Calculating ROI - and Accounting for the Intangible

Our topic at the SFF Seven this week is our worst ROI ever. So many to choose from!

ROI is industry shorthand for Return on Investment. It's basically a calculation for financial health of a business. I looked up the origin and found out that Donaldson Brown created the term.

As the Assistant Treasurer [of DuPont] in 1914, Brown developed a formula for monitoring business performance that combined earnings, working capital, and investments in plants and property into a single measure that he termed “return on investment.” It later became known in academic and financial circles as the DuPont Method (or Model) for Return on Investment. The measure was widely taught in business schools and adopted by many companies as a means of benchmarking the financial health of their products and businesses.

That's interesting, because I wondered if it was an old model. Turns out it's over a century old!

Also, the term comprises much more than I think most writers mean when they use it. When I hear writers talk about ROI, it's always whether a particular effort - a conference, buying an ad, buying into an anthology - will be more expensive than the sales it generates. Many reduced it to the simplest math: "If I spend this much attending a con, will I earn more than that on sales of my books?" Often husbands are cited as putting forth this equation, usually as justification for wives not attending cons.

When asked for my opinion there (and sometimes even when NOT asked), I have always said that conferences of all types provide an intangible ROI. Networking and getting your books in front of people give long-term results that aren't always quantifiable. Since I was doing a bit of research, I looked up if anyone thinks the DuPont Model for ROI is antiquated. Turns out there's this:

We demonstrate that firms 'assets are becoming increasing more intangible, and the traditional DuPont Analysis omits this crucial piece of a firm's ability to generate profit.

Those folks are talking market equity, but it occurs to me that many authors looking at simple math and short-term sales are failing to account for the intangible value of building recognition for their work over the long term. 

But I digress. 

The topic today asks about my personal worst return on investment. Since I don't really do the calculations - see above - I don't know a precise metric. I can, however, share an investment regret. When my very first book came out, the essay collection Wyoming Trucks, True Love, and the Weather Channel, a friend of mine, Chuck, told me one of HIS great regrets was not buying a case of his first book. The first edition was worth a great deal and he was sorry not to have done that. So, I bought a case of my books!

Reader: I still have most of them.

See, my first book didn't sell tons of copies and I have not become an NYT bestseller with a TV miniseries based on my books, unlike Chuck. He meant well, and I adore him for thinking that I would have the same trajectory, but I'm not C.J. Box, alas! 

I suppose the key takeaway here is that there is no one size fits all advice. 

Also, that the ROI on cats is always solid.

 

Joy Times Three

Tis the season to remember that joy needs attention. It requires focus. Joy is a little like a butterfly - beautiful, fragile, but persistent and capable of astonishing feats. Held too tightly, it crumbles. It arrives when conditions have been cultivated to attract it - like planting milkweed in the garden attracts monarchs. You can also chase joy across continents and into dark jungles if finding the rarest kinds intrigues you. I am one of those people who needs to be reminded to allow myself to stop and let joy arrive. Three things help do that.

1. Cats. Living with little obligate carnivores who have massive outsized personalities is a delight. Each cat has his or her specific routines and every day, I'm gifted with a few minutes with each of them. Perceval wants to nap in my lap. Arya wants me to brush her and then throw her favorite toy. Peseshet wants me to come out to the lanai and pet her while she rolls on the bricks in the sun. Crow wants to lounge in my lap each evening. Raven needs a milk bottle cap slid along the floor for him to chase and fetch back to me. And Corvid needs a cuddle in one specific rocking chair in the house where he can flop over and pretend to nurse against my stomach. There's a lot of cute (and weird) but there's something warm and lovely and joyful about being a safe place for these creatures who share my home.

 

2. Boats. This one is cheating a little because it hits so many joy buttons for me. Nature. Stories. Freedom. Adventure. Getting to go new places and see/experience new things. Silence. Broad swathes of stillness and time. Sailing requires that you make room to simply stop and be. I love the sun on my skin and a good breeze filling my sails and the pull of water on my wheel or tiller. Feeling my way into the groove where wave and water and boat all work together. It isn't always possible. Conditions aren't always right for that. But the times it all aligns, challenging conditions turn into a sleigh ride that takes you from point A to point B in relative ease. It's a metaphor that extends well past taking the swells on the quarter and a 25 knot wind slightly aft of abeam.

