of the crowd broke away and followed her. Two called out, offered her the time of her life and she couldn't help but laugh out loud. They persisted for another block and she ignored them. It was always like this and she had survived her thirty–two years using the right blend of ruthless determination and a cast iron nerve.
She walked another two streets before realising she was still being followed.This wouldn't be the first time some asshole thought he could take his chances with her. But Clare had been around long enough to know how to handle herself. She casually withdrew the flick knife she kept in her coat, along with the mace spray Lulu handed out to all the girls. With a quick juggle  of her coat she was ready. She slowed her steps, enjoying the control she had.
The presence was nearing. She felt something behind her, something big and cold. Felt hands reaching around the back of her neck, closing in, fingertips brushing her skin. This was her moment of power. She turned, choosing the knife over the spray.
It plunged into nothing.
There was no one there.
The empty street rolled out into darkness, but the tightening of her neck continued. The knife dropped to the ground as she tried to push away the crushing force against her throat. She couldn't breathe. Her body lifted. She kicked out, her heels barely scraping the pavement beneath. The hold tightened and she lost control of everything; her breathing, her bladder, her life. The bones in her arms and legs started to bend. She wanted to cry out, but all she could do was croak.
As her eyesight started to blacken she saw a shape – a figure in the distance with an arm outstretched toward her. She tried to reach out, but it was too late.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen – her last thoughts before the end came.

What's that old cliche? One door closes... okay, let's not get corny this soon into the post.


Let's just say that I'm lucky... or all those goat sacrifices are finally paying off. Maybe it's a bit of both. Regardless of how it has happened, it has and that's what's important. So it gives me great pleasure to announce that The Running Game has been signed with Creativia and they are due to publish the book - all being well (get more goats!) - the first week in June.

Also, while this has been going on big leaps have been taken on other books in the series. Border Lines is in the reediting stage and book 3 is now in draft. Let's subscribe to another cliche about buses... okay let's not.

Anyway it feels, at last that things might be on track. Of course in a couple of minutes that could all change, but if I take away anything from this upheaval it's that nothing is set in stone. Like a good story, things change. I guess I could call this character development. Whatever it is, it's good for now and I need to appreciate it. So grab a goat, think happy thoughts, and don't sweat the bad stuff.

At about ten o’clock last night I was pretty smug with myself. I’d spent the day working on the latest edits for my next book and I’d spent the last hour doing a #writestorm with a couple of my favourite authors, managing to get within a chapter or two of finishing my third book. All of this was set against a backdrop of good sales for April, another successful promotion for The Running Game, and lots of ambition and planning for the future.
By eleven my world, and the worlds of many others, turned on its head when we received the shock announcement that Booktrope, my publishing company would close with effect from 31 May 2016. This means that my second book Border Lines will not be published with them and that they will unpublish The Running Game at the end of May. Like many I absorbed the news in a state of despair, confusion, and anger.
I worked solidly on my own for four years, working on self-publishing and building a reputation and portfolio that would appeal to publishers. After less than a year the achievement I have made is now being reset. Or is it? I’m seeing a lot of confused authors out there – hell I’m one of them and we’re having to contend with a mixture of feelings and apprehensions. But we need to look at this as not a step backwards, but a dodge to the side.
