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Saturday, 1 November 2014


My new poetry collection (published by Red Squirrel Press, cover design Gerry Cambridge)

Some of my facebook friends are dead, as are some of my friends’ adult children or close friends on facebook. Many of us think of facebook as great for keeping in touch, meeting people, sharing photos, networking and marketing our work as authors. Social media has other perhaps less expected roles. My new poetry collection, my 4th, and 13th published book, THE FACEBOOK OF THE DEAD launches officially on 4th November. The title poem in my book is a meditation on this, and  a tribute to a brilliantly talented young friend and writer, Lee Halpin, who died tragically at the age of 26. Here is the poem.


In life we leave the dead behind. On Facebook
They gallop along with us, like racehorses
Whose jockeys have been jettisoned. Like you,
Your life cut short but not your timeline, though
Your relationship status, life events, favourite
Films and books will never change again.

We go out without you on your birthday then
Write on your wall to tell you about it as if
You can read our words on some virtual
Laptop though you can’t reply. We tag you
As if you can feel it, feel us thinking of you,
Remembering that night, yes that one, LOL!
One posts to tell you he’s saved your number
On a new phone, as if you can see his message
But he can’t text you - it’s complicated.

We tell you where you are. Resting in peace,
You ‘Rip’, but with us in spirit, here beside us,
No, watching from above; sleeping with the angels
But no, you’re giving them merry hell up there, I mean
What are you like! We gift you the greed of our grief
As boys compete to be your bezzie mate, the worst hurt;
Girls line up to be your widow, claim the most kisses.

Scrolling down the papyrus of your page I travel
Back in time through the confused, incredulous
Comments as your updated status spread: dead.
Many saw it on Facebook first, I at second hand
Seeing her face drain white as she looked at her phone
As if charging it with her blood, a transfusion too late.

Go back far enough, down, down, suddenly it’s your voice
Speaking, your last comments which you didn’t know would
Be your last. A bit crack, a bit banter, irony, witty put-downs,
RIP Richard Griffiths, plans for the future, all four days of it.

Your cheeky profile pic pops up among my friends, weighing
On my heart each time I catch your eye, and if I could,
I’d unfriend Death for you, report him for abuse, the troll
Who poked you, who is ‘following’ us all, block him for good.

(‘Rip’: as well as a common misspelling of RIP, rip is a Tyneside word for a lively, mischievous lad)

Dealing with losses such as bereavement, or as in my case also disability, comes in many forms. Postmortem photography in the 1800s when so many children died, and baby doll 'reburying' nowadays, for example: and Facebook has become another way of coping, especially for the young. Facebook seems to leave the timelines of the dead open, providing a familiar consoling 'grave' to visit any time, in place of the traditional churchyard stone. It's a practical help for the bereaved who can contact huge numbers of friends and extended family to pass on information about funerals, memorials etc instead of having to make countless phone calls when they are suffering acutely.

'Reborn' baby doll, custom crafted for maximum realism.

More about the book from the back cover:

‘Laws manages to be heartfelt without seeming overly sentimental, and is witty without being irreverent.’ The Economist 
Valerie Laws’ thirteenth book combines poems of pathology and loss, speed-dating tortoises, baking scones for Eminem, haiku sprayed on beachballs, and passionate polemic in more of her signature ‘compassion, neuroanatomical detail, explicit eroticism and black humour’ (Susan Standring, editor of Gray’s Anatomy).Many prize-winning & commissioned poems are included, some having featured in major exhibitions, anthologies, stage productions or on BBC TV.
‘Brilliant. …I came as a skeptic and left oddly impressed…rather wonderful combination of words’ Griff Rhys Jones, BBC2, Why Poetry Matters, Water’s Bright Words beachball haiku.

I'm planning a launch party in a really cool Newcastle art and music bar, MSA, with guitar, singing, performance, film installations, cocktails and wine, on 4th November, and then lots more events will follow. I hope some of you will come along to my launch readings in various places over the next year, and I’m still promoting this year’s crime novel THE OPERATOR. See my website for dates and places.

THE FACEBOOK OF THE DEAD is available in paperback from my publisher Red Squirrel Press, or from inpress books, or from me at events and readings. Its three immediate predecessors, two crime and one poetry, are on Kindle as indie books, and I intend to do the same for this one, despite the nightmare of formatting poetry, especially in unorthodox forms.