3. Tea. Tea is a trip in a cup. It's a simple ritual that invites you to slow down, close your eyes, breathe in the fragrant steam rising from a set of wet leaves that grew half a world away. 

Noodling Newsletters

 Full disclosure: Having a difficult mental health day. So if this comes across as defeatist and maudlin, it probably is. There's a chance this is a side effect of a new migraine medication. Or it's just -- [waves hand around.] I'm frankly not sure how I'm supposed to know the difference, which is full on annoying.

Anyway. Newsletters. I subscribe to a few. Mostly friends. Aaaaand like others have already said, I don't read them. My time and attention are so fragmented. I cannot imagine that anyone else in this post modern apocalypse is any different. We have to pick where our shards of time are spent. If I have a few random seconds, I'd rather read your book. Not your newsletter. I'd rather write. I'd rather pet a cat. I'd rather plant flowers.

I do have a newsletter. After a fashion. I rarely send one out. My issue is that writing is already enough like screaming into the void that I don't need to add a newsletter to that mix. I realize that it's my life, so of course it's boring to me. But there's nothing in my life or in my writing process that is worth conveying to others on a monthly basis. My life is no different from anyone else's life. We're all doing the best we can. Yes, I could use it as a promotional tool. Could do. And honestly, that is about the only time I ship a newsletter. When I have something to promote. But a regularly scheduled product? Not currently my cup. I'd like it to be different. I'd like to be a different writer than I am. The best thing I could think to do with a newsletter would be to put outtake scenes or short-short stories in - make it some kind of value add. I could see doing that and hoping that readers would enjoy that. It would require a different life than the one I have, however. Because right now, about all I could offer would be a chronic daily migraine support newsletter with medication efficacy experiences, relief product reviews, and cautions for migraineurs that noise cancelling headphones are likely to set off an attack (but not if you turn off the noise cancellation.) And of course I could talk about cats. Endlessly. I just don't think there's much overlap between those audiences and the SFR audience. Some, sure. And maybe I'd convert one or two. But really, I'd rather just write stories and let those do the conversion. That's the goal, isn't it. Let the stories we love bring in people who might love them, too.

My Three Favorite Backyard Visitors

In the My Favorite list, I'm coming in with my three favorite backyard visitors. 

 

1. Colorful insect life. Mom and I wanted to plant flowers that would support pollinators. We've succeeded. The bees love our yard. As a bonus, we've seen a startling array of fluttery, colorful butterflies and moths. The runner up for this stunning blue butterfly is the hummingbird moth. They visit to feed on my salvias  in the early morning, but there's no hope of getting a photo of them.

2. The bird life. The sand hill cranes wander through all the time hunting for frogs, snakes, and other tidbits to eat. We also see ibis, pelicans, great blue herons, little blue herons, little green herons, cormorants, anhingas, and all kinds of ducks. It's a never ending parade.

3. Then there's this doofus and all of her brothers and sisters. That's the bbq grill she's stuffed herself underneath for a snooze. They are definitely my favorite wildlife.

Jackson Cosplaying a Vulture

This week at the SFF Seven, we're throwing some joy into your timeline by sharing a pic of our pets and a silly thing they do, or our favorite pet meme.

Those of you who follow me regularly are familiar with Jackson, my 17lb Maine coon cat. He has his own fan following, which he considers his just due and he also doesn't care. Unless you have a snack for him. Because Jackson is diligent about maintaining his manly strength, which means acquiring regular snacks. Here he is pulling the Snoopy vulture routine, sitting on the back of my husband's chair while David attempts to eat his dinner. 

Here's a closeup for you.

Sometimes he adds a light claw prick to the head or cheek, just in case we've managed to ignore his looming presence...

Top Three Reasons Not to Take the Cat to the Vet

 

Top three reasons? 

There are that many water bowls. All over the house. Not to mention how many massive puddles (and water flung 3/4 of the way up walls, thank you very much) I had to try to clean up for the first eight hours this little monster came down off the vet's laughing gas. 