If, like me, Booktrope was your first publishing company (and the only publishing company that I am with under L E Fitzpatrick), the rug has been pulled from under our feet and we are in free fall. But is this so uncommon an occurrence that we have any right to feel hurt and shocked? Small publishing houses are closing all the time, we’re in an economic downturn, and this is not about art, this is about business. It’s a horrible situation for authors and team members involved in the production of the projects – they are all hard working dedicated individuals who will suffer because this company is closing. But businesses go bust all the time and the one consolation for many of us is that we can still take our books and self-publish.
In light of what has happened I think it’s also important to evaluate my position with Booktrope and what they provided to get me where I am to fully comprehend what I have lost. Aside from the prestige of being with a recognised publisher which would allow me to advertise with certain organisations such as the Thrillers Writer’s Association (which I volunteer for anyway), what – dare I say it – has Booktrope ever done for me?
Firstly they provided me with a team of professionals to work on my book. Jessica, Ashley, Majanka, Cindy, and Bella, all helped reshape The Running Game into the story it is now. All these girls have also just lost their jobs with Booktrope. I know that some of them work privately and those that do will forever have my business because I believe in their talent and abilities. Those that don’t, may decide to and will also always have my support. Aside from putting me in touch with these awesome ladies, the hard work was all their own and there is every chance we will work together again and possibly more to their benefit and mine.
After that they provided me with some promotion which I would in turn pay out of future royalties. At the same time I have also paid and set up my own promotion which has been more successful and which I paid for upfront from my own pocket anyway. My main success came from Bookbub, who I discovered through Booktrope, but was only eligible because I had so many reviews (over 30) and this I achieved before I even signed with the label. In fact I put all this down to my indie marketer Alina at Eyes on Books. I could do Bookbub on my own and I will do.
So aside from prestige what have I lost? And even with returning to self-publishing (because in the short term that is my only option for my Reacher series) is the “publisher” name all that important? I know my MS is of publishing house quality, I know my cover is amazing. I know the work I continue to put in will match or even exceed that of Booktrope. My reviews are good and plentiful, my exposure so far is far reaching and consistent. I’m also beginning to learn that going alone provides you with security and stability. I am in control, not only of my books but my career. I gain a bigger percentage of my royalties and, in theory, I have a lot less legal issues to deal with. Maybe, just maybe this is a good thing. Or at the very least I can make it a good thing.
Right now I know there are hundreds of Booktrope authors and team members trying to work out what to do and where they stand. I know this because last night and this morning I’ve been talking to lots them publically and privately. I’ve even been talking to other authors and publishers not affiliated with Booktrope who are as shocked by these events as I am. And there has been a consistent trend. We are not alone. The supportive messages I got today are undoubtedly just a fraction of what authors are getting across the world, and these words of encouragement need to be our fuel for moving forward. This is our passion, our very reason for getting up in the morning, and a business has no right to destroy that for us. So don’t let it.
Over the course of the next four weeks there will be talks and tribulations but there will be an outcome and it is up to us as authors, as editors, as proofreaders, as designers, and managers to make it the best it can be. Hell, set your sights high and make it even better than it ever could have been with Booktrope.