STOP PRESS: my second thriller, THE OPERATOR, is on special sale this weekend, at 99p/99c, to celebrate the new book and as part of the Awesome Indies new website launch, which will be here with great sale prices and giveaways this weekend. Info on Facebook too.

See my newly revamped Amazon author page here for information about my books
Follow me on Twitter @ValerieLaws
Find me on Facebook
Check out my Pinterest boards which I’ll be updating soon to include the new book.

Friday, 31 October 2014

THE X-FACTOR CURSE & CRYBABY COLE: it’s catching! by Jan Ruth & John Hudspith

X-Factor Fiction, Halloween, Ho ho ho & hugging Dermot O’ Leary and saving the world.

John: It’s that time of year again, when writers send an avalanche to the ebook shelves hoping for a festive bestseller; when big-boobed slebs offer up their latest ghost-written
shenanigans; when agents and publishers hire staff to handle the increased numbers of rejection notes. Had any good rejections lately?

Jan: Rejection is a tough lesson. I grew up with plenty of it. (I’m talking creatively; as in, go away and do this again it’s not good enough). At primary school I was told it’s vital to experience rejection in order to improve. Character-building, even.

John: Did you sob, like an X-Factor reject?

Jan: I don’t remember sobbing or clinging on to Dermot O’Leary when my first manuscript thudded back through the letterbox for the umpteenth time; it had morphed into a hefty wedge of dog-eared paper with mostly derogatory scribble in the margins by then -  but I guess if Leery had been available, I might have been tempted into a bit of clinging.

John: Is that because you fancy him? Did you know he’s only 3 foot in his underpants?

Jan: He is quite short, isn’t he? That’s suits the midget that is me; I’d still look up to him. I’d have fallen into his arms but only because he’s cuddly, not because I thought my life was over.

John: Was it that bad?

Jan: This work has promise but it is overwritten and the scene where the shop blows up is ridiculous.

It was, actually. Those times draw a fair comparison with past X-Factor winners who’ve taken the prize initially but then sunk without trace. And yet, those who’ve come in third or second have scooped the best prize of all: by going away to think, then coming back with quality material. In my case, I went away for several years and did it again, and again and again. In fact, I kept on re-writing until I was sick to death of it.

John: And prospective agent snapped you up?

Jan: No chance, I really could have wept: Congratulations on producing a novel that is fully engaging, the narrative is sharp and the dialogue excellent. However, we cannot see where we would place this book in terms of marketing.

John: Ah, yes, the worried agent … talent doesn’t matter, simplicity does.

Jan: Right. I learnt that I wasn’t actually sick to death of it, more puzzled by these powerful gatekeepers, the agents and publishers who could make or break your day – your life! But this was traditional publishing BK. (Before Kindle, and before X-Factor)

John: I do like X-Factor, and it’s a good comparison; the machinations of voracity versus real quality - the psychology of it all.

Jan: We need the same show format for fiction, imagine the panel! Simon would be thrillers and crime with a strong leaning towards mafia bosses with lapdogs.

And Louis Walsh: I t’ink you should give her a chance, Simon. I t’ink it’s got something. He always ends up with the groups and oddballs, so, anthologies and something daft?

John: Yep, the requisite annoyance. Remember Jedward? Maybe Louis could have sex with dinosaurs. The books, I mean. Big sellers, apparently. I love, love, love, your book “T-rex on Top”… it looks good, it’s freaky, it’s got everything, it’s what this show’s all about!

Jan: You know, I was amazed those dino-sex books actually exist. Who the hell reads dino porn?

John: Louis Walsh, probably. What about Cheryl? I do like Cheryl, she’s a canny Geordie like me.

Jan: Crybaby Cole? A was blown away by ye’- sob - but a have to turn ye doon cos o’ the typos, like -  romance and true-life stories.

John: She’s not Cole anymore though, is she? Some weird-sounding long name. When Dermot announces it, he sounds like he’s casting a spell, Cheryl Fazhawazzfini or something like that.

Jan: She should have gone back to Tweedy for her stage name, shouldn’t she? Simon and the panel get a far bigger intro than any of the wannabe artists. The judges - or let’s say, the book bloggers and reviewers and the big promotional sites - are set to become more important than the author, much like disc-jockeys did in the seventies. They just played the records but their endorsement and their inane chatter made them into far bigger celebrities than the actual artists.

John: DJs from the seventies have a creepy image these days, though. Creepier than clowns, even.

