In an earlier blog post, I took you step by step through my reasoning as I considered whether or not to turn my latest book, A Dawn Run Hot with Morning, into an e-book. (Click here to see the previous post.) The findings of a recent Bain & Company report add fuel to the debate and seem to point me in one distinct direction.
According to the October 2010 report, 15 - 20 % of the world's population in the US, Europe and Japan will own e-readers (e.g. a Kindle or a Nook) by 2015. Given that these projections are not huge, I might be content to continue to simply publish paper versions of my book. The idea that I publish paper only is made somewhat more attractive by the fact that the first wave of e-reader owners are men ages 20 - 35. I hope to reach this audience; my first book, Contemplating Eve, sold 75% of books to women ages 40 and up. I did not reach a younger audience likely due to the pricing of the book. (Click here to read the blog post on this topic.) An e-book, given its low pricing, might provide just the right opportunity to reach a wider audience.
That said, according to the report, people who read voraciously do maintain their attachment to paper books. So, am I smart or am I complacent not to publish an e-book? According to Bain & Company, much is at stake for publishers and authors with the "migration to digital publishing". With the rise of virtual distributors like Amazon, profits are being redistributed, roles are reversing and there is an “evolution” in the way content is being created.
The reality is that the winds of change are blowing swiftly through the publishing world. Although the changes will not cause an industry-wide shock the way the introduction of digital formats did to the music industry, publishing has little time to prepare for the demand. The migration is important to the publishing industry because e-books will represent 20 - 28% of profits in the medium-to long-term.
While best-selling authors gain bargaining power and can earn an increased share of the profits, Bain & Company notes that emerging writers should find a publisher to handle marketing until the author's brand is established. At that point, the author could become a free agent, much like Paulo Cuelho, who recently gave exclusive distribution rights for international online sales of 17 of his last books to Amazon.
As for me, I'm moving in the direction of an e-book. And while it would be nice to have an expert to manage the many facets of marketing necessary for stellar book sales, that prospect is not on the radar at the moment. Publishing an e-book continues to be something that I research. I continue to grow my fan base through this blog, through Twitter and with my Facebook page. Next is a migration to an e-book.
Tell me your thoughts. Do you own an e-reader? Which would you prefer to purchase, the $2.99 e-book version of A Dawn Run Hot with Morning or the $9.99 paper version?
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Book Trailer
Now available on Amazon!
Buy it now!
"This is a great piece of work. The very talented January Nicole Wilson's poetry captivated me from the first verse. She has assembled a profound and inspirational collection -- even better than her previous book, Contemplating Eve. And don't miss the artwork, which includes some very evocative pieces. I highly recommend it." -Xavier Martin, Editor & Consultant
"After reading Contemplating Eve, I had to have A Dawn Run Hot with Morning. I loved it! Collectively the poems encapsulate life. They paint pictures of irrepressible joy and hope, the shock of unexpected but inevitable darkness, and acknowledges those who help us embrace an imperfect world." -Lolethia Kibble, Educational Administrator
"What an extraordinary writer!" -LaVerne Holmes, Entrepreneur
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Africa as muse...
What follows is a proofread but unedited account of three months spent in Ghana, West Africa. Feel free to comment on this early draft of an essay which appears in my third book of poetry, The Lily & The Aster.
The year was 2006. It was the rainy season. I woke up next to a dear friend, Sam, a friend I had made since I arrived in Kumasi. Ghana was the land of possibility. Each day brought new insight. On this particular day, I had to go into the office before heading out to the villages on the outskirts of the city. So, I dressed. I left the apartment with Sam and climbed into a "tiki-taxi," a coupe with a tiny back seat. The taxi driver found a way to accommodate four adults, anything to make some extra money. It was a cozy ride to the office, but it suited our needs. We were in a rush.
Once we arrived in Ahodowo, our destination, I made sure to tip the cab driver generously. I had been given a large stipend for eating - one larger than I could fathom using in three months - so, I wanted to share what I had with hardworking Ghanaians who provided their services to me. I thought that perhaps they could stretch a cedi further than I could.
Just outside the office, I could not help but notice the marked contrasts in the marketplace. On the one hand, men in well-pressed suits were lined up at food stands. They were the professionals - the doctors, the lawyers and the accountants, who received regular paychecks and who lived in gated communities far away from the city center. These men shopped for food where nearby sewage ran in the open and behind which the neighborhood’s children chased goats for sport. Meanwhile market women, eager to sell their wares, stood, and sometimes squatted, at food stands, their children hidden in the shadows. These market women were a neighborhood’s most important business people; these were the entrepreneurs, who wielded significant political power. Here in this city center, conspicuous wealth was juxtaposed to wretched poverty.