Last year, as a mother of a 7 year old boy, I experienced a moment of relief when gay marriage was recognised in the UK and then later in the US. I don’t know if my son is gay (currently kissing is the grossest thing in the world), but up until last year a part of me worried that, if he was, he would lose out on some of the opportunities and privileges a heterosexual male would get. But the laws are changing – at least they were – and it felt like one less thing to worry about as a parent. If my son is gay, his husband will be recognisable by our government and country, he will be able to have a family, legal entitlements etc. I had a hope that by the time my son was a man, he would live in a world where who he was didn’t dictate what he was entitled to.
So news of North Carolina’s bathroom law feels like a kick in the teeth for progress. What’s more is the sudden eruption of hatred and prejudice being pushed online under the guise of child protection. The amount of people openly saying “I have nothing against transgender people… but if it’s them or my child I’m gonna pick my child…” As though in some way transgender people have any impact on the health and welfare of your child. No, this has nothing to do with children. This is all about ignorance and bigotry.
First off – public toilets are for the purpose of the general public to relieve themselves. Women’s toilets are cubicle based - that’s right guys, we don’t actually sit and watch each other pee – while men get both urinals and cubicles. This means that a transgender woman with a penis will likely be hidden behind a cubicle along with the rest of the girls. A transgender man with a vagina is very unlikely to use a urinal, meaning he’ll be in a cubicle also. So unless you are scrutinising the undercarriage of every individual using a public toilet (and if you’re inclined to do this you have your own issues that need addressing) it is unlikely you will know that you are peeing beside a transgender person. So stop fucking worrying about it. They’re not thinking about your business, stop thinking about theirs you big weirdo.
Secondly let’s talk about safety. Here’s a thing that people really need to start understanding. TRANSGENDER HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH SEXUALITY. It’s not a perversion, or a sexual desire. It’s not about sexual gratification or fulfilment. Transgender is being born psychologically one gender and physically another. If you struggle with this think of a baby that is born needing a new heart or other organ – their bodies are defected and need to be surgically corrected. The only difference is that a baby with defected organs suffers physically, whereas a transgender person suffers mentally. Your son or daughter could be born transgender and this would not affect their sexuality.
Unfortunately, we have shot ourselves in the foot when it comes to educating bigots about transgender issues by linking transgender people with the Lesbian, Bisexual and Gay movement. Bigots and homophobes see LGBT and assume it’s all about who you fancy and who you sleep with, when in fact, for transgender people, their plight and struggle in our society has nothing to do with their bed partners – at least not initially (of course there’s still massive prejudice when it comes to transgender romance but one step at a time). Sometimes I do wonder if separating transgender from the LGBT community wouldn’t help those struggling to grasp the concept of gender identification, but the support and positivity around LGBT (which fantastically is growing and growing) probably outweighs any negative association.
The fact of the matter is that a law abiding transgender person is of no threat to your children or yourselves, just like a law abiding non-transgender person is no threat. However we have this strange idea that implementing a law to prevent the “possibility” of abuse will somehow protect ourselves. I go back to “I’d rather protect my children over the rights of a transgender person.” We have something similar in the UK at the minute. Our disabled citizens are being persecuted financially because of non-disabled people wrongly claiming disability benefits. So our government has made it nearly impossible for people to exist on disability living allowance. And, while people with crippling health issues are starving in their homes, the benefit cheats are finding new ways to play the system. The North Carolina bathroom law is going to have the same affect. It will persecute the law abiding transgender populace and will do nothing to prevent deviants being… by definition deviant.
This law is not going to stop a man sneaking into a public toilet and raping a woman or child if he is inclined to do so. It’s not going to stop a woman abducting a child while the child’s mother is in the neighbouring stall. It’s not going to stop drug users shooting up in toilet stalls. Or prostitutes taking their clients to public toilets. This law is not going to protect you or your children and just like the disabled in our country, you are persecuting people who have done nothing wrong and making their lives significantly worse for no good reason.
One of the most frustrating things as a Brit when seeing the uproar about this issue, is that America, especially pro-republican America, is a country that favours guns. This is a country where educated white men have repeatedly gone into schools and fired upon innocent children. This is a country which refuses to compromise their gun laws because it impacts their rights as Americans according to the constitution. But when someone “different” to their understanding needs to pee, they have to be persecuted because children may be in danger. It’s a double standard. It’s hypocritical. And above all else it’s totally wrong. This is supposed to be the land of the free – but only if you were born in the right body, with the right skin colour.
So far to date, since transgender people have been using public toilets as they feel appropriate, they haven’t attacked, or hurt anyone. In fact, it’s the transgender community that need protecting from regular Joes in public bathrooms. A transgender woman who is forced to use a male toilet is far more at risk from rape and beatings than any child using the same toilet. But you know, they’re getting abused so our children aren’t…. wtf??? This law is total bullshit and the people subscribing to the “security” issue are being naïve and foolish.