Jan: True story. Let’s not go there.  

John: So, for the initial auditions, they have to read a blurb? Then, at boot camp they’d get to read one page, then whine There’s better to come when they’re told the narrative voice is out of tune, repetitive and boring. Oh, and at the 'take a seat' stage, they’d read a longer, random section and provide evidence of social marketing skills before submitting the entire book to get to judges’ houses.

Jan: Where Simon isn’t happy with the lineup:

Simon: Hold on, you’ve all picked books that are well-written, we need a couple of dumbed down ones to get the bookworms annoyed, so they’ll hit the phones and vote. Remember guys, it’s a pound per phone call, so I’m going to swap The Extraordinary Life of a Turtle for She likes it with Next Door’s Dog by Crystal Balls.

Louis Walsh: No one wants to read badly-written erotica, Simon!

Simon: Fifty Shades of Grey would disagree with you. Louis, you’re out of touch.

Louis: *blinks, grins, does the orangutan clap*

John: Yeah, Simon likes his quota of weirdoes.

Jan: Talking of weird, what about Sinitta? Where would she fit in? 

John: She’d appear at Simon’s house wearing three strategically placed bookmarks. Then she’d judge the books by their covers.

Jan: And people do, don’t they? Although, as in the real show, they’d be looking for raw talent they could manipulate... I mean mould. So maybe all the books in X-Factor Fiction should start with brown paper covers. On the live shows the backstory footage would include the authors getting professionally designed covers.

John: But some would want to use their own ideas,

Simon: What – the bloody hell – is that? (looking at an image of yet another bare torso with pecs like Cameron’s forehead)

Louis: It’s all the rage, Simon.

Cheryl: Divint worry, pet. Simon’s just jealous.

Mel B: Phwoaaaaaaar, let me hug that boowk.

Jan: Yeah, Scary Spice does like to wrap her arms around the fit ones.

John: Talking of scary, what about the Halloween show?

Jan: For Halloween, the contestants would have to sit it out in a haunted castle overnight, then write up a short story or flash-fiction. I’d be hugging Dermot alright! If I didn’t write contemporary, I think I might gravitate towards historical. There’s an amazing ruined castle in my neck of the woods and it gave me the idea to write something with a paranormal feel for my Christmas collection.

There’s a much bigger story in the history of Gwrych Castle though... so maybe one day. There’s recordings of hauntings and you can sign up for an evening of spookiness on the 31st. To be honest, the place is creepy enough in the daytime!

Anyway, what will you be wearing for Halloween? I still shudder when I think about the nun with no legs being washed in the sink by the way. (*wait ’til you read John’s new book, folks!)

John: That nun deserved all she got! For Halloween I shall be wearing the standard drunken fug, hidden away at the back of the house with the lights off so the sprogs in their crappy get-ups will think no one’s in.

Jan: Bah humbug!

John: That’s Christmas, you dillweed.

Jan: Hey, maybe you could give the kids humbugs?

John: Laced with chili and laxative. Good idea.

Jan: Actually, maybe the panel should consist of notables like Stephen King. How would you feel reading your work-in-progress to him? And, would you cry if he said it was a three-star book? I think the 3* is a much maligned rating. Not even close to rejection is it, really? I think it’s important that authors take-it-on-the-chin with good grace when someone says they didn’t really like the material. It’s not personal, is it? The personal enjoyment of a book is just that, personal.

John: I’d love to read my WIP to the King. He rarely gives opinions on books, though. And you’re right, reading is subjective and you will never please every reader. Maybe for the Halloween show, the X-Factor fiction finalists should be made to read their early stuff, that would be a scream.

Jan: Oh, that would make me cringe, showing anyone the contents of my bottom drawer.

John: Is there much crap in there? Plot holes? Cardboard characters? Predictable? A bit like the X-Factor, really. Hey, you could win it! And, of course, the winner goes on to have a Christmas no. 1 bestseller.

Jan: It’s much tidier now you’ve been in there, John. My lingerie has never been so soft, the words flow like silk, and you’ve removed those annoying frills. I wouldn’t mind a Christmas bestseller actually, or any kind of seller! Is this an opportune moment to mention my trio of Christmas shorts? There’s even a hint of the paranormal in there with a touch of ho ho ho. Santa versus Satan. If they were a box of chocolates, the paranormal one would be the brazil nut. The first one would be a caramel. Is the last one a soft-centre do you reckon? Got to have something sweet at Christmas...