To get at the stories of the men in well- pressed suits and eager market women, I had to scratch beneath the surface. I had to ask the right questions to get at the stories that belied quick judgment. Such questions are critical to any travel experience and brought me a step closer to understanding the unfamiliar world which surrounded me.
What awaited us at the office was an unexpected lecture from my co-worker, Gyan. Upon seeing a photograph from my visits with local farmers in nearby villages, he had the following insights to share about the photograph:
.jpg)
We arrived in Wassa West, just outside of Kumasi, to find a group of 30 women and a male translator seated in chairs in the vacant space outside among the village's mud houses. Each woman in the village spoke her native Twi, while a young man translated for Sam and I who spoke English.
The group was one of farmers and their product was palm oil made from the palm nut, which is used particularly in chocolate. We spent one day assessing the effectiveness of the small loans administered to them which would finance equipment, materials and other goods related to raising and producing palm oil.
Ultimately, over the years, the social impact of profits generated from the group’s small agribusiness in Wassa West helped send children to secondary school and to college. (This in a country where completing primary school is an educational and financial challenge for children and families.) Women in the group helped pay the bills, offered more nutritious meals to their families and were less dependent on their husbands.
With this in mind, I approached the assessment with a certain optimism. The impact financing had and could have for farmers and their families was inspiring. If the not-for-profit I worked for could remain self-sufficient, it could continue to provide low-interest loans to a population in need of hope. If it were a wise and dynamic organization, it would transform to better meet the needs of its clients. Eager lessons I would take with me on a trip to Guatemala.
I took photos of the group of farmers once we were finished with the interviews and focus groups. And I heard a familiar word from one woman, "obruni", meaning white person or foreigner. As a native explained to me later, the attitude among the villagers, and one woman in particular, was that taking photos is not something an "Ashanti" or "African" person might do. It is simply not tolerated culturally and was a sign of just how foreign I was.
After visiting numerous groups of women farmers, we set out late in the afternoon for Kumasi. Sam, the driver and I arrived late, but just in time for dinner. Sam and I finally had some private time. We visited an Ivorian restaurant. We shared a plate of fried fish with fresh vegetables and atieke (a starch which resembles cornmeal.)
Kumasi was a city of contrasts. Ghana was the land of possibility. "Africa to me" was a place of old stories. A place where women, heads heavy with water-filled urns, stood statuesque on the bank of a river exchanging local gossip with women from neighboring villages. This is a simple yet familiar image, but also one that tells an old story that is common across the continent of Africa. This story hints at a rich culture; this is not a story of poverty.
While when I arrived in Kumasi I shuttered at such an image or, more, at the idea of women drinking unclean drinking water, I soon came to share the perspective of locals. One woman from a nearby village put it this way: “We are our households’ local newscasters. We listen to and share the latest news with friends, family and others we might stumble upon along the way to a watering hole.” Upon leaving Ghana, I decided that this was exactly the way things are supposed to be.
My feet find new
Rhythms on
Foreign soil.
"The best thing about going to Ghana was coming home.” This
is what I said to my brother half-seriously upon arriving home from the
airport. Indeed it had been a tough three months working in Kumasi, Ghana, but
I could not deny that the friendships I developed and the many discoveries I
made had changed the course of my life. It also changed the way I looked at
poverty in Africa.
Imagine attending graduate school in the bustling and
sophisticated city of Washington, DC and stepping off of a plane, after an 11
hour flight into a largely rural country for a three month internship working
for a not-for-profit microfinance institution. I experienced culture shock on a
number of levels.
Despite the hard months I spent adjusting to the fundamentally
different culture, food and language, I made the best decision possible in
choosing to work in Ghana.
Although my trip to Ghana had been an adventure, I was glad to
be home. What I failed to realize in my exasperation upon arriving home, was
that the trip had a positive impact on me. New insights inform my poetry and,
more broadly, my daily life. This essay
follows me through a typical day in the field with microfinance clients in
Ghana in the final month of the trip. The essay captures many of the
discoveries and insights I made during my time in Ghana.