The western world has a dubious history with civil liberties and it’s frustrating that we can take two steps forward only to then take a massive leap backwards. We’re hiding behind a fundamental that people can’t argue with – child protection – when really what we should be saying is: WE DON’T UNDERSTAND, TEACH US AND LET’S MAKE THIS BETTER FOR EVERYONE. Sadly instead what we’re telling the LGBT community – what we’re teaching our own children – is these people are different and they should be treated differently. They don’t deserve to have the same rights as us. They shouldn’t use our toilets… maybe they shouldn’t use our shops… maybe they should eat in different places… go to school in different schools… maybe we should make them sit at the back of the bus… This could be your kid, your grandchild, your niece or nephew. And this is how you want to protect them. This is how you want their future to be….

Some really good articles with statistics etc:
http://www.snipeme.com/archive.php?ye...

http://mic.com/articles/114066/statis...

Last week I discovered I could put text on images and post to Twitter... yeah I know this has been around for a while but I've been busy. Like any kid with a new toy I went a bit crazy, trawling THE RUNNING GAME for juicy snippets. In doing so I learnt two things: firstly that I don't write many juicy snippets; secondly that my futuristic story is a bit too close for comfort.
I'm not saying in that I'm psychic... although if you post your bank details online I do predict your money will be stolen... actually the, for want of a better word, predictions in my story are less grand dystopia ideas and more real, likely events that seem very plausible (except for the Reachers themselves of course).
When I decided to write about the persecution of paranormal beings it was really important for me to create a world that was very much grounded in a reality we could all relate to. I used events that were happening around me to fuel the destruction of my world. At that time the financial crisis was starting to break and it seemed like a natural and extremely likely first step towards the downfall of civilisation as we know it.
Greece was extremely influential in the political movement of my world. As the country grew deeper into economic crisis, the people started to turn to extreme radical ideas which rebelled against EU restrictions that were effectively controlling the country. Fascists telling their country they will gain back control start sounding good when you're worried about where your next meal is coming from, and if they happen to mention banning homosexuality, other races and taking away women's rights - well that doesn't affect you so you don't worry about it.
And we're seeing it here in Britain too. With our own economy suffering we don't look at ourselves to ask what can be done, but instead look to a thing that we can blame. In Britain's case our number one culprit for job shortages, housing shortages, benefit shortages... is immigrants. Let's not mention the fact that our government refuses to invest in our industries, preferring to contract to other countries, effectively destroying thousands of jobs across thousands of industrial areas. Let's not mention the fact that holiday homes owned by the rich are left empty eleven months of the year. Let's not forget that our government allows big corporations to not pay tax, costing the country millions. But it's easier for those in power to turn their attention to a minority that can't speak for itself, that with the right amount of propaganda (and we all know which political party was famous for that trick) can be seen to be the rats of our society. And the greater populous goes for it because it's easier than accepting that we are responsible for our own society's downfall and we have to do something ourselves.
I guess when I created Reachers, the persecution of those with differences was always on my mind. It's a huge issue not just in my country but world wide and I was... am convinced that it will only take a few knocks to our everyday lives to send our morality spiraling. Our world is overcrowded. Wealth is distributed unfairly. Liberty is a luxury. We are a boiling pot of trouble waiting to explode. But this explosion is unlikely to be the mass epidemic that wipes out the world as we know it, instead it will be like a fungal infection, spreading and turning everything black until you can't remember it being any other colour. We will be too busy trying not look that we'll miss our window to prevent the next holocaust, the next genocide, the next war crime.
In my book London was filled with the fortunate rich elite who didn't want to share. So they built a wall, separating themselves from those in need. A wall. Them or us. Rich or poor. Living or dying. As I made my memes I realised that I'm worried. Really worried. In Britain we're already persecuting our poor and our disabled (again who else is famous for that). In the States, from having the first black president, we're now facing the prospect of having a business man in charge of one of the most influential countries in the world. A business man! Because that's what this world needs: another money grabbing tycoon in charge.

Last week was a very eventful one for me. Although it's taken five years of obsessive, and sometimes seemingly fruitless, hard work my book THE RUNNING GAME became an Amazon bestseller in Canada and almost reached the illusive status in both the States and the UK. It was an extremely proud and totally baffling few days for me, where I tried to ground myself in reality and yet enjoy this major achievement.

For years I've wanted to feel like a real writer and not just some hobby pensmith living a pipe dream. Being signed by a publisher, being highly rated on sites like Goodreads, even being able to quit my job, all seemed to fall short. So was this it? The grounding moment where I became at one with my ambition?

Well being of typical Yorkshire/Welsh personality, I don't expect good things to last and when it comes to book rankings I know it's impossible to hold the top spot for very long, so I waited patiently for it all to fall apart. New stories are always going to knock you off your high horse and leave you reeling in the dirt remembering former glories. As the rankings soared I was forever conscious of the limited duration of this successful moment and so I tried, as best as my pessimistic self-conscious nature would allow, to enjoy it as much as humanly possible and feel for any hint of self-gratification from this achievement.

The difficulty with being an author... actually rephrase that... one of the many difficulties of being an author is your work peaks and then falls ridiculously quickly. The years you have spent creating and producing your perfect story climaxes in a disappointingly short explosion of excitement, before petering out into a fading ember of remembrance. And you're left with wondering what the hell to do now.

Before I peaked in the rankings I'd already achieved all of the goals I'd set myself; publishing my story, getting a contract with a publisher, getting good reviews, being able to quit my day job. The rankings was one of the last hurdles left to jump, and now I have I am feeling a bit like a runner at the end of the race track wondering where else I can go. I've still got fight in me. I still don't feel victorious.

At least I didn't. I realised that the only thing left for me to do is go back to the start and run the race again, improve my performance, hone my technique. Get better. BORDER LINES (Book 2) is warming up on the starting line and I'm ready to go again.

But I've not pressed the reset button. In fact what I have since discovered - post adrenaline rush, pre-caffeine kick - is that the success I've gained in my work has very little to do with the sales figures, with the money, with the rankings, with the ratings. The success I have walked away with, which is available to all authors, artists, musicians, etc. regardless of the stage in their career is the experience I had - sometimes endured - to reach my goal. Success or fail whatever we do to get where we are or where we want to be can only make us stronger.