John: Yeah, coffee cream, laced with after dinner mint. Your latest shorts are in great shape.

Jan: There’s always one filled with Cloaca. Chocolates, that is. Okay, here’s goes, it’s Halloween and we have to read a chilling paragraph to the panel.

He carried her to his bed. Clothing was removed, some of it snatched and torn in the process as if their connection had disturbed something feral. A hundred different thoughts, a hundred different reasons not to sleep with a man she’d only just met, a hundred different voices shouting in her head and yet, she slid beneath him, her underwear in disarray. They both seemed in perfect tune, one moment caught in the delicious intensity of anticipation, and then suddenly laughing at the craziness of it, laughing at the red freckles sprayed across his hands and face.

He kissed every inch of her face, she kissed every inch of his face…

Maybe it was then when she knew; that moment when she tasted that unmistakable metallic tang.


Louis: You looked amazing, you sounded amazing, it was amazing.

Simon: You need a new script, Louis.

John: Wise words from Simon. So many books, so many writers, but not enough depth, originality or imagination.

Jan: Stop being grumpy. Readers will always determine what writers write, right?

John: Very true. Teaching the next generation how to read is a must, not only for the future of decent storytelling, but, you know, that old save the world from humanity thing.

Jan: Yes, there’s a long way to go with that.

John: And it starts with the written word.

Jan: Once upon a time…

Useful Links:

*SALE* A Long Way From Home: Short Story Collection, one with a hint of Halloween: 77p/99c

New! Home For Christmas by Jan Ruth out soon:

Editing & more by John Hudspith at:
“In the northernmost spire of his black-brick chateau, John Hudspith edits novels by day and scrawls scary stories by night.”

Halloween Spooky walks North Wales:

Thursday, 30 October 2014


What's a catfish? Well, I have two in my aquarium - beautifully weird creatures with odd little faces who have trebled in size since they moved in with me about three years ago.

But catfish appear to have taken over a whole new meaning in the days of the internet. It's all to do with creating fake online identities in order to con people - see the definitions in Urban Dictionary and on Digital Trends.

Which leads me on to this Guardian article that's been doing the rounds recently. Am I being catfished? Author publishes book. Gets talking to book blogger and alleges that book blogger has been publicly trashing her book anywhere and everywhere. Author engages with blogger. World explodes very messily online...

But then it all gets sinister, as author apparently thinks that blogger may not be who she is purporting to be. Author - take a deep breath here - finds out where blogger lives and pays her a visit! Yes, really. And then ... well, read the article. You couldn't make it up. Unless she did, of course. That's the thing with the internet isn't it? You never know what is and isn't real in the virtual world of cyberspace.

And we go one step further here with  a public condemnation of the whole event and the Guardian for giving it life...

It's a common-enough experience, responding to book reviews. I remember way back in 2011, the story of indie author Jacqueline Howett and her book review on Big Al's Books and Pals that went viral. Now Big Al says it like it is. I should know - I got a very meh book review from him a while back. Did I say a thing? Good God, no. Opinions are opinions and in any case several people contacted me later to say they'd bought my book after reading the review to see what the fuss was about and they didn't agree with him. But go read all the comments to the review - if ever there was a perfect example of why you should never, ever respond to a book review...

Wednesday, 29 October 2014

Rewriting by Nicky Browne

According to John Green ‘All writing is rewriting.’ Yeah, I know and a first draft is only the
beginning of a process. I explain this to my creative writing students and tell them to get anything down on the page because it can all be fixed in edit. I am utterly sincere and a total hypocrite. I hate rewriting. I grew up in the twentieth century (without a type writer) I want to do as little of it as possible.
I vividly remember the first day I realised that editing was a necessity. I must have been about  twenty-seven and working with a real live journalist on a press release for an international oil company. Reader, he changed my words!

I was horrified. I’d said what I wanted to say. It made sense, what was his problem? He peered at the printed text and chewed on his lip. ‘Now, how can we say this better?’ he asked. Reader, with that polite question he changed my world! What? You can change things and make them better? I was a lesson I needed to learn, but years on I remain a reluctant, recalcitrant, heel-dragging, chocolate-consuming, ill tempered procrastinator when it comes to rewrites. 