The year was 2006. It was the rainy season. I woke up next to a dear friend, Sam, a friend I had made since I arrived in Kumasi. Ghana was the land of possibility. Each day brought new insight. On this particular day, I had to go into the office before heading out to the villages on the outskirts of the city. So, I dressed. I left the apartment with Sam and climbed into a "tiki-taxi," a coupe with a tiny back seat. The taxi driver found a way to accommodate four adults, anything to make some extra money. It was a cozy ride to the office, but it suited our needs. We were in a rush.
Along the way, I remarked upon how differently I saw the people
in cars and pedestrians that we passed by every day. I had a general knowledge
about the people around me that I did not have upon arriving in Ghana.
On our way to the office, we passed tro-tros, 1970s mini-vans
used as local buses, and pedestrians dressed in either second-hand clothes from
the United States or traditional garb. (While in Ghana I learned quickly that
donated clothes, vehicles and other items from the States ended up here.
Nothing was thrown away.)
The streets were also populated with women transporting pails full of clothes or food on their heads. I asked Sam, why I did not see more laughter, more smiling faces. "Kumasi is a city of hard working farmers on their way back from rural areas. There is a different standard of beauty here. One you
The streets were also populated with women transporting pails full of clothes or food on their heads. I asked Sam, why I did not see more laughter, more smiling faces. "Kumasi is a city of hard working farmers on their way back from rural areas. There is a different standard of beauty here. One you
can only appreciate by living here.” he responded. “Dirt on the
hands or dirt on the clothes signifies a hard day’s work. It is a sign of strength
and conviction. Too much smiling or laughter can be the sign that one takes his
work lightly. It reflects a lack of seriousness. Laughter is a feature of the personality that
is reserved for the home.”
Once we arrived in Ahodowo, our destination, I made sure to tip the cab driver generously. I had been given a large stipend for eating - one larger than I could fathom using in three months - so, I wanted to share what I had with hardworking Ghanaians who provided their services to me. I thought that perhaps they could stretch a cedi further than I could.
Just outside the office, I could not help but notice the marked contrasts in the marketplace. On the one hand, men in well-pressed suits were lined up at food stands. They were the professionals - the doctors, the lawyers and the accountants, who received regular paychecks and who lived in gated communities far away from the city center. These men shopped for food where nearby sewage ran in the open and behind which the neighborhood’s children chased goats for sport. Meanwhile market women, eager to sell their wares, stood, and sometimes squatted, at food stands, their children hidden in the shadows. These market women were a neighborhood’s most important business people; these were the entrepreneurs, who wielded significant political power. Here in this city center, conspicuous wealth was juxtaposed to wretched poverty.
To get at the stories of the men in well- pressed suits and eager market women, I had to scratch beneath the surface. I had to ask the right questions to get at the stories that belied quick judgment. Such questions are critical to any travel experience and brought me a step closer to understanding the unfamiliar world which surrounded me.
What awaited us at the office was an unexpected lecture from my co-worker, Gyan. Upon seeing a photograph from my visits with local farmers in nearby villages, he had the following insights to share about the photograph:
.jpg)
"Ah," he said. "The image of poverty." He
paused to take a closer look at the photo. "You must not forget that this
woman is a farmer and an Ashanti. She does not wear her wealth." He
looked at me intently, as his voice rose, "This farmer may own 25 acres of
land covered with palm trees, which are a precious commodity. But you see
something different. You have no idea. She may be a powerful sorcerer! You are
no judge of this woman’s power."
I had learned that what Gyan said was true. One could not judge
a person by his or her outward appearance or according to a Western standard.
But it is more difficult than it might seem to step out of oneself and to see
the world through the eyes of another, whose daily existence, as a farmer, as a
mother, as an Ashanti bears little resemblance to one’s own.
After an enlightening early morning lecture, our driver took us in the not-for-profit organization’s SUV (standard for driving the "unfinished roads" and inter-regional highways, full of potholes and sometimes paved, oftentimes not) to our destination.
After an enlightening early morning lecture, our driver took us in the not-for-profit organization’s SUV (standard for driving the "unfinished roads" and inter-regional highways, full of potholes and sometimes paved, oftentimes not) to our destination.
Our job, that is, Sam and I’s job, was to assess the adequacy of
financing provided to local farmers by our not-for-profit. We worked for a
large microfinance organization that made small loans to women farmers. These small
or micro-loans funded small businesses related to harvesting or selling
agricultural goods.