If I look back to 2011 from when I first started self-publishing, I still don't feel like a published, successful author. But I do feel more in tune with my work. I feel the strength from the support network I've been able to tap into from the author communities I've met along the way. Good friends that have been forged by mutual respect of each other and the craft. I feel a greater sense of my own ambition and expectations of what I can do. I feel limitless and grounded, accepting but driven. This process, as fleeting as it may have been, has shown me that success cannot be measured, it can't be quantified or compared. It's a feeling inside. A pride in oneself. And I am proud... not Mr Darcy proud... but proud like a parent. I only wish I had realised this sooner in my writing career and maybe  could have enjoyed the highlights a bit more along the way.

And that is the point. You measure your own success and sometimes you will overlook massive achievements because you are impacted by other opinions and attitudes. Whether it's just finishing that story, or making headway in some measurable chart, you need to relish the moment. It is fleeting, it is short, but it doesn't mean it didn't happen and it certainly doesn't mean it can't happen again.

I've been trying to write an intelligent post that will communicate the events of the past two days in a logical, level headed and sophisticated way. Unfortunately I've been unable to form more than a few short sentences before erupting into a state of total lunatic euphoria. Luckily like a true 21st century girl I took pictures, so I can make this easier...





Basically rankings soared, many books were sold and I'm still trying to work out if all this is real. I will at some point sit down, have a cup of tea and try to work out what all of this means and how I have got here. So stay tuned.
In the meantime I want to thank all of the friends and authors who have supported me by posting promos, or just putting up with me talking about my book 24/7.

Look at your address book or your Facebook friends list and count how many of your friends are “indies.” What’s an indie? An indie is someone who produces something like a book, music, film, etc independent of a corporation or company funding their art. An indie is someone who works very hard, for usually very little, and is in constant need of your support. Sometimes they are just starting out, other times they are veterans of their indie scene. Sometimes they make money, a lot of time they don’t. And they always need help from their friends.
There are ways to support your indie friends and ways to really get them riled up and pissed. One of the worst things you can do – and this is such a common issue – is ask for freebies. “Oh you’re in a band, can you get us into the club… get us a free CD… give us a band T-Shirt.” “Oh, you write books, give me one then and I’ll read it.” “Oh, you’re an artist, I’ve got this empty spot in my hallway, think you can fill it?”
A lot of the time people think this type of thing is offering support to indies. I hear a lot of “but I’m encouraging you…” FYI I don’t need encouragement. I’ve already given up my job and dedicated my life to this – I need support, not a slave labour contract. But worse than this “freebie grabbing” is the radio silence most people give their indie friends.
It’s a bit like your friend Sarah who posts endless pictures of her kids. You see them, they make you smile because you remember when Sarah couldn’t get her shit together and now she’s got a great family. It’s the same with your indie friends. You see them doing their thing and you’re proud of them, but that’s where your involvement ends. You wouldn’t share Sarah’s kids on Facebook so why would you share your writer friend’s latest story?
And I think this is a huge problem for indies – getting their friends and families to see their “hobby” as a serious legitimate enterprise. It doesn’t help that most indies have to hold down other jobs to pay the bills, but that doesn’t make what they are doing any less important in their lives. If anything this art they are producing IS the thing in their lives and it needs to be recognised as such. Ignoring it makes us indies feel unloved and uncared for. The thing that is most important to us is being shunned by the people we are closest to.
If we started viewing indies less as self-indulgent arty types and more like we do other careers our perspective on what they do would change. If you know that your old school mate John happens to be a good plumber then you naturally recommend him to people you know when you get the opportunity. If your kid is trying to raise funds for their football team you would probably tweet or advertise the initiative to gain support. Why is this different to indie work? It isn’t.
The main issue though is less with indie friends and more with indies themselves. Unfortunately artistic types (and I can say this because I’m one of them) are typically temperamental at the best of times. I know myself when doing this type of heart on your sleeve work, the emotional upheaval is immense. How is this conveyed to our friends out of the indie scene? Well we must seem like crazy people, trying to run up a vertical wall with jellied eels strapped to our feet. When we don’t make a sale it’s devastating, when we do make a sale there is the briefest moment of egotistical euphoria, followed by more statistic watching and an even bigger emotional dive. Most of us dip in and out of the business to keep ourselves sane, professing “we’re only doing what we want when we want” or “I’m not interested in commercialism” or “I’m going to give up this writing stuff, it just doesn’t make me happy.” You know the kind of bullshit. The kind of comments that scream “I’m not responsible, not driven, not serious.” Followed closely by “Hey look at me, look what I’ve done, each and every one of you should have this up on your fridge, you should be proud of me!”
Let’s face it – we’re exhausting and impossible to keep track off. On Monday we want to jack everything in. By Wednesday we’re going to be famous. Come Saturday we’ve levelled off and become practical, for the whole thing to start again. Whereas most people go through a love hate relationship with their job, artists seem to take these feelings and elevate them beyond the ludicrous. While I’m sat pulling my hair out because I can’t seem to write like I could yesterday, my friend trying to educate a classroom of unruly morons – how can she support me when my mind set is so irrational?
The truth is we all have our own lives and, while I’m engrossed in publishing my next book, I’m less concerned with what Sarah and her kids are doing this week. I imagine her thoughts are the same about me and my work… I mean I imagine that now, because I’m all calm and rational, but give me a couple of hours of writer’s block or a day of no sales and it’s a different story.
So indies when your friends do support you – and they will – remember to keep your eye on those friends too. Just because they’re not writing, playing, creating, doesn’t mean you can ignore the things important to them. And friends of indies if you see a post online about your indie’s work then just repost it for them – in those two seconds your effort could make a very irrational person briefly sedated.