I asked the vet tech who called the next morning to check on him what the hell they give cats nowadays to put them under for surgery. Cause this is the second time I've had cats who are normally mortally offended by water decide they were mercats after a little happy juice. She laughed.

Corvid had some bad teeth. They're gone. He's fine now. I didn't even ruffle his fur after the shower he gave at the end of this video.

Troping the Story

Cats on the internet. Is that a trope? Heaven knows I Can Has Cheezeburger has gone to town on storytelling with cat photos and a few captions. Bleps, like the one Cuillean has going on here, are definitely a trope in the cat photo world.

As for me, I have never met a trope I didn't like. Except, y'know, fridging girl friends or other sexist/violent/misogynistic. Also? If your trope kills an innocent critter just to show up how bad your baddie is, I will toss your book against the wall. And then in the donate pile. Unless it's really egregious. Then I might destroy it rather than inflict it upon another reader. But really. After that, I'm good! Just don't rest too comfortably on your trope. Give me a light touch and have a little fun with it and I'm yours. Like Jeffe, I like myself some enemy to lovers. I love long odds and heroines and heroes who don't yet know what they're capable of.

Honestly, for me, tropes are never the problem. It's how they're handled that determines whether I'm going to go for the story ride or spend my reading time rolling my eyes until I can look at my brain. If you want to give me a secret baby story, but don't give me a woman keeping her kid a secret. It'd be a cool twist for the dad with the secret baby. Don't hold me to that, though, cause I'm working on a book right now with a secret kid and she's with her mom -- so I guess, don't trope as I trope.

#1 Thing to Assuage Holiday Stress

I posted this pic to Instagram Stories asking people to vote on whether this is a helpful cat or not. Something like 82% voted "yes." (I forgot to look at the final score before the story expired.) This only proves that my tribe of followers are TOTAL CAT PUSHOVERS.

And yes, that's THE FATE OF THE TALA on the monitor. I was amused by how many people messaged asking if that's what they spied. Those who listen to my podcast know that I'm struggling with this book, but I'm also at 88K now - which I originally thought would be my total! - and I'm getting there...

NOT helped by cats who insert themselves between my hand and the mouse.

Anyhooo....

Our topic at the SFF Seven this week is our #1 Thing to do to keep our sanity this holiday season.

My #1 Thing? ENJOY

I'd put sparklies around the word if I could. I've been big on this lately, but I'm going to say that focusing on Delight & Gladness is the key. The holiday celebrations are supposed to be FUN, dammit! The midwinter ones in the northern hemisphere in particular (sorry about all of you roasting down in Australia - I suggest chilled white wine and Tim Minchin) are designed to lift us out of the doldrums of darkness and wintry chill.

So, I make a point to find time to ENJOY things I love about the holiday season. I go look at lights. I watch schmaltzy Christmas shows. I eat treats I don't normally indulge in, and drink champagne (okay, I always do this) out of pretty glasses I keep special for just this time of year. I arrange for outings with friends to indulge in holiday cocktails and beautifully decorated spaces. (Hotel bars are great for this!)

I say, find what really gives you Delight & Gladness in the holiday season and do that as much as you can. I do believe sanity will follow.

Happy Holiday Season, all!

Rules? Eeeh. Sometimes.

Perceval

It's not a week unless there's a new foster. This little dude is Perceval, a silver tabby boy. He's about 5 months old. He's at that stage where his body is bigger than his head. He looks like he was made up out of mismatching cat parts. His adult teeth are coming in, so at the moment, he has a double set of fangs as his baby teeth are still in place. He has yet to be neutered, so we'll be taking care of that soon. 

The other foster cat, Murphy, went to a perfect forever home on Thursday. 

Life is good. But hey! Folks in Florida and surrounding environs. Anyone looking for a sweet, handsome kitten?? Let me hook you up.

Rules.

Yeah, I guess I follow a few. I might even be pedantic about a some of them. Ask anyone who's asked me to critique a manuscript before. I can't claim that certain rules are dumb - they have their uses and their reasons for being. But you know, if the purpose of the written word is to communicate exquisitely - not perfectly, not always precisely - but to convey voice and tone and meaning all in one twist of phrase? Ah, then the rules cannot contain us. We're serving a higher master.

