Handing your ‘book baby’ to your readers

For the past 12 months I have been nurturing and looking after a book baby. The process is much like a real baby in many ways. First of all there’s the time where that baby is yours and only yours. Hidden from the world. Safe and protected while it grows.

Once that baby comes into the world you protect, love, feed, live and breathe that baby every waking moment – and sleeping moments as well. It wakes you in the middle of the night and you have no choice but to get up and feed it some more. It interrupts you time and time again and you find it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

My book baby is called Find Me, and finally it’s time to hand it over to my readers. It is a daunting and scary feeling but one that I will never forget.

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  • To one of my first readers Prue in Australia, who finished the book the same day she purchased it and posted this 5-star review: Heartbreaking – Congrats on a fabulous story of which I could not put down. My heart cried for all those families that lose some one. And to those that are lost.
  • And to my Sunshine Reader from Knoxville: Love Australian setting! Deals with an important issue, too. Wow. This book transported me into another world. I loved being in the Australian outback, complete with cowboys and “B&S Balls” (Bachelor and Spinster Balls). This story contains a delicate balance of romance, mystery, crime and sadness. It is obvious the author has an affinity for missing people and it’s interesting how she highlights they different types of people who go missing.
  • Then there’s Ariel from Boston: I love the 80s – the music – I love the 80s – the music, the fashion and the simplicity of life without the modern technologies we have today. But what Melissa highlights so well in this book is the lessons we can learn from the 80s, especially when it comes to missing persons. She gives a realistic perspective of so many issues from what it was like to be a policewoman in the 80s to what it was like to be the family member of someone who is missing. Beautifully written. This book will stay with me for a long time.
  • And Kristina, also from Australia: The voices of the missing must be heard with new ears. I have been waiting for this book since I read Melissa’s debut Write About Me. And it’s been so worth the wait!! Another page-turner written from the heart. Couldn’t put it down. Congratulations to an exciting new Australian author.

Thank you to all my readers for taking care of my baby. Enjoy!

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Write About Me moves bookshelves into mystery, thriller and crime

One of the best parts about publishing your book on Amazon is the incredible opportunities it provides for self-published authors. As Amazon aims to keep pace with the ever-changing book publishing world, authors and writers can stay on the front foot and be continually finding new opportunities to sell more books.

As a new self-published author I am learning every day and one thing I’ve discovered is the importance of which category or shelf your book is on in the biggest bookstore in the world.

After seeking advice from other authors and doing my own research, Write About Me has now changed shelves. These are its new categories which align more closely with the type of book it is.

I will keep you posted about what happens from here as I roll out my new virtual marketing strategy – stay tuned!

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Love being on top!

We knew that would get your attention! That’s the power of words.

But in author speak, on top means #1 and that’s exactly where Write About Me is currently sitting. And we’re pretty excited here at The Word Mint for our author Melissa-Jane Pouliot. If you want to see what all the fuss is about, pack some tissues, don your best 80s gear and enjoy the ride.

  • Write About Me is available on Amazon as a Kindle and paperback
  • It is also available as a paperback from a range of stockists in Australia

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“Missing” Christmas memories

imageA Christmas photo taken without us knowing reminds me of my last Christmas with Ursula. She has red scary flash eyes in the photo. It’s not flattering. She doesn’t look beautiful. She isn’t laughing and joking. It’s just a snap. Our Aunty probably took it. She always had a camera in hand.We are sitting side by side. Like we did every Christmas. We are on the floor. Squeezed between furniture, decorations and other family members. All trying to get the best view of the tree. None of us close to it apart from the designated Santa and his helper who dishes out the gifts.I am dressed in purple. My favourite colour. Ursula in a greyish patterned jumpsuit. Very stylish in 1986. I am trying to find the clasp on some beautiful new purple beads I have just unwrapped. I loved those beads. I wore them with everything. So stylish. So 80s.The only memory I have of that day, apart from what the photograph captures, is walking and talking outside with Ursula and standing underneath a lush and shady honeysuckle. We didn’t stop talking when we stopped walking. We never did. I reach into the depths of my mind, struggling and straining to recall the exact words. Nothing. Just a feeling. Hot Australian summer’s day. Standing in the coolest shadiest spot we could find. Away from the adults. As they wanted. As we wanted. Dirt under our feet. It’s too shady here for grass to grow. Trucks and traffic would have been going past but we were so used to the passing traffic we never heard or smelt it. Tears wash everything away. Not wet tears from my eyes. Tears that form a lump in the pit of my stomach. They never reach my eyes. They just sit there inside somewhere I can’t reach. Threatening to come. But they never do. Just like the memories. They are threatening to come. But they never do. I am frustrated. And very very sad. The memories are gone. I don’t remember anything of my last Christmas with Ursula. All I have is a photograph and a feeling of standing with her in the shade of a sweet honeysuckle. If I had known it was my last Christmas with Ursula I would have wrapped the day in the brightest red paper I could find and tied it with a shiny, sparkly green ribbon. I would have gotten the scissors out and dragged it along the ribbon strip to make it curl magically and create the most beautiful, handmade and most loved Christmas gift ever. Then on Christmas Day forever more I would carefully unwrap this special gift. What would I find inside? Seventeen years of memories, conversations, events, moments and treasures. And 26 years of questions with no answers, a mystery unsolved and a longing for the truth about what Ursula is doing this Christmas Day.