I've been working on my social profile and my online presence this week. Promotion is one of the dreaded duties of published writers and like most I hate it. Some authors find the technical side of online promotion daunting. I can totally sympathise with people not used to Twitter and Facebook trying to get "out there" and feeling overwhelmed by hashtags, likes and shares. This isn't my problem. My issue is less about the not knowing how to say stuff, and much more focused on what to say.

I'm hyper conscious that my posts are public and that when I do make a statement I'm representing my career and my work. I'm also super aware that I have a bizarre sense of humour that doesn't necessarily translate onto the web as well as I'd like. I tend to keep my posts moderated and concise. In saying this, in order to maintain a presence I have to promote something. The easy option of course would be to talk about my work. Don't get my wrong. I love my work. I love writing it. You will love reading it. But - and it's a big BUT - I don't want to talk about it all the time.

This I've learnt is a good thing. People don't like being "sold to" perpetually. I am people and I vouch for that statement.

So this week, as well as working on scheduling posts, doing a bit of writing, and hosting more parties than I can count, I have also been re-engaging with my old hobbies and interests. This is a bit of a revelation for me. Although I love music and film, I've been so busy with writing and promotion and editing and promotion, and writing and perfecting writing... I lost touch with a lot of the things that make me happy and made me - me.

I've been introducing myself as "L E Fitzpatrick, paranormal thriller author."

That's only a slice of my personality. I'm L E Fitzpatrick, I love the countryside. I love it when it rains. I have a dog who governs my life, an evil cat, and a kid that is way smarter than me. My favourite films are action packed and tend to be set in space. My music has to be loud and aggressive. I don't like raw tomatoes, raw onions don't like me. My jokes tend to come faster than my self-restraint. I can't do hair or makeup. I don't wear high heels even though I'm only 5'2. Oh and I also write books. Who are you?

So maybe I'm a bit late to jump on this valentine's band wagon, but I spent my romantic weekend full of flu, working in a restaurant trying to make a lovely evening for insecure couples that subscribe to that heart shaped nonsense. Yuk! I don't know what was more sickening: the flu or the smoochy hand holding on a rose petal covered table.

Despite being in an extremely long - so long arduous is an appropriate word to use - term relationship, I'm cynical when it comes to corporate displays of affection. In fact the idea of a fancy meal, chocolates, and roses really turns my stomach. And speaking of turned stomachs - for me true love is returning home after a hard day, feeling crap and having your other half waiting with a cup of tea for you. Never mind a dozen red roses. I'd settle for a brew any day.

In saying that, I did spend my valentine's watching Pride and Prejudice (the Colin Firth version) so I suppose I'm not totally heartless... although I was drinking tea then too.

I guess all in all, the type of romance I thrive on is either genuine affection, spurred into action for the sake rather than the show of it. Or is otherwise the result of a tumultuous, angsty adventure, complete with explosions and corpses. Happy belated Valentine's, I hope your day was filled with zombie hordes or Tetley tea bags.