Over the years I have published nine novels and like most writers  have four, maybe five, completed novels knocking around that need fixing. Periodically I go back to them. I reread them, pleasantly surprised to find that they aren’t that bad, that with a little bit of tweaking they could almost be good. All I need to do is edit them and get them out into the world.  So I try to fix them. One is now 10% fixed - the rewritten section has a moderately engaging first person voice with an  entertaining ghost as a side kick/ conscience and  some commercial potential and the rest of it  hasn’t. I won’t bore you with my inadequate attempts to fix the others. I know what they need. I just balk at doing it. Even short novels are long when all the words in them need changing and all the words need changing  because I know I can make every line  better: I wish I’d never met that journalist.

I will be honest, I have been overwhelmed with the weight of these unfixed words: the switch from distant third to intimate first person, the dream sections to be excised, the new characters to be introduced, the witty apercu I am required to invent, and all that honing and polishing! Frankly it makes housework look interesting.  So, this week, I put the endless rewrites to one side and started something new. 

Oh. My. God. As I would write if I were twenty years younger. I remember now, this is what I do. I take a blank page and make stuff happen. At the beginning of the day there is nothing, at the end, a growing story: characters, conversations, complications, motivations, proliferate like weeds and there isn’t time to prune or tidy because this thing is growing so fast. Who would stop? I don’t care about the uncrossed ‘t’s, the slightly dodgy phrasing, the overuse of ‘ slightly’ and probably ‘dodgy’, this thing is alive and thrusting all over the place.

Yes, proper grown up writing is all about rewriting, but this other thing, this mad tumult of ideas and words, the wild moments of making things up, for me is what writing is all about. It is raw and messy and unexpected and probably a bit rubbish but it is joyful and fun and, if I’m honest, the reason I am a writer at all. So, it will be a little bit longer before my four or five unfixed novels get fixed. Sorry.

Tuesday, 28 October 2014

Old stories, Typewriters, Decay and Resurrection, by Enid Richemont.

Many, many moons ago, I used to write fiction for women's magazines - in fact, that was how I was first published (books were going to happen quite a long time in the future).

I still have copies of these stories, written on a typewriter (remember those?) and also the published versions - so unbelievably antique now. I stopped writing them, partly because I became pregnant, but also because one of my stories just wouldn't sell because it broke an important taboo. Explicit sex? No, I wouldn't have dared.

What put editors off was the supernatural - my female protagonist was a second wife who became convinced that the vengeful spirit of the previous one was embodied in the family cat. It was, in fact, a very short psychological thriller, and it did have a happy ending. When I wrote it, I thought it was good. Whether I would think so now, I don't know, because the manuscript has long since vanished, but the experience put me off  writing for quite a long time.

Re-reading these things now, the required stereotypes were glaring. Career women had to be portrayed as hard, superficial and glamorous, selfish, too, rejecting, as they did, of course, the joys of love, marriage, babies, plus the kitchen sink. Contrast this with anthology in which I published a story a few years ago, called: Don't Kiss the Frog, full of dismal princes, disappointed knights and very undesirable frogs. We have come a long way since then.

Two of those early stories, though, are relevant today. My first published one featured a model who always dressed and made up exquisitely for her lover until one day, things went pear-shaped, and hey! it didn't matter, because it was her inner self he loved (sorry, that does sound naff, but it's still expressing something important). 

The second is very much more serious, and was published, unexpectedly, years later in a magazine called 'She'. It's a Romeo and Juliet story set in a grim but well-meaning 50s residential care unit for children with learning problems, and one day I plan to re-write it as a screen play.

Re-cycling work is like any other kind of re-cycling - old stuff goes in and new stuff comes out. Here's one I did earlier. As a book, it did very well when it was first published, but eventually it went out print, so a naggy friend who loved the story bullied me into re-writing it as a screenplay (we never turned it into an e-book). Writing a screenplay is very challenging for someone like me, used to writing straight narrative, but a wonderful excercise for the mind. Not long ago, I submitted it to the BBC. It didn't make it, but did attract the attention of a small film producer. Whether anything comes of it remains to be seen.

So good work needn't ever be wasted. The raw material is waiting there to be re-worked and transformed, and then who knows what might happen? I'm very much into re-cycling at present, because I've been working on a picture book text based on transformation through decay and resurrection (oh, you can play with very sophisticated ideas in picture books, and no, it's not religion-based, although this stuff permeates through most major religions). My agent doesn't think it will go, so I'm submitting solo, and offering it as a 'rubbish book'.