If you read through my post, you'll be able to guess which rule I most enjoy flouting. It's starting a sentence with a conjunction word. And. But. I annoy my editors with it, yet when a book gets published, a couple of them remain. To this day, I see one of my English teachers glowering at me over it. Thing is, in extremity, how many of us think in perfectly grammatical sentences? We don't. At least, *I* don't. Actually, I never do, but that's another rant. I like saving starting sentences with and or but for high frustration moments. It's a bit of character revelation. You know something about a character who rolls her eyes and thinks, "And that's me out of ammo. Fuck." You know something different about another character who shouts, "But you're wrong." at someone. Sure, in a draft I go overboard. Waaaay overboard. I try to dial it back in edits. But yeah. I'll argue that breaking the rules is all kinds of valid so long as it's being plied consciously to achieve a specific effect. Furthering characterization/character voice. Or to convey a specific image or emotion. So. If you want to break the rules, go for it. I'll stand by your decision to do so. 

(The observant among you will also note I have a thing for sentence fragments. It's true. Oh, look. It's Mrs. Briedenbach. Frowning at me again.)

The Internet Was Made for Cats

Yeah, you're not getting blurbs from me. Sorry. Some might argue that I'm not all that coherent at the best of times, but at the moment, I can't pretend to make any kind of sense at all. I'm running on sleep caught in 2 hour shifts because I'm unexpectedly a new mom.

 

Saturday morning, one of the colony caretakers called in a panic because someone had driven up in the middle of the night and dumped this litter of kittens at the colony. None of the other colony caretakers had the bandwidth to take on fostering the babies, so they landed in my lap.  

Yes. They're adorable and fluffy and cute. But they were in very serious condition when they got to me. They'd been without food and warmth for long enough, they'd started to shut down. It took concerted effort to bring three of the four back from the brink of death. The fourth kitten couldn't recover.

 We looked for another foster solution for these babies. I have two elderly females who I'd promised would get to have peaceful, kittenless retirements. One of those females is chronically ill. So I was doubly motivated to find another placement for the kittens. It was the Humane Society of Tampa Bay who sat me down and explained that in a complete reversal of what I'm accustomed to, it is the peak of kitten season in Florida. No one was going to take these kittens from me because all the inns are full to bursting. The only option I had was to take them to the Pinellas County shelter which cannot turn an animal away - the only problem is that they euthanize bottle babies seconds after they come through the door because that shelter simply doesn't have the man power to care for tiny kittens. That was a nope.  

And this is my plea. Consider fostering an animal for your local Humane Society or local shelter. It needn't be kittens. Any animal you foster still belongs to the shelter and the shelter handles all veterinary care. You provide food, love, walks and possibly a little training. What you don't see is that by taking that animal out of a shelter cage, the animal is automatically more adoptable (and not just by you if you foster fail.) You, as the foster care-giver, will provide SO much more information to potential adopters. The adopters know the animal knows how to behave in a home environment. You'll be able to answer temperament questions and relay funny or endearing stories about the foster critter that will draw adopters in. You'll also be clearing space for another animal in desperate need. By fostering one, you save two. At least. You don't need much. 

Here's my set up for the babies. A plastic bin with old towels, a pet heating pad (only covers one half of the bin, only turns on with an animal is on it, and only heats to 102.) More towels a stuffed animal as a cuddle buddy, and a cover to keep the AC from blowing on them. In a week, I'll need another solution, cause they're already starting to attempt jail breaks. But for now, these babies are easily portable. The first two days, they went with me wherever I went so I could feed them any 

time they squeaked. They're stable now and can be left for three of four hours at a time. 

Makes for some tough nights getting up to feed every three hours. But it's worth it. 

We're joking now that we're growing our own Halloween Decorations. And yes. I did name them Crow, Raven, and Corvid. You need only hear them to comprehend why. 