We arrived in Wassa West, just outside of Kumasi, to find a group of 30 women and a male translator seated in chairs in the vacant space outside among the village's mud houses. Each woman in the village spoke her native Twi, while a young man translated for Sam and I who spoke English.
The group was one of farmers and their product was palm oil made from the palm nut, which is used particularly in chocolate. We spent one day assessing the effectiveness of the small loans administered to them which would finance equipment, materials and other goods related to raising and producing palm oil.
Sam and I were employed by a local not-for-profit microfinance
institution. What distinguished us from mainstream banks was our clientele, who
were poor farmers, and the low interest rates charged for small loans. This is
microfinance. It is a tool used to fight poverty in that it provides women with
the working capital to finance business activities, like buying seeds and equipment.
Every woman deserves a livelihood, a way to enhance her means, a
job. This is where global change begins. If every woman (or group of women) in
the developing world had access to a small loan to start a business and could
gain the training to sustain it, the developing world would be a different
place. Lending to this underprivileged population is a complex proposition,
however, because it requires the same respect, trust and proximity that
traditional banks refuse poor women. But, as you will see, the returns can be
tremendous when serving this population.
The group of farmers Sam and I met with was, understandably, a determined group. The group knew exactly what it wanted and asserted its will. Women spoke firmly about the limitations of the financing they received. They noted that their assets, production equipment and 15 acres of land, might serve as collateral to fetch them a larger loan over a longer time period. A larger loan would better suit their needs.
A larger loan would allow the farmers to replace their outdated equipment, to purchase a new truck for transporting goods, to meet growing demand for their goods across Ghana and across the world and to ride out a sparse harvest or low sales during the rainy season. The problem was that my organization did not offer larger loans than the one the farmers had received. This was a matter I addressed in my assessment of the financing program.
The group of farmers Sam and I met with was, understandably, a determined group. The group knew exactly what it wanted and asserted its will. Women spoke firmly about the limitations of the financing they received. They noted that their assets, production equipment and 15 acres of land, might serve as collateral to fetch them a larger loan over a longer time period. A larger loan would better suit their needs.
A larger loan would allow the farmers to replace their outdated equipment, to purchase a new truck for transporting goods, to meet growing demand for their goods across Ghana and across the world and to ride out a sparse harvest or low sales during the rainy season. The problem was that my organization did not offer larger loans than the one the farmers had received. This was a matter I addressed in my assessment of the financing program.
Ultimately, over the years, the social impact of profits generated from the group’s small agribusiness in Wassa West helped send children to secondary school and to college. (This in a country where completing primary school is an educational and financial challenge for children and families.) Women in the group helped pay the bills, offered more nutritious meals to their families and were less dependent on their husbands.
With this in mind, I approached the assessment with a certain optimism. The impact financing had and could have for farmers and their families was inspiring. If the not-for-profit I worked for could remain self-sufficient, it could continue to provide low-interest loans to a population in need of hope. If it were a wise and dynamic organization, it would transform to better meet the needs of its clients. Eager lessons I would take with me on a trip to Guatemala.
I took photos of the group of farmers once we were finished with the interviews and focus groups. And I heard a familiar word from one woman, "obruni", meaning white person or foreigner. As a native explained to me later, the attitude among the villagers, and one woman in particular, was that taking photos is not something an "Ashanti" or "African" person might do. It is simply not tolerated culturally and was a sign of just how foreign I was.
After visiting numerous groups of women farmers, we set out late in the afternoon for Kumasi. Sam, the driver and I arrived late, but just in time for dinner. Sam and I finally had some private time. We visited an Ivorian restaurant. We shared a plate of fried fish with fresh vegetables and atieke (a starch which resembles cornmeal.)
Kumasi was a city of contrasts. Ghana was the land of possibility. "Africa to me" was a place of old stories. A place where women, heads heavy with water-filled urns, stood statuesque on the bank of a river exchanging local gossip with women from neighboring villages. This is a simple yet familiar image, but also one that tells an old story that is common across the continent of Africa. This story hints at a rich culture; this is not a story of poverty.
While when I arrived in Kumasi I shuttered at such an image or, more, at the idea of women drinking unclean drinking water, I soon came to share the perspective of locals. One woman from a nearby village put it this way: “We are our households’ local newscasters. We listen to and share the latest news with friends, family and others we might stumble upon along the way to a watering hole.” Upon leaving Ghana, I decided that this was exactly the way things are supposed to be.
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