Monday, 27 October 2014

Writers as Human Hoovers - Andrew Crofts

“You’re like a human Hoover,” my wife complained as we drove home from the dinner party. “That poor woman…”

“What poor woman?” I truly didn’t know what she was talking about. I had been basking in the afterglow of what I thought had been a pleasant evening out.

“The one you were cross examining about her love life.”

“I wasn’t cross examining her,” I protested, “I just pressed the button and everything poured out. She was a human Nespresso machine.”

“You do it all the time. You’re like the Spanish Inquisition. Some people like to preserve a little privacy, you know.”

She was right, of course,  I do it all the time, but in my experience most people love talking about themselves, and those who don’t pretty quickly clam up or tell me to mind my own business. It was a secret I learned at the age of seventeen when I was heading for London in search of streets paved with gold with virtually no social skills at all.

How, I wondered as I watched those around me socialising with apparent ease, did people find things to talk about to strangers at parties? How did you find things to say to young women on first dates? (Bearing in mind that my early romantic education had come from the regency novels of my mother’s Georgette Heyer collection, since when I had been incarcerated in single sex boarding schools). The adult world seemed a daunting, if exciting, place and I was desperate to discover the secret of all the grown-ups who seemed so self-confident in every social situation.

In my search for a magic formula I came across “How to Win Friends and Influence People” by Dale Carnegie. The book had been written in 1936, so was already more than thirty years old and more than forty years later I can still remember the key message. Mr Carnegie explained that virtually everyone loves to talk about themselves and about their pet subjects. If you keep asking them questions they will keep answering them and the more they talk the more material you have for follow-up questions. The vast majority of people will come away from the conversation thinking you are the most charming and interesting person in the world, even if they have not asked you a single question about yourself, (and it is my experience that a shocking number of people will fall silent the moment you stop asking the questions, even at private dinner tables where you would assume they wanted to be polite).

For a self-conscious teenager setting out to enter the adult world this one piece of advice was priceless, for someone wanting to make a living as an author and ghostwriter it has proved invaluable.

Over the years it has become such an ingrained habit that there is more than a little truth in my wife’s fear that the technique can be intimidating for those who might be unused to talking about themselves. Of course it should be applied with some sensitivity, but at the same time there are so many questions which are so fascinating they are irresistible, even if they are considered impertinent: How much do you earn? Why did you divorce your husband? Are you having an affair with that man over there? Why do you suppose your children hate you? …. It’s amazing how many people reward straight questions with extremely full and revealing answers. 

Sunday, 26 October 2014

Tweet Dreams Are Made of This by Ruby Barnes

Social media fads come and go. Step back in time ... remember MySpace? There are kids now who never heard of MySpace. Google+ was going to be the next big thing and the predicted demise of Facebook had people scrabbling for footholds on Pinterest, Tumblr, LinkedIn, Stumbleupon and goodness knows where else. Now everything is becoming a bit blurred in a whirl of social networks, blogs, photo collections, discussion forums, online chat and update feeds. Isn't this all too much?

So, why bother with Twitter? What is the point of a 140 character message which might not get read by anyone before it sinks into the 500 million daily tweets? On the face of it, unless you are looking for personal interaction or are a microblogging wizard and manage to get your tweet to go viral through retweeting or on TV shows, Twitter doesn't seem to offer much. Unless you are a blogger.

Content is the key to good blogging. Some folk blog about their daily life, others  about a book release / product review / competition. Authors engage in round-robin writing challenges, give updates on their WIP and share writing tips. People tend to follow or bookmark the blog if the content has value for the reader: well written, entertaining and pertinent.

If you write a good blog post it can pull in considerable traffic to your platform and you might even sell the odd book or two (although the jury is out on whether there's any real correlation between blog traffic and book sales). Write a great or controversial blog post and it could go viral, even be the catalyst that catapults your writing from relative obscurity to Amazon top 100 (John Locke, of purchased review infamy, believes his viral blog post about baseball was the tipping point for selling a million).

The killer is this: when you've written a good blog post, it's still there and will pull some traffic through tags, keywords, SEO stuff, but it soon becomes old news, after a week or so. Right? Wrong. How many people viewed that post? A hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand? That's peanuts. Goodreads alone has over 20 million members. The majority of your target audience haven't read your stuff. My Compulsive Communication Syndrome post has had over 17,000 pageviews (mostly by people Googling elephants) but, until I start getting irate emails telling me to shut the hell up about those elephants, I haven't reached saturation with it. That post is still news. 
So how best to leverage all that great content you've slaved over when you should have been writing your latest novel? Send a killer tweet. Use keywords, hashtags and a link to the blog post. Sounds easy, it can be done. Did anyone spot it on Twitter? Any increase in page views? Now it's disappeared again into the 500 million daily tweets.