My elderly girls are deeply unimpressed and, in fact, we just had the vet in for Hatshepsut because she stopped eating. But no guilt trips, right? We have meds and I think we might be on our way to getting on track, my poor girl. I'd spare her this stress if I could, but no one else will take these kittens. And no way will they be turned over to a pound just to be killed for being little.

I guess the thing that stays with me is something the vet said after the first kitten died. 

He nodded while I cried and said, "You're doing what's right. Not what's easy." 

I hope that's true for these three little squeak-monsters (who are currently teething and VERY angry about that development.) It also strikes me as a really thought provoking way to approach writing. Do what's right. Not what's easy. I like it.

Anyone want a kitten? How about three??

Embracing the Brand

Whelp. After reading Jeffe's excellent post about author brand, it belatedly dawns on me I have one. One I hadn't, to this point, known about, much less embraced.

Crazy Cat Lady.

Seriously. Follow me on Instagram. @marcellaburnard  Have a look at my gallery. Go back through my blog posts. How many cat photos versus photos of literally anything else? Also, who just landed a part time job as a veterinary assistant for a cat-only clinic based solely on a long history of rescue work and learning to give subcutaneous fluids to her own cats? Yeeeeeah.

Not to mention that if you read the reviews of the last book I put out (Damned If He Does) - the very first cat I've written into a story gets mentioned in reviews more than the main characters. I'm seeing a trend here.

But I'm not certain how to capitalize on that, you know? I mean, okay. 10% of everything I make goes to animal rescue (Best Friends and Big Cat Rescue, specifically).  But that's not exactly - I don't know - flashy? Visible? Easily identified?

I could wear sweaters knitted from the fur I've combed from my cats to all my events, but I have concerns about just how many readers would be seriously allergic to me . . .

Wonder if Hatshesput would consent to wear a 'service animal' vest and come to events with me. Without murdering me in my sleep for the affront of making her wear clothes.

Meet the Pets!

Check out the awesome cover for the fourth Sorcerous Moons book!! It releases Tuesday, January 24, but you can preorder at a few retailers. The blurb:

An Enemy Land

Once Princess Oria spun wicked daydreams from the legends of sorceresses kidnapped by the barbarian Destrye. Now, though she’s come willingly, she finds herself in a mirror of the old tales: the king’s foreign trophy of war, starved of magic, surrounded by snowy forest and hostile strangers. But this place has secrets, too—and Oria must learn them quickly if she is to survive.

A Treacherous Court

Instead of the refuge he sought, King Lonen finds his homeland desperate and angry, simmering with distrust of his wife. With open challenge to his rule, he knows he and Oria—the warrior wounded and weak, the sorceress wrung dry of power—must somehow make a display of might. And despite the desire that threatens to undo them both, he still cannot so much as brush her skin.

A Fight for the Future

With war looming and nowhere left to run, Lonen and Oria must use every intrigue and instinct they can devise: to plumb Dru’s mysteries, to protect their people—and to hold fast to each other. Because they know better than any what terrifying trial awaits…

****************

This week on the blog, we're featuring the pets of the SFF Seven.

(Or ferns, in some cases, maybe. Or the neighbor's pet - we shall see!)

Here at Chez Kennedy, we have two semi-famous pet residents. At any rate, pics of my Maine coon cats get more attention than posts about my books a lot of the time.

Not that I'm jealous.

Much.

Okay, I'm not bothered at all because Jackson and Isabel bring light and love into our lives. They're an integral part of my and David's day to day. 

Isabel is the older kitty. In fact, tomorrow, January 23, is her eleventh birthday!! Happy birthday, Isabelly!! I'm not saying I sing to my cats, but if I did, my song for her might be to the tune of "Cinderelly" from the Disney version and goes "Isabelly, Isabelly, she's a beauty, Isabelly." She is, too. She's a blue smoke, and does look blue in some lights. She also has a lovely smile. 

Jackson is our tuxedo boy. He turns five this year in March, and tends to get more press because he's always getting into trouble. Where Isabel is all about Zen grace, Jackson is irrepressible. Just yesterday I found him hanging out by the bouquet of lilies - with orange pollen all over the white of his muzzle. He just HAD to stick his face in the flowers. (Don't worry - he didn't eat any. Neither of them are plant-chewers.)