You need a way to share your best tweets about your best blog posts with people around the globe, in different time zones and on different days. I discovered (yeah, discovered - I'm always the last to know) how to do this while away from home having a Bunfight at the Breaffy House Hotel on the west coast of Ireland. Trawl through your old tweets and find the best one you sent for that post, the one that was retweeted and favorited by others. Do that for all your best blog content and build up a list of tweets in excel, notepad or similar. Make sure you check the tweets don't refer to expired competitions or offers, and click all links through to be sure they still work. Now you need to schedule those tweets using something like Hootsuite. Watch the stats on your blog and see the numbers grow. Try scheduling at different times to catch the Americas, Europe, Australasia and Asia. Look at the audience and work out what's effective for you and your content.

Your blog traffic should have multiplied with this little exercise, but your twitter dementia will be escalating. Try scheduling nothing for a couple of days (if you can bear it) and see your blog traffic drop. You'll soon be back on the scheduling, trying to build the numbers back up and keep your content live. Oh, talking of content, shouldn't you be writing a new blog post? And how's the new novel WIP coming along? Feeling stressed? Don't panic, we have a couple more cards up our sleeve that will exorcise this compulsive communication demon.

Semi-automate your top tweet content, driving traffic to your blog back catalog. Your twitter and blog followers are increasing so use some tool like JustUnfollow to drop unfollowers and follow back new fans, and everything is dandy. Until someone unfollows you, a someone you value as a top tweep influencer. Are they fed up with your play list of repeats? Are you swamping their twitter feed? It could be that they followed you for interaction and aren't getting it from you anymore. Unfollow them and then follow back, in case it was a mistake by them. They'll come back to you if it was. It's always a good idea to keep putting those personal tweets in manually, those run-to-the-computer moments when something great pops into your head. And don't forget to say thank you to folks when they mention you and reply to any valid direct messages.

Feed140 was a very useful too for autoscheduling of tweets but has become a victim of its own popularity. The number of users swamped the architecture of this free tool and it’s currently offline pending redesign. An automated schedule of tweets linking to evergreen content (blog posts, book reviews etc) is a real boon for any author who wants to drive traffic through their social media platform. Are you already autoscheduling your tweets? What tool are you using, what’s the cost and would you recommend it?

I’ve blown Triberr’s trumpet several times and I’ll blow it again. Triberr is a great source of expanded coverage for new blog posts. It can be a bit tricky to get yourself set up and connected with the right people but it’s worth the effort in terms of additional traffic. Connect your blog and twitter to your Triberr account (and Facebook and LinkedIn if you wanna go the whole hog). Join a tribe that has members with blogging interests you want to share on your social media platform (this is important - their content should be pertinent for the people in your network). When you post on your blog it will automatically be shared with the tribes you are a member of. They have the option to share your posts with their social networks (Twitter, LinkedIn, Facebook, Google+, Stumbleupon).

Example: I have 7,988 Twitter followers, I'm a member of 16 tribes on Triberr with 400 tribemates and a reach of over 2 million Twitter followers. When I blog around half of those tribemates will share my content to their networks. Depending upon how well my blog post title works as a tweet (and it can be edited on Triberr to put in a hashtag or extra keyword) I'll get a boost of extra traffic on my new blog post for every day the post remains active on Triberr.

Conversely, in the spirit of give-and-take that is Triberr, I go onto the site once a day and share every post in my tribal stream that has content I consider relevant to my network. I share writing and publishing tips and news, good book reviews, author interviews, tasty-looking recipes, relevant competitions and beautiful / clever writing on any topic. Those posts enrich my tweet stream with something new at a maximum frequency of every half an hour. I read most every post that I share and have benefitted personally from a lot of that content too.

Phew! Sometimes it all just has to come out. It's easy to set the machine running and keep it ticking over. Does it sell more books? The only way to be sure is to switch your platform off for an extended period. Are you going to take that risk? See you on the other side.

Ruby Barnes is the author of Peril, Getting Out of Dodge, The Baptist, Koobi Fora and The New Author, all on Amazon.